A Few Words of Charity

Hello, everyone! We are Dirty Does Good, a team that seeks to bring you otome fanfiction commissions - for charity! See more about our mission, our members, or how to commission us!

[dirtydoesgood]

Final Update

Once again, I want to thank everyone for the opportunity for letting us complete this project successfully and I hope to provide a very long-overdue update for all!

Thanks to everyone’s generosity, we managed to raise $570.00! It’s a very generous amount, much more than what we expected—so once again, thank you all very much! The original charity we wanted to donate to wrapped up before we could get to it but we decided to donate it all to WIRES, who does similar work in the same region. The money was split over 2 of the team’s ko-fi accounts and therefore we got to make two donations:

The other donation receipt will be uploaded by another mod at her earliest convenience.

It still blows my mind, and we can’t thank the fandoms enough for showing up when there was a need! It’s unfortunate that our project was followed soon after by COVID-19, which really took our lives for a toss! For some of us it meant working extra, for others it meant that our living arrangements changed. Two years on, the effects of it can still be felt and for me, personally, it involved me moving overseas! New job, new country, new everything!

Change is not always easy, and our D2G team has also faced a healthy amount of it. We still have a handful of commissions that we have not been able to complete. For some, the individual writers who chose the prompts have contacted the commissioners to arrange for refunds. If you still have a pending commission, please contact us through Tumblr (not anon) or via email in order to see what is the best arrangement possible. For all other matters relating to the donations made, you can contact us through this account and we shall try and respond as soon as possible. I would hate for you to feel that your money is, in any way, unaccounted for!

With all that being said, let me take the opportunity once again to thank you all for your patience, kindness and goodwill. This really could not have been possible without you!

-Jane

[dirtydoesgood]

Are you all still doing these?

Hiya! We are not open for commissions anymore but are still working through our backlog of commissions to complete. If you are still pending on a commission, feel free to send us an ask (not through anon, so that we can reply back to you in private!)

[dirtydoesgood]

Tempered In Gold

Author: @janumun​​ Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Characters: Comte/Female Reader (and Leonardo, a delighted participant)  Rating: Explicit

Warnings: NSFW/18+ content, PWP, vaginal fingering, (mild) bondage, voyeurism, threesome

Prompt: Jealousy Summary: Perhaps the good Comte is not as patient and forgiving as he might have others believe and Leonardo’s here to provide all the help needed to unravel a ‘perfect’ gentleman. 

The inflexible set to his posture; without motion, without sound — Leonardo notes in amusement — or so he would have her believe. That tight-fisted control his silent companion struggles to maintain, that gentleman’s veneer he so insists on sustaining even at the cost of his own lust. 

Leonardo sees how it costs the good ‘Comte’ dearly. 

Wicked tongue darting forth to trace against aching fangs, his eyes meet the man’s from across the room, silent and bound to his place of torturous unrest… before he slides a hand around the shape of her breast, gathering it close to his face.  She trembles within his embrace, the stimulation almost too much as a hand splays across parted lips in anticipation of his. 

Angling a single wide grin her way; misty eyes meeting his from beneath dark lashes, Leonardo almost falters over his own breaths at the way she steals him; disastrous and beautiful. A vehement undoing but not his alone.

Hungry mouth closing around the puckered bead of her breast, her back arches with her cries; a rising symphony. Calling to her, the man who stays not much farther from where she is; bound to her as he is now, physically. Although the cloth, sturdy as it may be, stands no more than flimsy facade in the short, low tear Leonardo hears of it upon their display.

Drowned underneath the quick dark sound that escapes the confines of le ‘Comte’s’ chest, curbed as it may be at Leonardo’s blatant provocation. His eyes meet their bound audience’s and stay. Smile widening in shameless victory to catch the heave of trembling shoulders, the Comte’s quick, short breaths. Eyes; furbished daggers of gold, carrying light only as an unearthly creature might, in his lust for the woman Leonardo holds in his arms. 

A willing, foolish prisoner of his own making. 

That congenial smile, the one he dons on in public, nowhere to be found as Leonardo’s fingers slip in between the space of her legs, inciting the hungry flash of fangs from their willing captive before he buries the edge of one against his tongue in a poor show of restraint. 

And as the tips of Leonardo’s fingers ghost against her swollen clit, her hand finds his, almost as if on instinct. He watches in mild fascination how he dwarfs the fingers that come to hold his, in stark comparison. The blush that steals fervent across her cheeks before she leans forward to press her lips against his and he answers in kind, smiling.  Fingers driving up into her pussy, slick with the arousal that trails copious down to his knuckles and she moans her other lover’s name — the Comte’s real moniker. 

Head falling back to catch the Comte’s eyes; the man’s semblance of pathetic control Leonardo witnesses rippling apart at the want in that watery gaze, beckoning even as she reaches a covetous hand his way. 

Before he catches the digits of that outstretched hand with his own, tugging it, and her attentions, back to himself.

A low curse uttered in an old, foreign tongue; Leonardo recognizes the words as the Comte’s mother language. The decisive tear of fiber followed by the harsh splintering of wood drowned underneath a strained guttural sound. 

The result, entirely expected though it is, still steals a deep rumble of amusement past Leonardo’s lips. Angling a grin at his now, much agreeable companion, he takes in the sight of that vicious gaze, tempestuous as it meets his across her shoulder. 

“...I quite believe you’ve had your fun, Leonardo.” The admonishment in the raw scrape of le Comte de Saint Germain’s voice serves only to tug that grin higher as Leonardo relinquishes control — for the time being — over to the man in front, toyed with and tested beyond even his restraint. 

“Comte—” Surprise flickers through the dense sheen of desire clouding her gaze before it overpowers her once more in the subdued shudders that take her to feel the sharp drag of teeth against her neck. Straining as she settles against him.  

“Look at me, chérie.” The quick sharp pluck of Comte’s brow before it relaxes, betrays the restraint of desire as he withdraws from her neck. Lost the next instant as she moves to press herself against him, open mouth seeking his and he obliges, slave to her tender mercies, just as Leonardo finds himself. 

The desperate press of a pink tongue she swipes against wet lips before the Comte’s hand finds the back of her head and fists; insatiable mouth breathing her sweet little gasp into his own, ravenous and without mercy. 

Leonardo catches the swell of her arousal on a sharp, intoxicating rush of heavy scent; how the Comte excites her as he is now, unrestrained within her arms. 

The man in front, just as adept at catching her excitement, moves to cup a palm against her sex. Swallowing her moans into his mouth just as Leonardo watches the slow, easy slide of his fingers into her. Withdrawing them drenched to trail across her thighs, copious arousal trekking a slick path against her skin. 

She rolls her hips to press herself tighter against the intrusion of Comte’s hand, self-consciousness long shed to the throes of passion. Delicate fingers shaping around the softness of her breasts to hold and knead. Moaning in appreciation when the Comte’s mouth finds itself around the puckered bead of her breast and sucks. The needle edge of a fang scraping against her nipple prompts a frenzied hand flying to grasp at his hair and tug on instinct. 

Gaze beseeching as it finds his narrowed in mild amusement, desire and affection. “...You’re going to drive me crazy, Comte.” 

He shifts then, just enough to let the press of his cock ghost across her thigh, hot and throbbing. “And you already do so to me, ma chérie.”

The pad of his thumb presses at the plush of her lower lip, teasing the edges of it. Golden gaze wrought with furbished desire, treks the parting of her lips, admitting his thumb to tease at her tongue. “You two put on quite the show for me. Watching Leonardo touch you while I could do little but worship the view, torturous as it was…” A sudden intrusion of another long finger into her depths sends her arching forward but Comte’s grip holds, watching in contented fascination as she shivers in his grasp. “I believe I’ve earned the chance to spoil my love in return for leaving me more than a little... envious.”

He moves forward, titillating whispers ghosting delicious across the curve of her ear. “Don’t you agree?” 

His fingers hook up into her, sending her over the edge, swift and vicious enough she screams out loud. Comte sweeps to swallow the rest of her moans into his mouth, fangs grazing the edge of her tongue in a nick, sending a burst of blood and pleasure across her senses. Convulsions he sets skittering down her spine in rapture, body yielding towards the man. The softness of her breasts molding to fit against the shape of le Comte’s firm chest as she presses in to hold, arms cording around him as if for dear life. 

Lapping at the graze of her tongue before he sucks it into his mouth; the tips of his fingers steal under her chin to lift as le Comte savors the moment to hold onto her wrecked visage — the swell of well-kissed lips far more pronounced by the gloss of wetness, framed by cheeks spilled in rouge, the dark wavering of her gaze — disastrously beautiful in its unraveling. He angles his head to the side in satisfaction; gold meeting burnished copper. 

Leonardo observes the entire spectacle with a crooked grin, one the ‘Comte’ returns. “Heh. Knew there was a greedy bastard in there.” 

“Indeed. And I require your assistance now, old friend.” 

“Always so demanding.” Leonardo moves to position himself behind her now sagging form, arms cording around her waist to hold her steady. “Everything alright with you, cara mia?” 

“....N-No. It feels… way too good, I-I think I’m going to lose my mind… mm A—” The Comte’s fingers ghost against the sensitive flesh of her hips, pressing and soothing as if he does not mean to wreck her entirely with his own burgeoning desire soon. 

Leonardo feels the tight press of her ass against his own arousal. Swallowing around the dry ache of his mouth, fangs burning where they slide against a ravenous tongue; it takes all of Leonardo’s mental fortitude to congeal that desire into a slow, steady caress of an eager tongue against the sensitive flesh of her nape and she croons in approval.

Folding her hand against his, the Comte draws it to his mouth, lips closing around one limp digit. Leonardo watches the flush of her cheeks rise higher with each careful flick of that clever tongue of his. Inhaling deep to catch the suffusion of their desire — hers mixing in with the ‘Comte’s’ and his — to leave a mix of intoxicated lust in the air. 

Popping her finger out of his mouth to leave one last stroke of his tongue against the pad of it. “Forgive me, chérie. I don’t think it’s in my capacity to be gentle with you tonight.”

“...I don’t want you being gentle, Comte. Please… I need you both so much.” 

“Ah,” he smiles, as if it weren’t the answer he knew was coming. “I do not dislike a naughty girl.”

Leonardo’s breath brands across the shell of her ear; a low guttural whisper, hot and caressing. “Especially so when she is ours.”  Roguish smile closing around her earlobe, his teeth sink into the soft flesh of it.

Deft fingers slip to part her folds just as the Comte moves to position himself at her entrance. 

She tucks in a harsh breath at the sight. Leonardo’s low growl at her neck the last thing she hears...

“Hold on tight, cara mia. You’re going to need the support.” 

...before it’s drowned underneath the intensity of her cries with the slow, smooth push of them into her depths.

Thank you for supporting @dirtydoesgood​!

[dirtydoesgood]

In Your Eyes

Author: @janumun​​ Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice Characters: Gavin/Female Reader  Rating: Explicit

Warnings: NSFW/18+ content, re-telling of canon events, chapter 23 spoilers, angst, semi-public sex/oral sex, vaginal fingering, hand job

Prompt: Watches as the other traces one of their scars Summary:  [Based around the events of Chapter 23 and the obscure connection in between Gavin and a certain silver haired character (introduced in Chapter 17 of the game).] An infiltration attempt into the STF base goes direly wrong before a certain officer sweeps in, helping you evade capture... at the cost of his own safety.

The scent of copper and dust intensifies within your nostrils. The temporary smokescreen provided amidst the fight earlier in between Helios and the pursuing STF agents dissipating fast along with the precious time that trickles out for the both of you. 

Beside you, Helios’ breathing’s turning labored by the second; the effects of the anti-Evol device lingering within his system still as he presses a trembling fist to his chest. Soft groans of pain spilling from pale lips, the sweat beading across his forehead; it’s an alarming situation, one you’re not sure you have the means to get through. 

Desperate, you try and call for Shaw once more into your concealed transceiver but to no avail. 

Is this the end?

Grimacing at the thought, you steel your nerves, moving to shield Helios from his pursuers. Only wisps of smoke remain; any moment now they’re going to charge forward and try to capture the two of you. Or worse, open fire. 

You direly wish to avoid that. You cannot lose another person you care for; not even in this foreign world.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He spits.

“I need you to get out of here as soon as I give the signal, Helios. Walk or crawl if you have to, I don’t care. Just please—” 

Even in his poor state, Helios has the energy to snort in derision at your whispered plea, “How delusional are you? Think you can fight them off on your own?”

“I can’t...” You curse the way your voice fractures, bravery the farthest thing from you. “But you’re worse off than me and if they get you… it’s all over for us anyway.”

Silence is all the answer afforded to you for a while. No clap-backs, no jeering responses.

You turn around to check if he finally understands the situation you’re in before a firm hand curls around your wrist, gripping so tight it hurts. Helios is on his feet, cursing under his breath as he throws a glance up at the fractured roof of the building. “...Sure took his sweet fucking time.” 

“Helios—”

“Shut up and start running.” With that, he wrenches you forward. Breaking into a run and you’re forced to try and keep up, stumbling just as a great blast of wind disrupts the destruction behind you. 

Whipping your head just in time to catch a tall, dark figure rising through the fumes of smoke and ruination — your breath catches in your throat as recognition dawns: Gavin — you try and rebel with all your might against the secure grip Helios has around your wrist. “Let go! It’s Gavin! There are too many! We have to save—” 

Helios’ rage is all you witness as the man wheels on you, merciless fingers digging harsh crescents into your shoulders. “Follow your own advice, will you? You go back there now and you get him killed faster than he would without you hindering him.”

You flinch at the awful, glaring truth in those words. Powerless, all you can do is let your leaden feet trail as fast as they can after Helios. Stealing glances back every now and then, nerves fraught with worry for the man you love — one who no longer remembers you within this world. Helpless, your eyes catch the gingko bracelet tucked just beneath your jacket sleeve, wishing with all your might for Gavin’s safety. 

Please, be alright. Come back alive. Please Gavin. 

Weaving through several passages, the alarms blaring through every corridor; you do not cross paths with any more STF officers. 

Tumbling out through the exit at last, Helios sprints towards the black SUV parked along the curb. Revving up the engine as soon as he’s inside, he shouts for you to get in—

A deafening explosion rocks the very ground you stand on, rocks and debris flying every which way as you duck to take cover. Heavy smoke rises from a familiar part of the building and you watch in dawning horror, thoughts scattering at the notion of Gavin having been caught up in the blast. 

You can’t abandon him. 

You take off, back into the building, not heeding Helios’ shouts of your name. Your mind focused solely upon finding Gavin, whatever it takes. 

Fear constricts bitter tendrils across your throat as you cut through the thick cloud of smoke, crimson lights still blaring within the cramped space. You try to reach Shaw once more through the transceiver, static crackling at the other end of the line is all you hear in response to your desperate cries. “Shaw, can you hear me? Do you see anything through the surveillance cameras? Shaw!”  

Frustration and distress fueling hasty steps, you dash through smoky corridors, the static across the transceiver turning worse with each passing second. You reach to yank the device away before it blares to life with a tinny sound. “—hear me? Get out of there.... Don’t go any further!” 

You position the device closer to your ear, straining to hear him. “Shaw?!” 

A gloved hand clamps against your mouth, pressing you back firm against a body. Your captor — a man — moves to crowd you against the nearby wall. Before panic can truly kick in, his voice; a low rasp, washes over the back of your neck, “Don’t scream.”

Gavin. 

As if you’d been cut loose of strings, you collapse back against that familiar warmth, hands curling around the arm he’d slung across your chest — the gesture unconscious in nature. Before Gavin pulls away from you, gloved fingers finding your hand as he clasps it firm within his grasp, frowning. “I told you to stay out of danger.” 

A mute shake of the head is all you can offer, too overwhelmed to try and refute him. He’s alright and that’s all that matters in this moment. 

The dim lights overhead prevent proper assessment of his condition; you catch the vicious gashes carved across his uniform but before you can ask of his injuries, Gavin’s tugging you along as the two of you break into a run for the exit. 

Another explosion — smaller than the one earlier — sounds some ways behind you and Gavin urges you on faster. The grip he has on you hurts but you force your legs to keep moving, the breath in your lungs starting to burn from exertion and the polluted air around. 

An ominous crack rips through from somewhere overhead and you glance up in horror just in time to see the ceiling giving way, slow but sure; large chunks of brick coming loose to fall around the two of you. 

“Watch out!” You hear Gavin yell for you; the harsh tug of your wrist propelling you sideways. The next few instants, a dreadful tumult; cracks spidering across adjacent walls. The flutter of Gavin’s uniform is all you see across your field of vision as he reaches for you.

A sudden, terrifying feeling of weightlessness compels you to reach out a blind hand, scrabbling for support — you’re petrified at the thought of the floor giving way to darkness beneath your feet — before you feel the curl of familiar fingers against yours, entwining. Gavin’s breath; the sound of his voice soothing against your ear. “Hey. You’re alright. I’ve got you.” A hand he curves against the back of your head, pressing you against him as he rises into the air, maneuvering around the falling debris.

Damp warmth. You raise your head to catch sight of the profuse moisture clinging to pale skin. Watching how he grimaces as if in pain, the sweat that lines his forehead; you realize his Evol’s taking everything he has to keep you both steady in the air. 

This close, you catch sight of dark splotches against his uniform; his blood, most probably from his fight against the STF agents earlier. The use of his Evol draining him faster. 

“Gavin, you’re hurting yourself!”

Amber eyes capture yours; Gavin’s breath quickening rapid enough he doesn’t answer. Faltering within the air; a sudden drop he catches himself from with a pained grunt, propelling the two of you towards where you catch sight of Helios’ SUV, the man in question watching your descent, resting against the vehicle. 

A few feet above the ground, the air currents give way completely and the two of you go down hard, collapsing onto the asphalt as you struggle to soften Gavin’s fall with your own body. Helios moves forward then, easily reaching to haul Gavin onto his shoulder. Throwing a frosty glance your way, he deposits him into the backseat of his car. “Get in now.” 

The jump of a tendon within Gavin's jaw as he grits his teeth. Droplets of cold sweat trailing down the sides of his face as he watches you tend to the injury on his arm — he’s in pain. You try and ease your touch further on his wound as he tries and twists away from your touch once more. “I said it’s fine.” 

And just like his last few protests, you ignore him, choosing to keep your silence. Now that fear and worry have ebbed away, all you feel is anger and vexation at Gavin’s rash actions. 

His body’s scored with injuries — so many you notice even above his uniform — it frustrates you to know how he holds no regard for his own self. 

Gavin strains to move forward, fixing a white knuckled grip against the back of the passenger seat. “Did you— manage to find it?”

Helios extracts a black chip in response to the query, tossing it into the backseat. Gavin catches it with a visible wince. 

Helios swerves around a sharp turn causing you and Gavin to go crashing back into the seats. He inhales sharply, pressing a hand against his injured side. 

“Can you please drive slower?!”

Helios’ glacial gaze meets yours through the rearview mirror. “And let them catch us? You’re just bursting with bright ideas.”

You flush at that, throwing a glance back to check for pursuers. “I don’t see anyone.”

“A couple miles more before we can… consider ourselves safe.” Gavin answers, moving to discard his ruined jacket to the side before peeling off his bloodied shirt. He reaches for the first aid kit; you move forward to help. He glances at you askance. “I can take care of it myself.” 

“You’d only make a sloppy job of it.”  The two of you remain locked in a silent glare, neither truly willing to back down. Gavin watches you with that same, careful gaze — furrowed brows and clear, sharp eyes — appraising you as he might a suspicious stranger. The thought stings. He doesn’t recognize you in this world but it doesn’t make the strange unfamiliarity between the two of you any less painful. 

“It’s your abdominal area. It’d be hard for you to bandage yourself well enough with your injuries.” 

He doesn’t respond, gaze trekking towards the medicine and bandages in your hand; perhaps he senses you’re not about to back down and so, he complies reluctantly. Relaxing back onto the seat, he watches you work a salve around the injury on his stomach; without sound, without complaint.

Now, upon careful inspection, you observe the cruel nature of the gash across his abdomen. The blood now dried but you know it must’ve hurt. Although not deep enough to have caused any significant damage but dressing the injury hurts you as acutely as if it were your own. 

Letting your eyes wander slow across the expanse of his torso, you catch sight of familiar scars and some new — all healed and yet still carved onto skin. Painful reminders of what life Gavin leads; always in danger. 

You resist the urge to trail your fingers across the more fresh ones, curling trembling digits into fists just as you curb your questions, pulling away from his newly bandaged abdomen.

“...Why would you risk yourself like this?”

His eyes catch yours, hard and resilient. You know, you have no right to question what he does. The question spilled: an unconscious action. 

"It’s my duty.” The answer comes surprisingly easy, without suspicion or judgement and yet, it wounds you to hear it. 

Just as you move to pull away from him, Helios jams his foot on the breaks, screeching to an abrupt halt, you almost go tumbling forward before strong arms circle your waist, pulling you close and back into a firm chest. 

You raise your head to see he’s parked the car by a gas station. Throwing open the door, he angles a glance into the backseat. “Short stop. Get your lovers quarrel sorted before we leave. It’s giving me a fucking headache.”

Stifling silence descends as Helios slams the car door shut, leaving the two of you alone before you have the chance to respond. Shifting within Gavin’s arms — the man loosens his hold as soon as you move — you mutter some nonsensical excuse about getting snacks from the station store. 

You can hardly stand being close to him right now; inexplicable emotions roiling through you — you still don’t know how to deal with this Gavin, his indifferent demeanor frustrates and worries you but when he’s kind… it hurts far more than is bearable.

A hand shoots out to curl around your wrist just as you move to open the side-door. You glance back in surprise, your eyes meeting Gavin’s. Unreadable emotions flicker within his gaze. “Why do you look at me like that?” He questions, dragging you closer. 

You’re not quite sure what he’s asking or if you even possess the answer to that. “…Like what?”

A furrow worries in between his brows as if he’s trying to focus through a mist. A hesitant hand he raises; you feel the gentle caress of his thumb against your lip — you realize you've been biting at it — as he frees it of your teeth.  Watching as if he’s not quite sure of his own actions. 

Slipping his thumb across the bow of parted lips, trailing upwards… slow over the concavity of your cheek, leaving heat to gather in it's wake. Finally pressing delicate at the corner of your eye, swiping a careful path beneath it. “Like you’re trying not to cry.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the quiet observation; you have to squeeze your eyes shut against the onslaught of familiar emotions. 

Because I love you. And I lost you once.

“Because you’re constantly throwing yourself in danger. It… worries me.” 

“Why?”

You don’t reply. 

A short, ragged burst of laughter. “You’re not any less reckless. Didn’t I tell you…” A hand curves around the back of your head, pulling close as if to utter a well-guarded secret. “You don’t have to be the Queen. Live your life as a normal person.”

He exhales softly as if your adamancy exhausts him. “Yet I find you trying to infiltrate STF. Do you realize what could've happened if they'd managed to capture you? Do you—” His grip on you tightens. “Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?”

“Gavin, I can’t—”

“I promised you. And I’ll keep it. I’ll find the person you’re looking for.”

Your eyes burn; Gavin’s face wavering within your field of vision. 

“I don't understand...” His face contorts, as if pained. Tender digits sweep across your cheeks; you catch the wetness grazing his fingertips. 

“Why’re you crying?”

“You’re hurting me. It’s unfair that you’re like this… why are you still so—” good to me?

Gavin doesn’t speak. Choosing to wipe the tears that trail down your face; an endless stream. “I hate how you choose to compromise your own safety for the sake of your missions. Telling others to stay out of danger and yet you go and do just the opposite. I can’t tell if it’s cruel or kind of fate to bring you to me like this but I can’t bear the thought of you hurt, Gavin.” He watches you, silent. 

“I know... I know you think I have no reason to worry for you but I do. I can’t explain it. I—” Your incessant garbling tapers and dies with the press of warmth against your lips. Your eyes widening at the realization: Gavin’s kissing you. 

His mouth is tender, just as you remember it. Soft as it moves against yours, testing. The fan of his lashes this close, he’s just as beautiful. Beneath his lids, you catch the movement of his eyes, rapid; his brow furrowed as if in concentration. 

Before he stops abruptly, withdrawing. But you’re not done yet, swallowing his apology into your mouth as you press back into him. 

Coveting him just as hungrily as the hands that slide down the expanse of your back, settling at your hips. Before he lifts you and into his lap; you follow eager and wanting. 

This kiss is devoid of tenderness; all ferocity and desire you pour into it, wanting him to know how he leaves you uncertain, despite your better judgement. Despite the voice of reason insisting this isn’t your Gavin. You can’t stop. 

And Gavin—

Releasing a soft grunt against your mouth, his tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, parting them. Slipping inside to test against yours; rough digits fisting themselves into your hair as he crushes your mouths together. As if he too can’t bear the distance, as if he means to pilfer every single breath of yours. “I don’t understand why I...” He repeats, voice riddled with discontent.

You’re too breathless to respond but you understand. You have no easy answers.

His tongue slides hot against your lower lip. Sucking your tongue into his mouth, you moan against him. Restless hands that trail across the sides of your waist, thumbs he presses circles with against sensitive skin; you feel the heat of it even through your shirt. 

Breath catching within your throat at the hesitant brush of fingertips just beneath the curve of your breasts before Gavin seems to think the better of it, withdrawing. You capture his wrist and tug, a mute plea within your gaze. 

Gavin watches; the slow shudder that leaves you at the cup of his hands around your breasts. Observing the curve of parted lips; the bite of teeth into plush flesh when he moves to slip his thumbs over the stiffened peaks and you groan without shame, incredibly sensitive to his touch. 

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, slow and steady; heat and desire burn within his gaze at your arousal. 

Beneath, you feel the shape of him; hard and straining against your ass. Grinding your hips on instinct, a hitched sound scrapes free of his throat; open mouth lunging for yours in another consuming kiss. 

What are we doing? 

Warm palms map the shape of your cheeks; Gavin draws back, heat simmering within those eyes you so love. “Do you want to stop?” He whispers softly, as if he reads your mind. You don’t want to.

Hands skittering across his belt, you free him of the confines of his trousers before scrabbling off of his lap and onto your knees. 

“You don’t have to do that—”

“I want to, Gavin. And if you do too…” 

He watches you, silent for a moment. Eyes tracing your features for signs of hesitance or discomfort; your heart aches to know how his kind heart remains. Before Gavin settles a hand atop your head in affirmation and you oblige, all too eager. 

Sinking onto him, you relish the first taste; his cock sliding across your tongue; familiar. Gavin grunts, head tipping back in pleasure as you work your mouth over him. Fingers weaving tighter through your locks, he doesn’t rush you, merely holding firm. 

Slipping your fingers across his thigh to soothe and relax him further into you, you bob your mouth over him in tandem with the low thrusts of his hips into you. 

Tapered digits; hot to the touch, slip through your hair and down the side of your head as he trails them across the back of your neck and you shiver, moaning as he slips deeper down your throat. 

You’re incredibly wet; the moisture of dampened panties dragging torturous across your clit. Pressing your legs together for any degree of relief, you slide your tongue across his length, closing your mouth around as much of him as you can take. 

You’re so turned on; you feel yourself clamp down from how you suck him, his groans of pleasure serving to encourage you. 

Stealing a glance up at him to catch him watching you; a flush steals faint but sure across his cheeks. Gavin curls a fist into your hair, gently tugging. “Come up here.”

You let yourself be dragged, settling back into his lap. Gavin’s fingers trail across the front of your stomach, teasing a moment before they slip past your panties to drag circles across your clit. 

You tremble in response; pressing your face into the side of his neck, the sensation overwhelming enough you almost come. 

Wrapping trembling digits around his cock, you pump him in tandem with the fingers he slips into your pussy without warning. Insistent thumb dragging moisture across your clit. 

Gavin presses in, fingers curling into you deeper. Watching as you shiver in his grasp, mouth parted as if in wonder. The flush of his cheeks enticing, you move to drag your tongue against it.

 Breathing hard as the two of you work to bring the other to completion. 

Your cries mixing with his groans as you release yourself onto his fingers at last, dropping boneless against him. 

Reaching for him in one final kiss; pressing closer as you let thoughts of your temporary relief distract you from the glaring truth. 

Outside, Helios watches as the two kiss; visible from where he stands, even a few feet away. Tossing his empty soda can into the trash, he turns back towards the car. Eyes flashing bright blue — then gold — for a split second underneath the glaring lights overhead. He glances at the photograph of a smiling woman — her — then back at the couple.  

“The Queen and her Knight, huh?” 

A/N: Thank you for supporting Dirty Does Good!

[dirtydoesgood]

Heaven On Earth (MLQC Lucien - NSFW)

Title: Heaven On Earth

Author: @otonymous​ Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice Character(s): Lucien x Reader (Female MC) Rating: Explicit Warnings: made-up geography, outdoor sex, the slightest hint of exhibitionism and aggressive behaviour Prompt: “You want to try this?” Summary: Sand, surf, sun…and sex (aka Finally, Lucien gets to be happy for once LOL)

“Smile!”

Snap.

The digital shutter goes off and you admire your handiwork on the screen of your phone, the profile of Lucien’s face dignified even when partially hidden behind aviators and windswept hair.  And a part of you cannot help but think on how unfair it is that one man can remain so cool despite the sweltering heat of a tropical summer.

As if you were the only one affected by the sight of naked flesh in skimpy swimwear.  

No, not nearly skimpy enough, you think as you peer at your companion from behind oversized shades, as if the intensity of your gaze alone could shave a few inches off the length of Lucien’s swimming trunks.  Reaching for your mojito, you try to quench the thirst that had built up from devouring the man with your eyes for the hundredth time.  Who knew that lab coat did the world such a disservice by hiding that body, firm and muscular in all the right places?

Gulp.

Fingers pinching your thigh beneath your sheer cover up, you’re comforted by the sting that tells you this was no dream of the wet variety.  Because here you were, in the midst of sand, surf and sun…with the most gorgeous man on the beach by your side.  You really were here on vacation with Lucien — one whole week to bask in his undivided attention.  What could be more heavenly?

Well, sex would be great, for starters.

You fight to stifle a chuckle because if you didn’t laugh, you’d have to cry.  You’d been dating the professor for some time now, but had yet to consummate your relationship.  It definitely wasn’t due to a lack of effort —  things would always crop up in the most inopportune times: work emergencies right when a hot-and-heavy make-out session was reaching fever pitch, the fire alarm sounding the moment your panties slid down to your ankles.  Gavin practically breaking down your balcony door just as Lucien’s belt came undone.

You were starting to think you were cursed.

But this was the week things were going to change.  You refused to accept otherwise.  And while you had feigned nonchalance when suggesting a trip to this resort to your boyfriend, the true intention was to have zero possible interruptions.  You even splurged on a bikini so tiny it had no business costing as much as it did for something with so little material.

“Do I get to see this photo too, or is it solely for your viewing pleasure?”  Reclined on his lounger, a sly smile graces Lucien’s impossibly handsome face.

Setting down your phone, you make a show of removing your sunglasses before pulling the cover up over your head to unveil your swimsuit for the very first time…slowly…so as not to miss the subtle tuck of Lucien’s lower lip between his teeth at the sight.

Maybe the bikini was worth your electricity bill for the month after all.

“I’ll let you know when you catch me, professor,” you say, rising to make your way towards the ocean, exaggerating the sway of your hips with each step that finds your feet sinking into sand so fine it felt like talcum powder.

A rich baritone chuckle from behind sends a frisson of excitement through your body, radiating from your core to the tips of fingers and toes.  And when you sense the vibration of Lucien’s fast approaching footsteps, you break into a run, laughing as you dash into aquamarine waters.

“Ahh!”  

Letting out a very unladylike shriek to feel strong arms wrap tight about your waist, excitement transforms to arousal when you find yourself pressed chest to chest with your lover.

“Think I’ve caught the catch of the day,” his breath tickles at your lobe when he bends to whisper in your ear, “or perhaps I should say, of a lifetime.”

The sun is high in the sky behind him, but you aren’t entirely sure you weren’t squinting from a radiance all his own: droplets of water running off the tips of smooth black hair, tracing from nose to chin until they kiss that prominent Adam’s apple.  Lucien’s broad shoulders and the firm pecs against which your nipples were rapidly hardening, drawing the professor’s heated gaze to see their peaks become prominent beneath the taut stretch of your bikini.

You loop your arms around his neck, tracing featherlight circles on the nape as you ask, “And what do you intend to do with your prize?”

Choppier waters push your bodies even closer together in embrace.  Lucien’s eyes darken.  The hairs on your body stand on end.

“I’d take what’s rightfully mine…if it pleases her.”

He slips a finger beneath the string of your bikini bottom, drawing circles on your hip in imitation of your own on his neck.  And when his other hand slides down the curve of your spine to tuck into your swimsuit, you gasp to feel him squeeze the supple flesh of your ass.

“Luci—!  What if…someone…sees?”

Question fragmenting into breathless moans, you lose yourself in your lover’s kiss — sudden and forceful like the tongue that pushes into your mouth as if ravenous from sheer need.  The professor is behaving like a man starved, so different from the gentleman you were used to.

And on instinct, your thighs are pressing together beneath the water, warmed by something that had little to do with the heat of the tropical sun.  It was almost ridiculous how easily he could shatter your composure, unraveling you in an instant no matter how much of an upper hand you thought you had.

No, Lucien was always a step ahead.  And if you were honest with yourself, you knew you’d follow him wherever he chose to lead.  Just like now, returning his kiss with a fervour that paid no heed to any and all sets of eyes that might witness the scene.  No one knew you here, after all; there were no reputations to maintain.

Suddenly, a wolf whistle off to the side and a shout of “Yeah baby, get it!" breaks the magic of the moment.  Quickly pulling away from him, your hands fly to readjust your bikini as you spy two men paddling past on surfboards, laughing and leering as they do.

“Are you all right?”  Lucien peers at you, thumbs caressing your reddened cheeks.  You nod, forcing a smile as you lift your head even though all you wanted to do was bury your face in his chest.  Perhaps embarrassment wasn’t so easily shed after all.  But when you finally process the expression on your lover’s face, it distracts you from your own sense of shame:

Lips set in a straight line — firm, like the fine muscles of his jaw.  An intensity in the dark eyes that look towards the men moving into deeper waters, gaze cold and indifferent.  You are so shocked by the change that you barely notice when Lucien moves in front of you, one arm held out protectively to keep you behind him as the other rises in a smooth arc.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a massive wave appears, defying the laws of physics as it moves as if miraculously contained in a bubble, heading straight for the path of the surfers.  Your heart leaps into your throat to see it crash down upon the pair, only realizing you’d been holding your breath when you sigh in relief to see them surface, shaken but alive as they let out a faint stream of expletives.

“Oh my god!  Did you see that, Lucien?  Do you think they’re okay—”

“They’ll be fine.  The waves are probably just a bit too big for these novices to handle.  But I’ve spotted something interesting over there.  Are you able to swim that far?”

You follow the direction of his finger to where it pointed to a rocky outcrop jutting from the shore a short distance away.  “I think I can manage that.”

“Good.  Follow closely.”  Lucien looks back with a wink before swimming off, and you can’t help but take an extra moment to admire the graceful sight of his body cutting through crystalline waters before following suit.

It was like you had stumbled upon Shangri-La.  

Flanked by rocky cliffs that pretty much guaranteed inaccessibility by foot, you and Lucien take turns swimming through a narrow entrance that opened up onto a sight that takes your breath away: a cove, small but pristine, as if untouched since the primitive days of its formation.

Wading through waters much calmer than those you swam through to get here, you openly admire this hidden pocket of the ocean — a shifting mirror of turquoise reflecting azure skies, glittering like Gaia herself had deigned to scatter diamonds upon its glassy surface.

White sand and air sweet as it carried the scent of flowers in bloom, its crowning glory nonetheless lay in the waterfall at its centre, the rushing cascade the only sound in the tranquil cove, punctuated by the cries of birds as colourful as the flora that grew in this climate.

Heaven on Earth.

“I can’t believe this place even exists, Lucien.  And we have it all to ourselves!”  

You turn to him, face split into a wide smile, and when you see the tenderness on his, it all seems surreal: too dream-like…too perfect.

“Come, let’s get a closer look.”

As if reading your mind, he extends a hand, voice soft and low when those long, tapered fingers intertwine with yours to gently pull you in the direction of the waterfall.  The heat of his touch allays your fears.  This is real.

The confirmation sparks a surge of excitement from deep within and you are a child once more, seeing the world anew with all the wonder of fresh eyes; this time, with the love of your life as your guide.

“Oh, that’s cold!” You exclaim, quickly moving through the waterfall and climbing onto a platform of smooth rock hidden behind the curtain of water.  Lucien follows, looking every inch like a god when he emerges shiny and wet.

He takes one look at you and you’re immediately pulled into his embrace, your back to your lover’s chest.  His breath suffuses warmth onto the nape of your neck, lips brushing soft on skin to electrify every nerve.

You cannot help the moan that escapes, the sigh of contentment that Lucien takes for his own when he bends to kiss you, slow and unhurried this time — tongue tracing corner to corner before moving in to taste, gentle teeth sinking into the flesh of your lower lip.  The faint trace of alcohol on his breath as intoxicating as the man himself.

“Do you want to try this, butterfly?”  His deep voice, husky with lust, vibrates against the column of your neck as the hands on you continue to roam, palm sliding over wet skin just below your navel, dexterous fingertips teasing at the knots of your loosening bikini top.  “Make love inside a waterfall?”

The question might as well have been a command, the beating of your heart so fast and thunderous that for a moment, you are unsure of what is louder in your ears: the water succumbing to gravity’s sway or the blood pulsing in your veins.  Even if this were a dream, you prayed you would never wake.

So you place your hand over his, guiding the professor’s fingers beneath the band of your bikini bottom until they’re nestled against arousal-slicked folds, “I need you in me, Lucien” almost like a prayer when it leaves your lips.

Because it was nothing short of a miracle that you would come together, finally, in paradise.  That when Lucien finally touches you, the intensity of feeling far surpasses anything that delayed gratification alone would’ve accounted for.

And you are reborn in his touch: every kiss of his lips, lick of his tongue…each and every mark fingers and mouth make on flesh leaving you so wonderfully rearranged that you know in your heart of hearts you could belong to no other.

No, you were irrevocably his when you felt him aligned at your entrance, hot and hard against your wetness.  His fingers intertwine with yours, squeezing to bring you even closer when the pressure gives way at last and he is sheathed to the hilt — your breaths mingling in a mixture of moans and gasps so loud they echo every time your hips rolled against one another.

Aware of everything and nothing at once, the thoughts in your mind dissipate like mist off the waterfall, making room solely for the man bent over you, Lucien’s tongue laving wet swathes from your breasts to your neck.  His fingers caress between your legs even as he continues to thrust, thinly calloused tips enticing your clit to swell beneath its hood, your lover growing harder each time you clench around him in response.

“Don’t be shy, butterfly, let it out.  Tell me you love me…I want to hear it.”

Hoisting you into his arms, Lucien wraps your legs about his waist.  His skin is hot and flushed when you dig your nails into those broad shoulders, struggling to remain in place as ecstasy tore through your body to feel him move at an impossible pace, chasing his high as you neared yours each time he hit that spot deep within.

“I, oh god…I…love you, Luci—ah!”

Suddenly boneless as tension explodes, the shockwaves of your release move through you when your lover floods you with his warmth.  And when a soft “I love you too” is deposited upon your lips before they’re consumed once again in a kiss, a moment of greater perfection couldn’t exist.

Because there, all alone in that hidden corner of the world with Lucien, you already had everything you ever needed.

To the person who commissioned this piece:

Thank you so much for supporting our cause, and for your patience in waiting for your story!  I hope you enjoy the read 💕

[dirtydoesgood]

il bacio di klimt

Author: @maanawa​ Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Character(s): Arthur Conan Doyle/Female MC Rating: T Warnings: Slow burn, fluff with some angst, f2l, modern setting Prompt: Roommates AU Summary: Holiday romances are the second-most overrated thing, second only to the concept of romance itself. Too bad you end up experiencing a bit of both with the guy you met at your hostel.

Holiday romances were super overrated, you thought bitterly to yourself as you finished off the last of your spritz - which was, for the record, also overhyped. The last time you had made the mistake of asking for a good ol’ mojito at a dive in the lanes of Rome, you could feel everyone else judging you. Perhaps, though, that was less to do with your drink of choice and the fact that you were definitely holding up the queue.

But that’s reality, isn’t it? The way it comes crashing down on you, the way it doesn’t hold back on its punches. And sure, some were punches indeed. Like how your unofficial “boyfriend” just suddenly realised commitment was more of his thing; just not with you, but Jenny from your shared workplace. Of all the people, it was Jenny that sparked true love in his heart. Not that you had anything against cosmetic surgery and enhancements but that witch had once asked all coworkers to donate their PTO for her breast augmentation retreat in sunny Turkey. There was nothing genuine about her, physically or otherwise. 

Miffed, you decided to board the flight that you had booked for Cameron and yourself solo, without letting him know that you had planned on surprising him with tickets for a week-long trip to Rome. When Cameron and you had first met, it was a mutual love for cinema - and especially Roman Holiday - that had brought you two closer and into each others’ bedrooms. Both of you had decided early on that with your busy lives, commitment was not a priority for either of you and labels were unnecessary. Even now, there was a sense of bitterness when you had invariably referred to him as your boyfriend - he was never meant to be, after all.

So why did it hurt so much seeing other couples roaming down Trastevere, hand in hand, looking to be so in love? Eugh, that word left a worse taste in your mouth than the last dregs of the foul cocktail. The question had not left your mind, even as you checked into your hostel and made your way to the shared room, inadvertently walking in on a young man, shirtless and complaining about how even during a Roman summer he couldn’t get a tan. 

That was how your friendship with Arthur began.

There was obviously more than what meets the eye with the charming, flirtatious Scotsman, you’d come to learn - but most importantly, he was actually a fun person to hang out with! Somehow both of you had become rather friendly with each other and when he heard that you’d somehow ended up in Rome for two weeks, with no plan whatsoever, he was more than delighted to be your designated travel buddy and his #doit4thegram attitude was quite refreshing. It was funny because, for a while, it seemed like you hadn't hung out with someone fun in a long time - was it because you spent too long around Cameron? It was actually a slightly depressing thought that your non-boyfriend had distanced you from so many of your friends-

“Smile, love - how’re you gonna make that ex of yours jealous if you look miserable in the City of Love?”

“Isn’t that meant to be Paris?” you asked, fixing your hair unconsciously before posing for the camera once again.

Arthur peered up from the camera, throwing a wink towards you. “Any city can become the City of Love, if you give it a chance.”

You had to try your hardest to not roll your eyes. The picture came out nice, nonetheless, and you told Arthur just so as you peered at the screen over his back, chin resting on his shoulder. Despite being aware of how intimate this scene could look to people passing by - a young woman sitting on the steps of degenerating architecture, arms draped across the shoulders of a young man sitting on the step below - you couldn’t bring yourself to move in any way. If the rascal holding your phone asked any questions, you’d just say that this was the most comfortable way to be, on a hot summer’s afternoon. If he wanted you to move, he could always buy gelato for you. 

Perhaps you should’ve been ashamed that within the mere seconds between when you first entered the dorm and when Arthur realised there was a third person in the room, you couldn’t help but notice that despite his slender frame, his back muscles were defined and tan or not, that was still a physique you could appreciate. You had to remind yourself to get a grip, reminding yourself how you felt about holiday romances at that point - but your nagging fondness for your hostel suitemate had been creeping up on you, with every passing day. Perhaps the affections were the result of a rebound - but that would mean you would have to admit that you had gone through a breakup in the first place, right?

And just like that, your first few days in Rome was gone. Sometimes, your new friend accompanied you and at other times, you had taken to wandering to places by yourself. Initially, you did have a list in mind as you were meant to be here with Cameron but perhaps dredging up the list left a bitter taste. This particular morning, it rained heavily and out of the interest of your shoes (not waterproof), you decided to spend the day inside. Trading in glorious sights and culture for a passably comfortable sofa in front of the shared area’s television and a large bag of chips, you settle in, ready for your umpteenth rewatch of (arguably) the best move of all time, Roman Holiday.

“What’s this cheese early in the morning?” Arthur’s voice was unmistakable, you realised as he settled on your right. You winced as droplets fell off his hair, onto your shoulder and you took this opportunity to smack him with a sham of cushion that lay on your left. 

“This,” you pointed at the screen, “is a masterpiece. You better watch anything you say about it, mister.”

Arthur held up his hands defensively, doing a rather miserable job of holding back his laughter. “You’re right, I should not judge this absolute classic that has never featured on Criterion, ever.”

“God, you’re insufferably pretentious sometimes, you know that?” laughing, you gave him a playful shove, fingers coming into touch with damp material. “And you got caught in the rain, too. Did you not have an umbrella?”

“Didn’t plan on staying out till now,” Arthur shook his head with a shrug.

You paused for a moment, realising the implications of his words. “Go get changed, idiot,” you wanted to say this in a joking manner, but it came across softer than you meant it to.

Arthur looked back at you and for some reason, you felt an acute loss for words. Sapphire gaze locked onto yours and for the briefest of moments, you thought he was about to tell you something, anything to break this weird deadlock. Instead, he broke eye contact with a chuckle and a “wait for me? I do want to watch this with you”, to which you simply nodded.

By now, you knew what that rogue was all about - the scent that had taunted you when he leaned too close on the sofa wasn’t only his own and it served as a reminder of the type of activities you knew Arthur did for amusement. Yet, it hadn’t stopped the blossoming feelings in your heart one bit, instead forcing you to curl up around the cushion that you had just thrown at him. 

What was meant to be a single-party pity session at the film’s finale turned out to somehow become a double-party debate, where Arthur insisted that the movie should’ve ended differently, while you argued that the movie was perfect because of its ending. 

“But why didn’t he even try to keep in touch with her?”

You sighed, trying your best to give the man beside you the stink eye. “Some things are ephemeral, that’s what makes them beautiful.”

“All of that - and he gave her a useless tour of Rome, too.”

“Arthur!” You tried your best to not outright laugh at how this movie had made him so worked up. “They had one day!”

“One day is enough time, in my opinion.”

“What are you being so petty for?”

His sapphire gaze glanced towards you, before Arthur huffed and folded his arms. “It’s not...okay, perhaps I’m being a little petty but what does it matter? If you’re gonna base a movie in this city, you might as well utilise it a bit more!”

“Then show me around,” you leaned towards him, well aware of how close you were to playing with fire. “Give me the tour that’ll make me fall in love with this place.”

One, then two moments passed where not a single word was exchanged between the both of you but then he grinned, the action bringing attention to the beauty mark beside his lips that you always, always found yourself wishing you could kiss. “Alright, then. Tonight, 10pm. I’ll show you the best Rome you’ve ever seen in 24 hours.”

By the time the clock struck 10, darkness reigned over the city. There was a slight chill in the air but it was by no means unpleasant, you noted as you waited at the bottom of the building. Arthur joined you within minutes and you found out that your first destination was-

“This?” you pointed to the sandwich store, at the corner of the Piazza Barberini. 

“To be brutally honest with you, [Name], that came off as rather judgemental.”

“I am,” you retorted. “Late night sandwiches to start off your grand tour of Rome?” Arthur didn’t seem to find your criticism worthy of a response and - well, in all honesty, 25 minutes and one glorious combo of a panini and a cocktail later, you were wondering why you complained in the first place.

“These are so delicious? Where the hell have I been all along?” The last concern you had was talking with your mouth full. 

Arthur laughed in response, before looking out the window and pointing to a fountain in the centre of the piazza. “And see that fountain over there? That’s a Bernini creation.”

“No way, really?” You peered as hard as you could, face as close to the glass window as you possibly could, which seemed to elicit another heartfelt chuckle out of the man opposite you.

“We can go closer, if you want. No worries.”

“It’s fine,” you shook your head, still not breaking your gaze from the statue.

Despite history and architecture not being your top priorities back in your school days, you remember being entirely fascinated with Rome and those who had shaped her over the years, visually or otherwise. Bernini featured so heavily, it seemed like some type of fever dream - but in the best possible way - to just see something designed by him casually on the side of the road. 

It wasn’t until you heard a camera shutter go off that you turned towards Arthur, only to see him grinning at his phone’s screen. “You look like a child at Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory!” he was far too amused, you thought and with an exclamation, you tried to grab his phone across the table. With a speed that belied his languid pose against the chair, though, he held his own phone far away from your reach. It was so difficult to stay mad at him, though - you were having fun. Despite the bickering, the teasing and the nagging reminder at the back of your head that maybe, somewhere down the line, these memories would be just that - memories. He wasn’t meant to be a lasting presence in your life; that would ruin the magic of vacations, of course.

“I’m walking out and you’ll have to pay,” you exclaimed, pushing for one final lunge that would get the phone in your hands.

“No way,” his laugh seemed to be the only thing you focused on, completely missing how his chair tipped too far back and he almost fell over, a confident grin turned into a sheepish smile.

A shame, you seemed to like both just as much as each other. 

All these thoughts swirled around your mind as Arthur and you walked down the roads, the hour closer to midnight than not by now. It was a different Rome, you had to admit - the streets were much more deserted at night, save the occasional voice you could hear drifting down the alleys and out the windows, or of restaurant patrons, making another toast to good health and good memories.

It seemed magical, like the town belonged to you and the man whose hand you were holding (when did this happen? You did not care to think back). Arthur and you seemed to talk about anything and nothing at once - you learnt that he had a Cocker Spaniel back home, named Vic, that his friend was looking after and his dream profession was ‘author’ and, in fact, he would soon be ready to submit his first manuscript to various publishers soon.

You may have managed to ask him more questions, if realisation of the scenery before your eyes had not dawned upon you. With a veritable squeal you ran ahead, practically dragging Arthur behind you. Standing against the railing, you could see a stretch of Rome before your very eyes, with its distinct architecture and twinkling lights. 

“No way,” with a whisper, you looked towards Arthur and utterly failed in suppressing your grin, seeing the famed Spanish Steps right before your eyes, with the iconic fountain at its foot. “It’s lovely.”

“Yeah...sure is,” came the response from beside you and had you been paying attention, you may have noticed the fact that those words were spoken towards you, rather than the view ahead of both of you. Moments, perhaps minutes, passed as you gazed at the sight before your eyes, but then Arthur pointed out that it looked like the only open store in the vicinity (and luckily enough, selling gelato) was about to close. The same hand that you had yanked to the plaza moments, perhaps minutes, earlier was now dragging you down the Spanish steps.

Holding probably the most overpriced gelato in the entire town (“to be fair,” Arthur quipped, as both of you stepped outside, “one of us should’ve asked how much these were before ordering” to your comment of the true scam being not having the prices listed on the menu board) you and Arthur decided to finish the (begrudgingly, you had to admit) delicious gelato at the Steps itself. Even the slight hole burning in your pockets wasn’t enough to dampen your spirits, as you gazed at the Steps in front of you, empty save for a couple leaving. You had the entire area to yourself, an unimaginable dream, the countless times you recalled the scene of Princess Anne sitting at the steps, enjoying her gelato when Joe “simply happens” upon her. Maybe the past you would’ve wished for a romantic encounter like that, but now you-

“Hey,” Arthur’s voice broke you out of your slow-spiralling descent into self-depreciation. “Take a seat, let me take a picture of you.”

“What - no way!” your exclamation was followed by a shy, embarrassed laugh.“You got me running halfway around town, I probably look like a hot mess.”

Instead of answering you, the young man decided to step in front of you and with a flourish, gestured towards one of the ledges running down the stairs. The feigned air of haughtiness in his voice as he said “your throne awaits, m’lady” got an involuntary laugh out of you. The stone wasn’t cold, like you expected, and Arthur settled in beside you. You tried to make nothing of the proximity between the both of you - it’s no big deal, right? Two mates, sharing the moonlight on a cloudless night, gelato in hand. That’s...definitely platonic, you nodded to yourself.

“So...” pausing, Arthur turned towards you, a smile playing on his lips. “Mid-tour reviews? Am I doing better than the guy from your movie?”

You grinned back at him. “Not bad, so far but it’s probably for the best that you don’t do too well. We don’t want to be dealing with the sordid affair of falling in love, do we?”

“Of course not, love is a wretched affair altogether,” his laugh sounded more sardonic than humoured to your ears, but you couldn’t see his expression too clearly, as he looked down instead of towards you. 

When he looked back up at you, though, it was with the roguish grin that made your heart skip a beat without fail. “Anyway, let me take your picture. We do have an ex to make jealous, in case you’ve forgotten?” 

Of course you’d forgotten, perhaps you’d forgotten about Cameron almost entirely. He didn’t matter to you one bit - but there was no way you could let Arthur know that. Not when the friendship he and you had built up was based on this meagre fact; not when he looked at you like you meant something to him.

Because for what it was worth, maybe all you meant to him was a restoration project, like the countless ones you’d seen around Rome while wandering around. Maybe he’d have no reason to do anything with you after that, and for some reason that silly little notion gripped your heart with fear. And so, you agreed.

It was hard to keep that thought out of your mind, even as you and him made it to your next destination, strolling along amiably and resuming talking about nothing and everything at once. At one point though, Arthur took a step forward and turned towards you, holding out his hands. Without hesitation, you placed your hands in his and looked towards him, questions evident on your face. This somehow made him smile even more broadly (a look you were far too fond of, unfortunately) and he asked you to close your eyes.

“Last surprise, love,” his eyes shone like the skies above, full of wonder and amazement. You acquiesced, and he told you that peeking would only ruin things for you, so you let him lead you, taking careful steps forward and feeling yourself turn towards the left. When you came to a stop, he let go of your hands. “We’re here, [Name].”

Nothing - absolutely nothing - could prepare you for the sight before your eyes. You had seen the Trevi Fountain countless times in print and video, but having it before your very eyes and all to yourself left you awestruck. In the night, illuminated by all the lights around, it looked more beautiful than ever.

“I...oh my God...I-I don’t know what to say!” Words completely escaped you, as you found yourself so captivated by the sight in front of you that you didn’t even notice when Arthur had wrapped an arm around you.

“The reaction’s well worth it, [Name],” his words were softly murmured and affectionate, you didn’t know how to react as you turned towards him. The only thoughts buzzing through your mind involved how close he was, how it would be so easy to kiss him, how you wished dearly to do so-- 

One raindrop hit your cheek, followed by another one and soon, the relentless downpour left both of you with no option apart from wanting to find shelter. Arthur took your hand and dashed for the nearest store with an awning, despite how narrow it was, and both of you huddled against each other. The accompanying winds chilled you to the bone and you scrambled for any warmth you could get your hands on. Gentle fingers skirted along your cheek and you turned to find Arthur frozen in the midst of tucking a strand of your hair stuck to your cheek.

“I...er, well…” It was odd, finding the silver-tongued man lost for words. “It just looked a tad uncomfortable, so…” Perhaps, if the lighting was better, you would’ve noticed the blush dusting his cheeks but you neither wanted nor cared to know, as you leaned up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips.

When he didn’t respond, at first, you were convinced it was a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake so you pulled back but his lips chased yours, his kiss so fierce that it stole away your breath. At that moment, nothing had felt more right, nothing mattered more than the way you found yourself pressing up against him, his hand rising to grip your waist and your tongue slipping past his lips. 

But he pulled back, a smile on his lips that didn’t match the pain you saw in his gaze. “We should...probably stop here.”

Because that’s when you found out about Ruby, the university friend turned girlfriend. Ruby, who was once his fiancee and then left him hanging at the altar because she thought he was moving too fast. The person whom he was meant to spend this vacation with, an intended honeymoon. A part of you felt wretched - how could you have complained and cribbed so much to him, not realising that he was carrying enough baggage of his own? How horribly selfish was it of you, not to give him a chance to tell his own story.

“Don’t feel bad that you didn’t know, love.” It was as if he read your thoughts, though, as both of you walked back side-by-side. The rain had subsided to a bothersome drizzle. “I like to make it my business for others to not know mine.”

As you glanced towards him, it was painfully obvious to you that beneath his feeble smile laid uncertainty, apprehension - he was the one taking the blame for your misplaced feelings. 

“Would it…” your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat before continuing. “Do you want us to stay apart?”

“Lord, no,” his response was almost instant. “No, I’ve had the most amazing time with you, but if it made you-”

“This isn’t just about me,” you retorted, stopping in the middle of the road that you two had been crossing. “You - I need you to tell me what you want!” Your voice raising at the end was unintentional, even Arthur seemed to be taken aback.

Moments, which seemed like millennia, passed between the both of you as you stood there, gauging the other’s expression. “I...what I want is to talk to you again tomorrow,” it was Arthur who cracked first. “Tomorrow, the day after...I want to laugh with you, have you in my life. It’s an awfully selfish request, isn’t it?

“Not at all,” you found yourself shaking your head. You wanted all of that from him, too. “It’s not selfish at all.”

“Are you sure-”

You turned towards him with the brightest smile you could muster, even if the words tasted no different to sawdust on your lips. “I want to be your friend, Arthur.” The relief you saw in his expression and demeanour though, was worth it all.

Friends you and him continued to be, even after both of you had returned home. Long-distance communication had never been your strong suit but finding the time to communicate with Arthur was the easiest thing on this planet. Whether they were late night conversations that one of you fell asleep on first, soon followed by the other one (and prompting the awful joke of ‘guess we slept together again’ from Arthur, the one that made you eye-roll too hard) or midday lunchtime video chats, where you each got to vent about your day jobs, Arthur had become an irreplaceable part of your life - and you wouldn’t have it any other way. The crush you had been nursing on him was less like the blooming flower you expected it to be and more like a resilient weed: growing despite your best efforts to neglect or kill it. All your friends had encouraged you to make a move already, but you couldn’t risk what you had for the world. No, some things were easier left unsaid.

...despite thinking you were the bigger person in every relationship, ever, you still found yourself drunk on a whole bottle of vinho verde and a lot of pent-up anger you didn’t know you still had towards Cameron, when he handed you an invite to his and Jenny’s wedding.

“I should, should just…” trailing off, you rubbed your eyes violently, ignoring the gentle chiding from Arthur on the other end of the video call. “I should just go and drink all their wines.”

“While I don’t doubt your ability to do so, I don’t think-”

“And then sit on the cake.”

“Well, no- wait, no.” Had you been less sober, you might’ve noticed that Arthur was trying his best to hold back a laugh, or the look of pure adoration in his eyes. “Why sit on the cake, it’ll just ruin your dress.”

You huffed and went back for the bottle, realising that it was well and truly empty. The look of pure dejection on your face brought forth a chuckle from Arthur.

“[Name], hear me out. You should go, you should definitely go. You said it’s a month from now, correct?” Seemingly amused by your response of a grunt, he continued on. “And, just for clarification, your address is the same one as what I have, right?”

You squinted at him - or, well, more correctly: the camera. “Why do you want my address again?”

“I know you’ll love me for the hangover pizza tomorrow morning.”

The hangover pizza came the next morning and was duly appreciated. What you weren’t expecting, however, was for Arthur himself to show up at your doorstep three and a half weeks later, holding on a garment bag slung over his shoulder and leaning on the extended handle of his suitcase, as he scrolled on his phone.

He greeted you with a dazzling smile, looking up and tilting his head ever so slightly as you stood there and stared at him, dumbfounded. “Hey, love. Hope it’s not too late to change the RSVP on that wedding invite.”

When you continued to (frankly) just stare at him, you noticed the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his stance changed - reminiscent of that one fateful evening in Rome. “...was this a bad idea, coming here? Or is this a bad time? I can leave, that’s not the problem, I mean I don’t think this is a bad place to get an Ub-urk.” The rest of the words cut off, as you threw your arms around him. 

“Thank you,” it was really difficult to not smile, as you pulled back and smiled towards him. “Best surprise of yours, ever.”

He looked back at you wordlessly, but - the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, when he smiled back at you, the way his arms wound their way around your back, as if you were the most precious thing he had held - those were much louder than any words could’ve been.

Thank you for supporting our little charity drive! A lot of these places and experiences were based upon my own (for the record - yes, touristy spots are much more empty at night. Including the Trevi Fountain) and I listened to Il bacio di Klimt by Emanuele Aloia while writing this, hence the title! And a final shoutout to @rokutouxei​ for being the best beta reader I could ever want!

[dirtydoesgood]

Hello there! First and foremost I wanted to congratulate everyone in the team for your wonderful work and good cause. You are truly amazing! I wanted to ask, are you still taking commissions? And if you do is it possible to request the MC of the chosen fandom to be an OC? Thank you very much and congratulations once more for your hard work! ❤️

Hello! Thank you so much for your kind words. 💕

Unfortunately, we closed commissions quite a while back and are now in the process of working through the ones we received and putting them out.

[dirtydoesgood]

homecoming

Author: @rokutouxei​​​ Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Character(s): Ray Blackwell / Female MC Rating: E

Warnings: aphrodisiacs, cockwarming, implied oral sex, implied fingering, vaginal sex, dirty talk, begging, creampie, Black Army Officers Being Idiots And Messing With Each Other In Harmless But Horny Fun, sirius & mc being good friends

Prompt: “You enjoy what I do to you.” Summary: Sometimes, you decide to take a little vacation back to the Land of Reason. It’s not much, and you never really spend more than a month there, just enough to come in and out, but even a month sometimes is too much for Ray...

“Alice? Sweetie, are you alright?”

You jolt from where you’ve just been intently staring at the pea on your plate to turn slowly to Seth across the table. For a moment, you’d completely forgotten you were still at the dining table with the rest of the Black Army leaders. You grin, a little half-heartedly, but it’s all acting on your part.

“Yeah. Just a little tired, sorry.”

Sirius doesn’t seem to buy it. “You’re not usually this tired when you cross.”

Ah, why must Sirius be so observant? You’ve been in Cradle for years but you’ve only crossed a total of four times for this reason or that, so you’d think he wouldn’t notice, but… “I was running around all day before I got back, I severely underestimated the sheer amount of things I’d have to do.” You bring a spoonful of food up to your mouth. Details? Lying was in the details, right?

Except Ray’s hand is going up your thigh again and your brain goes blank.

Seth sighs. “Oh, Ray, really, you should go with Alice sometimes, if she’s running errands. We’ll live without you for a month. Right, Fenrir?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” You mentally slap your forehead. Ah, great, no one’s a good actor here, huh? Fenrir’s sitting on your other side, fully aware of what’s going on. He’s usually better than that, but Ray’s being really handsy tonight, and you can only imagine how distracting it is for him.

Not that you’re any better.

Sirius’ eye twitches and you freeze as you put your utensils together in the middle of your plate. Luka, ever the angel, ever the lifesaver, stands up. “Sirius. Help me wash up in the kitchen.”

The Queen of Spades takes a full moment to stare at you and your lover from across the table. Ray is just casually finishing up the juice in his glass. Sirius sighs. “Sure.”

You’re sure Sirius knows already, he’s just letting it slide. Ah, sometimes Sirius really is the best.

Seth stands up from his seat as well, humming as he’s clearing out the plates, and Fenrir takes it as a cue for him to get up too. When he turns to you he shoots you a small, comforting smile. He’ll be the one to bring you something to soothe your aching muscles tomorrow.

“Thank you for dinner, Luka!” You manage to call out, thankful your voice is steady despite Ray having had already pulled your skirt’s hem up to your mid-thigh. He squeezes the soft flesh.

Luka shoots a smile at you from the door, and seeing that innocent look on his face makes you ever so thankful he didn’t have an inkling of what was going on just two feet from him earlier. “Go get to bed, I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yes,” Ray answers for you, his voice nearly two octaves deeper. He’s helping you up from your seat, and you’re thankful, because your legs are already wobbling. The other officers, still in the room, turn back to the both of you curiously. Your face feels like it’s burning. “I’ll make sure she rests well.”

-

Fuck, you weren’t even going to make it to the room. Ray has his mouth pressing wet kisses on your neck and his door is still three meters away. You groan, half for the touch, and half because if you don’t push him away right now (and you don’t want to) you’re going to get caught!

Ray is stronger than you are but when he’s desperate like this you can get him to do whatever you want, so when you push him back he doesn’t resist, just huffs a little in disappointment. Why is he so adorable? You pull him by the collar to press a kiss square on his mouth just enough to take his breath away before squeezing his hand in yours, marching right up to his door.

You pull him in and turn just long enough to lock the door. “I swear to god, Ray, if we were caught right there—”

Your legs are pulled out from under you. Ray has you pressed against his chest, carrying you princess-style to the bed. Breathless, you laugh, hitting his shoulder without much power.

“Warn me next time,” you say.

“You didn’t warn me that you were going to do that,” Ray chides, and you don’t hold back the smirk that graces your face.

You preen the moment he puts you down on the center of the bed, raising one leg up so your skirt slides down your thigh, one hand tracing the bare skin revealed by your little off-shoulder number, then, like a killer blow, tracing the leather of your new choker, dark black against your neck.

You ring the little bell on it like beckoning Ray to pounce on you.

Ray chucks his shirt off his frame, and you welcome him with open arms when he crawls over you. What previously was desperation when he was clamoring for your touch in the hallway is now just adoration, the worship of a devotee whose god has left them alone during a time of hunger. He smiles in that way that sends your heart fluttering before taking your lips into his.

Slowly, like he’s aware he has all night to shower you with his love, that you have much to catch up on.

He slides his tongue in your mouth the same time he brings his knee up between your legs. Just enough to keep them open, but not high enough for you to grind against. You whine and push yourself down with all the force you can muster, sighing when you feel him against you. You feel Ray smile against your mouth. You want to kick him.

This is how you make love every time you return to Cradle. Ray, hiding a month’s worth of longing with teasing, and you, taking all that you can.

Some days you kiss like you’re fighting, all teeth and tongues craving the heat of the other’s mouth, and some days you kiss like there’s no end in sight, just you, and him, and exchanging breaths. Tonight, you kiss like he’s given you the universe all over again, like he’s all you’ve really ever held in your hands. You feel your heart climbing up your throat.

You’re gasping for air when Ray finally breaks away. He only looks a little bit winded, but his face is flushed red, his pupils blown wide. This a look of hunger that’s only for your eyes. You tangle a hand in his hair to pull him close and he begins the slow, torturous journey down your body he’s missed so much.

He doesn’t mark you yet. The night is way too early for that. Instead, he presses kisses filled with reverence, tracing your curves he’s long memorized. Down your jaw; the line of your neck; the expanse of your shoulders. He strips you of your clothes without losing rhythm—opens the buttons of your blouse nimbly without even looking, pulls it off of you without a word. One hand cups the weight of a breast while his tongue traces the other. The taste of your sweat mingled with your distinct scent only amplifies his need to get his hands all over you after a month of being on his own.

You sigh as he makes his way down your torso, his hands careful on your sides—just enough to make you shiver, not really to tickle. He looks up at you as he’s undoing the ribbons on your skirt, and when your eyes make contact as it falls with a thump on the ground, the way you smile at him makes his hands tighten where he holds your hips.

“I missed you too, Ray.”

He looks at you like he knows you know what you’re doing. Oh, whatever he does after this is definitely on you—

-

Tears are pooling on the corner of your eyes, and Ray is all blurry. But you know its him, from the wild black shuffle of his hair, his deep emerald eyes, and the way his hands are pressing your hips down against him mercilessly.

He hasn’t let go for minutes. Or hours. At this point, you’re not sure anymore.

You grind your hips weakly to get a semblance of friction, the bell on your choker ringing with your movement, and Ray lets you, but only because you both know it will never be enough. You whimper weakly and meet his eyes again, just as he had asked you to.

“There you are, kitten,” he says, his voice that same timbre from at the dining table, and it sends a shudder down your spine. You know he feels it too. “Where were we?”

Where were you? More like where the hell did he learn this! You think to yourself. Exploring kinks with Ray wasn’t a new thing, but he hadn’t brought this up at all in the past, so you weren’t expecting to get home, lock yourself up in his room, and just stay here warming his cock, sitting pretty.

You drag your voice out from somewhere. It takes all your strength to. “You were asking… what I was doing when I missed you.”

“Yes, I was,” Ray says. Slowly. Like he was letting every syllable seep through your skin. “You were all I could think about. The bed was so cold. And I… I missed your heat.”

“Me too,” you say, your voice trembling. You sob when you feel Ray thrust just enough for you to feel it, but not to sate anything. “I missed you too, Ray.”

“What did you do?” Ray asks, leaning forward to press a kiss on your shoulder. The night breeze was cold everywhere he didn’t touch you. You’re fully naked save for the little choker Ray seems to fancy. “Did you think of me?”

You’d tried begging, you’d tried bargaining, you’d tried just wrestling him out of this, and none of them worked. You have one last card up your sleeve.

That card was honesty.

Grinding against him hoping it’ll make your strategy a little more effective, you wind your fingers in his hair and stare at him straight into his eyes. Well, as much as your teary-eyed ones can. “I did,” you say, nearly out of breath. “I did think of you. I thought of you every night. My bed was cold too. I know that’s the world I’m from, but everything felt so unfamiliar.” You lick your lips. “I wanted to go home. Here. With you. On our bed. Where everything smells like you.” You buck against him particularly hard, and Ray holds back a groan. “I touched myself. I pretended it was you, Ray. All the time. I was never as good as you. But I missed you so much… everything you did to me, I wanted it.” You grin. “Even when you tease me like this, until I’m crying.”

Ray grins. “You enjoy what I do to you.”

And, well, there’s no denying that. “I do. I do, everything you do.”

That seems enough to break him.

Ray pulls you off of him in a move that makes you cry out with the sudden loss of his comforting weight inside of you. Just enough to get you on all fours, and then to bury himself back into your welcoming heat.

“Ray!” You call out, as he begins to thrust, slow, and then faster, because you’re ready for him and you’ve been ready for him from the moment your feet touched Cradle again. His hands’ hold on your hips is bruising but it’s a sting you’re thankful for feeling.

The bell on your neck keeps ringing. It sounds like it’s counting down to you finally breaking, right into a puddle of love and limbs for your beloved. 

When he finds his groove, Ray usually is pretty quiet, but tonight he’s different. When he groans out your name, it’s followed by a hoarse “I love you,” and that’s when it finally feels like you’re home again.

Ray is home.

He hovers over you, pressing kisses down the nape of your neck after he’s brushed your hair aside, and then sucking bruises onto your shoulder until they’re a multicolored mess. You belatedly realize it’s a reprimand, for that off-shoulder blouse you’d chosen solely to mess with him. You laugh when it dawns on you, and Ray pulls your hair back in response.

“What’s funny?” he growls in between thrusts, and it only makes you laugh even more.

“Didn’t think you’d be jealous, baby,” you say. “They weren’t even staring.”

Ray huffs. “Only because I wasn’t letting them.”

As if to drive that home, he changes his pace and angle so that he can thrust into you even faster, one hand straying from your hips to mess with your clit that exact way you like it. You feel him everywhere.

“Fuck,” you drawl out, “Ray, Ray, Ray, I’m cumming—"

“Do it,” he says, orders, as if your thighs weren’t shaking, hadn’t stopped shaking, because you’ve already cum twice just before, with his mouth and his fingers. As if you weren’t collapsing into the black hole of pleasure all because of his doing. “Do it, baby.”

“You’re so good to me,” you gasp out, teetering, so close—“You’re so good to me, always, I love you, I love you, Ray, my King—”

You lose yourself into the white-hot searing flames of your orgasm, walls clenching around Ray, at the very same moment Ray’s entire world shrinks into your small, shaking voice, calling him your king.

That’s all he needs to finally surrender as well.

When consciousness finally returns to you, you’ve settled on the bed as Ray’s little spoon, the both of you still catching your breaths.

You feel the drip of his cum coming out of you. You have half a heart to reprimand him. Instead, you snort. “Really?”

Ray nuzzles your neck guiltlessly, the movement causing your little bell to ring. “Couldn’t help it.”

And as comfortable as the cuddle is right now, you want to see him, so ignoring the ache of your straining muscles, you turn to face him, your noses nearly touching.

“I really missed you, you know,” you say softly.

He grins, that boyish grin that made you fall in love with him in the first place. “I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, like willing you to sleep. “Welcome home, my Alice.”

-

Ray spots the empty bottle of aphrodisiac in the kitchen late the next morning, when he’s gone to get coffee for the both of you. Fenrir bought it for him as a gag while he was lonely waiting for you, and he’s sure he’d joked about taking it when you came back, but he didn’t drink it last night.

And he didn’t really mind, if someone had messed with him, he’d openly said he’d be up for it, it’s just that he just wanted to know who did it...

Sirius, who was in the kitchen with him, frowns in disappointment when Ray glances at him suspiciously. “Really, Ray?”

“Okay, fine, sorry,” Ray concedes. “I didn’t really think it was you, I just thought you’d know something.”

No one takes Ray seriously over lunch when he uses his “I am the King of the Black Army” voice to ask who put an aphrodisiac in his drink the night before.

“Fenrir,” Sirius pointedly calls out with no hesitation.

“HAH?!” Fenrir is mid-chew, and food nearly falls out of his mouth. “No way that was me. Ray’s been waitin’ for little Alice to come home for weeks, I ain’t gonna ruin it for ‘em like that.”

Sure, you think to yourself, ‘ruin’. Quietly taking a sip of your drink, you wonder if someone’s spiked this one with aphrodisiac too. .

“I betcha it was Luka,” Fenrir finishes.

Everyone turns to Luka, who is quiet, a solemn expression on his face. There’s a pause before he finally speaks up. “Why me?”

The others are silent for a moment, considering, and then they nod in agreement.

Luka seems to hesitate, but he offers, “Maybe it was Seth.”

“Luka! Is this what you think of me?” Seth has an expression that’s a cross of shock and offense. “Did you think I’d resort to low-level crime like Fenrir would?”

“Hey, whaddya mean low-level—”

“Besides, it was probably Ray from the beginning! Setting us up to take the fall,” Seth sighs. “Ray, you just have to be honest about your feelings, okay?”

“I don’t need an aphrodisiac to improve my performance—“

“We’re not talking about your performance!”

The Black Army officers bicker like children until lunch is over.

-

You hear a knock on your door later that day, and in comes Sirius, with a glass of water… and the empty bottle of the aphrodisiac.

You already look pretty silly enough in the turtleneck Ray made you wear under your usual clothes, but you look doubly silly now, sitting on your bedside with a look of bewilderment.

And also mild amusement.

Sirius sighs. “Look, he missed you so much, I had to make sure he could get it all out of his system as quickly as possible. I needed him back on his work. I’m sorry if he went too hard on you, little miss.” Sirius hands you the glass of water and a small white pill. “Here’s a painkiller.”

Ah, you think to yourself. Sirius really is the best.

Thank you for supporting our little charity drive! I have no excuse for this being so late, but I hope you enjoyed it!

[dirtydoesgood]

Possession

Author: @janumun​​​ Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku Character(s): Kenshin/Reader (Female MC) Rating: E – Explicit

Warnings: NSFW content, jealousy, re-telling of canon events, denial of romantic feelings/conflicted emotions, oral and vaginal sex, spoilers for Kenshin’s main story (up till Chapter 10)

Prompt: “Mine” Summary: A council is called, with the attendance of the Oda envoys, Mitsunari and Mitsuhide, to revise and recapitulate the terms of the Uesugi–Oda alliance. Kenshin soon discovers the relationship between the two men and their former ‘Chatelaine’ runs far deeper than one in between mere acquaintances. Glaring truths are about to be spoken and Kenshin learns once more: envy has always stood as his greatest weakness when it comes to her. 

The Main Hall of Kasugayama is alive once more— rowdier even, with the sounds of inebriated merry-making in the wake of a fairly tense Council earlier in the day. One with the attendance of the Oda entourage; a few among them friends she hadn’t seen in a long while. An opportunity for peaceful negotiations, one she had been happy to take advantage of.

She fidgets about in place, restless hands curled around her cup of liquor. Eyes alert and wandering, even as her mouth grazes the cusp of her drink in a show of sipping at the contents.

Kenshin’s eyes stray once more, surely by force of habit, to catch her impatience— odd eyes following her eager gaze as she sits by his side: a pretty ornament, formerly of the Oda, one he seized for himself in a battle not long ago. 

Kenshin frowns. That’s just what she was. A decorative commodity, a Princess of the Oda, Kenshin repeats the words over and over in his head, tossing and turning them about until they refuse to make sense. Unsuccessful efforts in deluding his own heart, a traitorous part of him whispers. He smothers it mercilessly.

She inclines her face towards him then, inquisitive eyes catching his gaze – the mild concern he captures in hers leaving him desiring. Her lips part on the sound of his name, surely in question before the Oda envoy named Ishida impertinently cuts into their space. Nodding amicably to Kenshin once, he turns to address her, “Here you are, princess. It is a relief to see you well.”

Unsavory. Poisonous. The sake burns tasteless down Kenshin’s throat to catch sight of the joy brimming within her gaze at the appearance of the other man who dares his hands forward to grasp hers within, smiling at her with no less amount of care and affection.

“You were just the person I was looking for, Mitsunari. Well, Mitsuhide too. But I must give you these before you depart tomorrow morning.” She hands him one of the furoshiki bundles she’d kept close by her side for the entirety of the evening.

“A gift for you.” Her smile widens at the pleased look that takes Ishida’s face when he unveils his present. “Writing implements! Thank you so very much. I can only hope the fabric we brought you earlier can offer you even a modicum of the joy I feel at your thoughtful gift.”

They speak of the affairs of Azuchi Castle and its town— two people close enough to share a laugh over a drink or two. The stark awareness of her comfort in Mitsunari’s presence scorches bitter ash across his tongue—a feeling he tries and throttles into submission. Failing efforts; until he feels the warmth of her hand across his where it rests clenched – he notices belatedly – on his knee. “Kenshin.”

Nothing sounds better than the syllables of his name on her tongue and he relishes the sound of it. “What is it?”

“I’d like to excuse myself for a while. Mitsunari tells me he hasn’t seen Mitsuhide in a while. I’d like to go search for him, give him his gift before he returns.” The effort it takes to slip his hand away from hers, to not hold on and tell her to stay, right by his side. The last of his iron-clad will hardening, crushing back base impulses before he does something he shall regret. Kenshin watches her leave in silence, the ice in his chest surfacing within odd eyes to leave them devoid of warmth as he swipes the last of his drink. Bidding Mitsunari a swift, curt farewell, Kenshin excuses himself for the night.

The air outside washes pleasant over her cheeks, flushed from sake and happiness as she finally spies the back of familiar robes; silver strands almost luminous under the moon. The man facing away from her as he speaks to one of the Oda retainers; low, indecipherable words exchanged in between the two— ones she fails to hear from where she stands. Hesitance and caution in her steps, she shuffles forward, silent so as not to disturb the men. However— 

Mitsuhide tips his head in her direction. “And what is our dear chatelaine doing out here all by herself? Tired of entertaining the Dragon, I presume?” Dismissing the man she believes is his subordinate, he turns to face her.

She shakes her head, venturing closer. “I was looking for you, Mitsuhide. Why’d you leave the feast midway?”

His gaze – just as discerning as she remembers it – sweeps across her and holds. “And what of you?”

“Irritatingly evasive as always, I see.” Her smiles; of amusement, she lifts the object she carries, up for inspection. “I wanted to hand over your gift.”

“A gift? For me?” Something akin to surprise flickers its way into his voice and she continues, pleased to have caught the man off-guard.

“Yes. I had gifts prepared for everyone at Azuchi once I learned you’d be visiting. I’ve left the rest in Mitsunari’s care and brought yours.”

Slender fingers reach for the offered box, a soft question spilling, as if an afterthought.  “I gather these gifts are your way of announcing your decision? You’ve decided to stick by the God of War.” A lull follows her nod, Mitsuhide choosing to work through the binds of his gift before he abruptly pauses, a smile stretching slow across his face at the revelation. “A salve for cuts,” he muses.

“I wasn’t in Azuchi for long but I did gather you dealt with… questioning our prisoners. I often noticed the nicks on your hands.” Mitsuhide continues to watch her, levity dancing across his features but she continues, unperturbed by that look. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands and give you something for their well-being since it’s clear you care as much about your body as you do about taking proper meals.”

A soft, sudden sound slices through the quiet of the night; low and sonorous and she recognizes the quality of Mitsuhide’s laughter, broad shoulders shaking with mirth. “Seems as if a certain silly bird is far more aware of her surroundings than initially given credit for.”

She angles a critical glare at the offending man, half of a mind to smack the smile right off that irritating face of his before he stops, his ridiculing fit supposedly having subsided for the time being.

That penetrative gaze finds her once more and stays. Mitsuhide’s voice drops several octaves, softening in a manner she’s never heard from the man, as if in preparation of revealing a heavy secret. “I assume Azuchi will grieve the loss of its Chatelaine for a long time to come.”

She catches those barely tangible threads of mischief in his gaze… but his words, she accepts them for the sincerity she hears in them and smiles. “Thank you, Mitsuhide. For everything. Try not to make things hard on Hideyoshi, alright?”

“Why, you almost sound like the Mother himself, little one.” Tapered digits reach for her face then, as if he means to trace her features. She thinks she catches the streak of something within gold eyes, almost… almost— 

“Continue as you are and I shall cut you down where you stand, Kitsune.”

Concentration shattered, the scent of  cherry blossoms and sake assails her senses before she feels the drape of a familiar arm around her, possessive in its hold as Kenshin catches her back against his chest.

Angling an inquisitive glance his way, she’s rendered speechless at the barely trapped frost that seeks to skewer as if by sheer will, within eyes— sapphire and emerald, edged to a dagger’s point.

The two men continue to stare at each other and she almost holds her breath at the unusual tension that pulls taut within the air. Opening her mouth to intervene in whatever it is she finds herself caught in, before Mitsuhide’s silken tones slice through the tightening pressure. “Ah. I see how it is. How utterly lucky for you, little mouse. It seems as if your favor is returned.”

“And plenty.” He adds, a corner of his mouth pulling into an enigmatic smile to catch the crush of Kenshin’s jaw, the hand he spots trembling to pull his sword free at his hip. Mitsuhide retreats a few stops before inclining his head at Kenshin in farewell. “The hour grows late. We must depart for Azuchi at dawn’s first light, so if you shall excuse me now.”

Affording one last glance her way, Mitsuhide melds one with the shadows; footsteps fading fast into the distance before all that drapes them is heavy silence, settling pregnant with questions unspoken deep within her heart. The steady movements of his firm chest with each breath, deep and reassuring against her back, the rhythm of his heart – she notices belatedly – setting back into rest. And yet, he does not release his hold on her.

A sigh rasps past his lips, scorching hot against her ear lobe, from where his mouth rests close. Always. Close yet not quite touching.

Before she hears the low, sonorous echo of his voice forming words her befuddled mind struggles to string into coherency until it does— “What must I do to make you mine?”

—and blanks.

The tip of her tongue traces the edge of her lips, once, twice in an effort to return much needed moisture. This careful game they’d been playing for the entirety of her stay here, his eyes speaking clear and yet, his feelings still so obscure. His heart hidden from sight, tucked away close where she couldn’t reach, it hurt her every time to have the man she loved pull away from her as if her touch itself were poison or perhaps his.

Kenshin moves away, the warmth of him leaving her back to engulf her hand, far smaller in his grasp as he urges her to her feet. “Come. I shall walk you back to your chambers.”

The warmth of her touch slips away from his grasp; Kenshin turning back to return to his own quarters, far colder for her loss— before those delicate fingers find their way onto his haori. Frail. Breakable. Just as the rest of her. “Kenshin. Won’t you come inside? I have… gifts for you too.”

A foolish decision, his mind derides as he finds himself seated in the comfort of her chambers. A place he too, finds relief in, despite never having stepped through her doors before.

The colorful varied fall of fabric designated to a corner of her room. Books she’d borrowed, perhaps off Sasuke, shelved neatly in place. One of such tomes placed upon her writing desk alongside her sewing implements. Threaded needles spilling from an overturned canister as if their owner had only just left and meant to return soon.

The scent of her as she bustles about the room: the cherries she so loves, and crisp fabric— commingles with an essence that’s just her.

Kenshin finds himself inhaling, slow and deep, as if to savor the scent of her within his lungs— just as she seats herself in front of him. The objects of her quest in hand, she places in between them.

Lifting each curious gift in turn, she begins to speak. “A polish for your blades. I asked Shingen for advice and purchased the most appropriate amalgam for swords in town.”

Her hands flit towards the second canister. “This one’s tea. A herbal concoction to be exact. I’m almost certain I got the proportions right. This should help you sleep easier at night.” She speaks as if she knows of the demons that plague the object of his nightmares. Except that now… instead of a young princess he’d failed to save from the dark gallows once upon a time, the burbling ghosts of his mind reach to tear into her now.

She trails off, even as her fingers reach for the last offering. “And this is—”

“Pickled plums.” Kenshin finishes. A feeling, so intense it almost knocks the breath from his lungs, takes over and sinks as he takes silent stock of her ‘gifts’. Each crafted and procured with careful thought, her desires in doing so almost impossible to ignore.

“Yes,” she nods, face blooming into a smile. “I know you don’t fancy tea much so I’d hoped to balance that bitter gift out by this one. You’ll be able to enjoy your sake with your favorite snack for the next, good while.”

She lifts her face, hope seeping into wide eyes until all Kenshin sees is how it takes her features in entirety. A wish, surely, he is the wrong person to ask for its fulfillment.

“I know these aren’t much but…”

“No.” An obscure emotion had begun to gain meaning once more, ever since her arrival. His heart a thing she seemed to hack the vines off of. A cage that had held it protected for so long. Numbed.

Yet, slow but sure, the chaffs shedding off of the past… useless to leave him unrestrained, it terrifies Kenshin to feel the burgeoning of this nameless bloom he cannot control. Almost as frenzied as the desire to spill blood in battle.

Ire and darkness manifesting in the possession he desires to have of her: mind, body and soul— the Kitsune’s face flashes through his mind then. Deliberate words, his eyes as they had settled upon her and appraised, almost fond. Hands that had reached for her. Hands he’d wanted to slice through for daring to.

A lump makes itself known heavy within his throat. “You are…” Sapphire and emerald; glittering edges as he ventures closer, as if a beast prowling toward the prey. But she does not cower, fragile digits reaching to snag against his clothes just as his catch against her cheeks, palms cupping around to feel their warmth. A deliberate, careful sweep of his thumb across her cheekbone sends the dark fan of her lashes trembling before they fall to shroud her gaze from sight.

Uncertainty knocking distant within his ears, he coaxes her eyes back to his, the frown he feels budding in between his brows, settling chaotic and needy to have her answers. “Why? What is the reason for your kindness? Why do you… ” unsettle my heart as you do?

A hand comes up to splay across his own, emotions he dare not decipher in that gaze, spilling forth on a murmured sound. “You know why… don’t you?”

Consternation deepens its hold across his features before Kenshin rasps out what he knows. What he has known for so long. His surrender leaving him on a wretched breath before he tightens his hold on her. “Push me away, struggle and run away if you must… if you do not want me, tell me now. Or else…”

I would not be able to contain myself once I have you.

I would not be able to let you turn back into the arms of a man you truly desire.

I would ruin us both before I’d ever let go.

Stop me. Despise me.

Her breaths tremble against his lips, the heat of a fire he’s ventured too close to. The slightest of brushes against his mouth as she leans in, flooding open the violent barrage of emotions he can no longer throttle, open mouth and tongue crushing against hers to swallow her staggered moans. Clawing at his shoulders in a bid to pull him closer, her desperation spurs his own vehement desires.

Dragging open the collar of her kimono to trace the rapid flutter of her pulse against a hot tongue, Kenshin’s teeth easily close around the tendon he finds straining against her neck and her head lolls back further in a shuddering whimper to feel the force of his manic desire. Her voice leaving her on a strangled sound of his name, eager fingers thread through his hair to tug and draw him back toward her mouth, open and wanting, unbearably hot; fleshing searing against flesh— the taste of her against his tongue inundating his senses far heavier than any liquor. “I have known what I’ve wanted and for so long. And I… I am afraid.”

Her eyes – hazed over with the burden of her want, brimming along with the love he sees set alight in them – meet his and hold. Her hands, ever so tender, his salve to wounds she uncovers afresh to let him see where he hurt…. and wanted for her— she traces his features as if she finds it a wonder to be holding him as she is now and the thought sends a fresh barrage of needles stinging through his heart. “If I have you now, I won’t ever be able to let go. I’ll restrict you; shackle you down until you’re sick and weary of me. And yet… I cannot make myself let go.” Kenshin moves forward, laying a delicate kiss against her lips.

“Then don’t, Kenshin. I don’t want you to.” His lips trace her features, committing to memory as she speaks. “The man I love cherishes me. I’ve always seen him strive for my comfort and my happiness.” A kiss he places against her brow, subdued tremors taking him at the intensity of his emotions. “You are worth far more than you give yourself credit for. You won’t hurt me, Kenshin.”

“Foolish woman… you don’t know that. You can’t.” A weary smile breaks across his face but it hurts her… he sees how it causes her expression to crumple in on itself. Taking his hand within hers, she guides his palm to rest above her left breast, her heart fluttering rapid beneath the touch of his hand.

Desire so acute, it almost hurts to hold back at the exhorting look she fixes him with, asking him to fall, let go. “This is yours. If you do not trust in my words, let me be here to show you how you honor me. Let me love you Kenshin… please. Let us be in this together. Let me be your support.”

Her arms coming around his back to hold and draw close. Undoing the barely held cascade of hunger and desire: for her heart, her body, all of her in its entirety… until Kenshin’s pressing her back onto the floor, his own form overwhelming her smaller, trembling one. Her chest heaves with her breaths, heavy and rapid as she reaches to pull back the rest of her kimono, finally bared before him.

A dark, foreign growl leaves the confines of his chest as Kenshin drives her legs apart before settling himself at her entrance. “I love you. I want you. Tell me to leave you now if you do not wish for me to go further.” A broad, quick stroke of his tongue against her swollen clit sets her quivering, her thighs tightening their hold against his head.

“I want you to go much, much further. I want you so much it hurts.”

The last of her words heard and acknowledged, Kenshin surrenders to the desire that rages and runs within his very marrow, for this woman as she twists beneath his grasp. Each shallow stroke of his tongue through her folds wrenching sounds from her he swears he shall never tire of. A kiss he places near the junction of her thighs before drawing flesh into his mouth to leave red blooming in its wake.

Her hips, as if of a mind of their own, lift and press against him, her moans and hands desperate as they work to drive him closer and Kenshin’s hands slip beneath her to anchor against his mouth, fingers pulsing into the flesh of her buttocks. Tongue slipping into her depths till she cries out with the intensity of the stimulation. 

Addiction rolls liquid heat in his veins to feel the clench of her deep within, gathering moisture onto an insatiable tongue. Drinking of her until she spills herself sweet against him.

Swiping a careful thumb against his lips before slipping the digit into his mouth, sucking, he gathers himself above her. The hard length of his cock dragging through her folds, coating himself in her essence before he presses in, groaning to feel the give of her wet flesh around him. Sinking deeper until she’s taken all of him up till the hilt. Kenshin reaches to find relief against her neck as he begins to move. Her fluttering walls; exquisite torture to leave him wanting to come undone in moments.  Just as she calls for him on withering cries he sends higher with each harsh swing of his hips against hers.

Over and over, until it feels his own body could mesh with hers, cock leaving the confines of her wet relief only to sink right back and it’s agony; Kenshin reaching to tug a pebbled nipple into his mouth, groaning as he worries gentle teeth against the puckered bed. Frenzied fingers reaching for the bead of pleasure at the apex of her thighs, pressing in to slide them down against the slick, gathering moisture, until he feels for the place he joins her in ecstacy.

Her insides clench around him to keep within her depths every time he withdraws and Kenshin moves to place his lips against her temple – a silent, whispered hope – trailing down toward her neck, lapping at the taste of the woman he knows he could never hope to have enough of.

For fear still held him captive within its jaws, his desire to protect her reigned stronger and as he feels the flood of her warmth, Kenshin, too, spills himself into her, binding her to him, repeating that thought over and over until one day he too finds it true:

She will not share the same fate as Isehime’s. I will protect her. She will not be Isehime.

Thank you all for supporting @dirtydoesgood​! 

[dirtydoesgood]

feverish

Author: @rokutouxei​​ Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Character(s): Theodorus van Gogh / Female MC Rating: T for language

Prompt: Touch as a way of getting their attention Summary: She knew she was coming down with something before she’d even left the mansion this morning. But she had no fever, no cold, just that general muh state that meant life would be a little harder today than usual. She argued, if she could handle a time-traveling door, she could handle a little bit of trembling. If Theo was next to her, she could handle anything. She hoped.

The front door to the mansion swings open in a near-bang. Barely awake, she weakly squeezes his collar into her fist. Theodorus enters the threshold with her in his arms, limp, lightly shivering from an oncoming fever.

“Sebastian!”

-

She was her usual self this morning.

She scurried down the stairs, the hurried tapping of her shoes announcing her arrival to Theodorus—her partner, the word makes even him dizzy—already waiting at the entrance with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I’m late!” She called out, on the way down, her skirt in her hands, as she nearly jumped the last five steps of the stairs to get to him.

“What did I tell you about running down the stairs, hondje?” His voice was grumpy, but he still looked her up and down in concern—finishing by tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled at the gesture.

“I’m very, very careful, I promise,” she said, taking his hand in hers instead. “I’m just excited for tonight. I was actually worrying so much about what to wear—which is why I took so long. We hadn’t had a date in a long while.”

Theo felt the tips of his ears heating up. He diverted her attention by intertwining his fingers with hers. How was it that he always felt a good kind of warm when she was around? “Work very hard today and I’ll make your night worth it. Got it?”

She grinned. “Yessir!”

-

She knew she was coming down with something before she’d even left the mansion this morning. Nothing dangerous, just that vague feeling of being a little under the weather. Not enough to beg off of work, gods no, or even telling Theo in the first place—it couldn’t be that bad. Work had been heavy the past few weeks, and with the approaching dates for the exhibits, she couldn’t just excuse herself for something so minor as a possible cold. The more hands on the job, the better. Besides, this was a client she actually enjoyed dealing with, and she’d missed visiting them and hearing their insights on art. As she rushed down the stairs to Theo, she argued to herself that she didn’t have any symptoms anyway: no fever, no cold, just that general muh state that meant life would be a little harder today than usual.

If she could handle a time-traveling door, she could handle a little bit of trembling.

If Theo was next to her, she could handle anything.

She hoped.

-

Theo wasn’t there when she collapsed.

He wasn’t that far away, just four doors down the hallway, but in his head he was still too far. After a lavish lunch with the marquis and marquess, they decided to split up; him and the marquis to talk about the nitty-gritty of the upcoming exhibit in the study, and her with the marquess to view what’s new in their lavish gallery of artworks, so that she and Theo could have a better idea of what to offer them the next time they came to visit.

This was how the two of them did the work usually, anyway. Together. Sharing. It was a regular day.

Until it wasn’t.

One moment Theo was in deep discussion about ingress with the marquis, and the next, a young girl he quickly recognized as one of the marquess’ maids ran into the study, her face pale. “Sir Theodore! Your companion—”

“What happened?”

“She collapsed, sir! She’s in the gallery with the marquess—”

He ran.

-

Shit. Fuck. This morning, on the way to work, Theo had asked her “Are you okay?” after he had promptly pulled her out of harm’s way. He had his fingers around her wrist—that was a little bony, has it always been this thin?—to stop her in her tracks; one arm braced around her waist to steady her. The carriage breezed next to them loudly, leaving behind it the steady stomp of horse shoes. She instinctively pulled closer to his warmth. Theo wondered if the shivering was only in his imagination. When she looked up at him, it was almost blearily.

Nothing escapes Theo. Usually.

“Hmm? Yeah. I’m just a little tired, but we have so much more to do.” She put on a smile that made Theo’s mind go blank for a moment.

Godverdomme. It’s not that he didn’t notice that she was a little pale, or slightly shaky, or maybe a little more tired-looking than usual. Or maybe he did. Thinking back at it, Theo didn’t know what went in his mind, letting her go on after that, deciding to trust her judgment with a mere “Well. If you say so.”

He should have sent her home, should have stopped a carriage right there and shuttled her back to the mansion. Work didn’t matter. This exhibit didn’t matter. She mattered.

Now he had to make up for lost time.

The marquis had a doctor nearby come to check on her, but not having much to say for himself—“probably just exhaustion, needs some rest”—there was little left to be done but to take her home. Theo cradled her in his arms as he deeply apologized to the marquis and marquess for the sudden interruption of business. He tried his best to not make it obvious that his hands were shaking too.

“Nonsense,” the marquis said, waving his hand. “Take care of your companion and make sure she gets better. It’s always nice doing business with the both of you. We can talk about the exhibit some other time.”

The marquess nodded in response. “Don’t tire her out so much, Sir Theodore. I’ll see you again soon.”

-

She awoke once, on the carriage ride home. Stirred ever so slowly from Theo’s embrace with a glazed look on her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she actually realized she awoke before she fell back into slumber. The fever, at this point, had begun to set in, a fever-flush resting on her cheeks. Despite the radiating heat, Theo held her against his chest, thinking to himself, I’m here, I’m here, I will take care of her, she will get better, trying to still the erratic racing of his heart.

-

Now, back at the mansion, Theo feels like he should feel more steady in a familiar place, but with her still unconscious and probably in pain, his head is spinning. And it’s just past lunch. Sebastian brings towels, warm water. Offers hot tea. Brings extra blankets, a fresh change of clothing. For Theo, rouge and blanc, some sweet bread. Sebastian is nothing but helpful, until he brings what Theo thinks would be least helpful: Arthur.

“What happened to our little miss?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, arms across his chest. Eyes sunken from lack of sleep, glasses still on the bridge of his nose, holding a mug of coffee—Sebastian must have pried him off of writing to get the resident doctor to check on them. Theo curses inwardly, not wanting to owe this guy of all a favor.

“She collapsed while we were at work,” Theo admits, his voice shrinking with every syllable. “Now she’s got a fever. I’m—not sure what happened.”

Arthur enters the room, stands next to Theo by the bed. Theo will make fun of Arthur for his history as a “failed” doctor, but when the writer slips back into this persona, he is nothing but serious. And Theo respects that. Arthur presses a hand to her neck to check for temperature; inspects the color of the membrane under her eyes. Checks her pulse, and then takes her wrist in his hands. Theo flinches, remembering how thin it felt in his own this morning.

“Well, she’s pale,” Arthur begins. “Needs some iron in her, water. I’ll go tell Sebastian what might be good to feed her. Not much solids, probably, but I’m sure our dear butler will make good soup. Also, she might get clammy with the fever, so you’ll need to wipe her down often. But don’t let her get cold.” He pauses for a full moment, as if weighing his words, but then decides he might as well. Now, he sounds less like a doctor. He sounds like Arthur, her and Theo’s friend. “How hard have you been working her?”

Theo bristles. I haven’t, he wants to say. I take absolutely good care of her and you don’t get to ask me that, he wants to argue. But he knows defeat when it’s there. “Too hard, apparently.”

“I’m glad you know,” is all Arthur says. “Get her some rest and don’t make her do anything until color comes back to her. Understood?”

“I owe you one, Arthur.”

Arthur doesn’t turn as he leaves, just waves. “You do,” he answers back.

-

She wakes up in short bursts. Theo is there for every minute of it. To carry her to the restroom, to give her some food. She doesn’t speak, the fever making her hazy, just looks up at him with half-lidded eyes and mouths what she needs. But she doesn’t last long either; wakes up just enough for two spoonfuls of soup, or a sip of water. Any more than that seems near-impossible, agonizing, by the way she groans. Every time Theo lifts her up in his arms, he wonders if she’s actually getting lighter and lighter, like she’s slowly disintegrating in front of his very eyes.

Stop. No. That’s not going to happen, he tells himself.

It’s past midnight now, and Theo has his armchair pulled up against the bedside, but he can’t quite sleep. The room is dim save for a lamp on the corner of the room, casting yellow light on the walls and making long shadows. He fusses with her hair, brushing off her bangs where they stick to her forehead with the sweat. Tries to smooth out the wrinkles on her forehead formed from where her eyebrows are knitted tight. He feels like he has to stay up all night to keep watch over her, or else something terrible will happen. Something worse. This time he’s not taking his eyes off of her.

Theo hears his brother’s voice in the hallway, but before he can call out, the bedroom door opens slightly. A familiar golden retriever’s face tries to fit through the little gap. Vincent peeks as well, smiling at Theo; Theo tries to return it, but he feels weak. So Vincent enters the room with King. Theo looks up at his brother, and he doesn’t know what kind of face he makes—exhausted, worried, at wit’s end—but it makes Vincent put a hand on his shoulder.

Comfort. Theo sighs at his brother’s touch. Vincent ruffles his hair.

“She’ll be okay, because you’re with her,” Vincent assures him, and though Theo thinks to himself that means nothing, changes nothing, doesn’t tilt things to his favor, Theo would like to believe his brother is right. His brother is somehow always right.

Vincent bids him good night before he leaves the room, the door closing behind him with a gentle click. Now, it’s just him again, the darkness, and the love of his life, sick in bed.

And King. The dog pads toward the bed and places his head on Theo’s knee. King whines. A small, sad noise, half in comfort, and half as if he is in pain too. With one hand, Theo pats his loyal dog in comfort; with the other, he reaches out to hold her hand in his.

“Let’s wait for her to get better, alright?”

-

Theo wakes up in the middle of the night to shuffling—a blanket being pushed gently to the side. He sits upright in a flash, a shot of pain jolting down his back with the sudden movement. The armchair he’s on creaks with the motion. She flinches at the sound.

“Sorry,” she sighs.

“No, it’s alright,” Theo says—his voice sleep-deep. He reaches out to her. “What do you need?”

She turns to the glass near him, but too far for her to reach. “Water.”

Theo takes the glass and sits on the bed, helping her drink. Her eyes close with the touch of water on her lips, sighs. When the glass is empty, he asks, “Do you want more?”

She shakes her head, places her hand on his. Theo puts the glass down and instinctively reaches out to hold her cheek. She rests against his touch.

She’s really cold now; whatever fever she had that morning, she had already long sweated off. Theo runs his other hand down her back, notices how damp the nightgown already is.

“We should change your clothes,” he says, and she only nods.

Theo goes to their shared closet to pull out a fresh change of sleepwear. When he gets back to the bed she’s rubbing her arms weakly for warmth, and he can’t help but press a kiss on her forehead in comfort. When he pulls off the damp nightgown from her still-feverish body, there is nothing in her nakedness that fires him up, just pain, just worry. Her skin is cold. Her eyes look sunken. Half of him has the wits to think maybe his mind is fooling him, making her seem more sickly than she really is, but the other half believes this is all real. And it scares him. She struggles to slip her arms in the sleeves, and Theo has to help her get them in. She can hardly sit up, much less tie the ribbons. Theo wipes off the sweat on her face with a handkerchief. Her lips are pulled taut, like she’s in pain.

When he’s content with his work, she’s already drifting back to sleep, body nudging forward head-first into the mattress. He coaxes her back to a lying-down position, tucking her underneath the sheets. He tries his best to not make his voice shake when he says, “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here with you.”

But before he can stand, she has her pinky on his, just nearly missing him. When he turns, her eyes are barely open, but she’s looking right at him—through him. She pats the empty side of the bed meaningfully. The effort seems to strain her. Her voice is a whisper so small, it’s almost just an exhale. “Please stay?”

Of course, he thinks, turning in his seat so he can lie down next to her, lying on top of the sheets next to her. Of course. I will never leave you. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head just as her eyes flutter closed.

“Always.”

-

The first thing she sees when she wakes up from what seems like a very long fever-dream is Theo’s comforting sea-blue eyes. Their light softens when she finally opens her eyes fully.

He sounds he hadn’t slept in a week. “How are you?”

“Better,” she says, and it’s not convincing because of how wrecked her voice also sounds, how dry her throat feels, but she really does. “Why are you here?”

Theo flinches. Did she think he wouldn’t be? “What?”

She turns slowly to look out the window, estimating the time in her head. It must be past noon now. “Didn’t you have something scheduled today?”

Work. Still. Every time, all she thinks about is him. His dreams. He doesn’t know how he deserves a woman like her. “It’s just a trip to the gallery… Vincent went for me.”

She nods, before pressing her face against his chest. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

He narrows his eyes at her, even if she doesn’t quite see. He doesn’t try to hide his concern. “I told you to not push yourself.”

“I just wanted to do my best,” she tries to argue, but any sort of enthusiasm or persuasiveness is shot out by how she sounds. Better, true, but still off-center. “I knew if we finished all that yesterday, we would have a little bit more time to ourselves, so…” she looks up at him, eyes wide, that look he can’t resist. Godverdomme. “Forgive me for being an idiot?”

“Only because you know it,” Theo huffs. He presses a kiss on her forehead, and she reaches out to hold one of his hands tightly in hers.

“I’m really okay now, I promise,” she says, as cheerfully as possible, to reassure him. She even goes to press the back of his hand onto her neck. “See, no fever. Not lying this time.” Then she pulls on it again to press a kiss on his knuckles. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Theo still doesn’t quite believe her though, and for sure, it’ll take him some time convincing before he finally quiets down about it. That’s okay. She’ll take all the time he needs. The same time he took all the time she needed to get better. He brushes the fingers of his free hand along her face, cupping her cheek gently. She smiles into his touch, and something squeezes in his heart. But his frown is still deep when he speaks. “You’re not allowed to make me worry like that.”

She opens her mouth to apologize, but her brain catches up to her. She scans her body very quickly, before deciding…

“I can’t help it if I have such a great caretaker,” she teases, nudging closer toward him. “If that’s what being a little sick will get me, maybe I might do it again.”

The corner of Theo’s mouth twitches. Oh, he’ll be gentle, for sure, but he has to get the point across first. He narrows his eyes before flipping her over, caging her between him and the bed. “You’re right. You seem well enough now for punishment, hondje.” He grins. “You better be ready.”

Oh, maybe if she tells Sebastian later that she’s still kind of sore, he’ll think it’s from the fever?

In the time of the virus I hope you all take care of yourselves and stay home, safe, and clean; I hope this fic can bring a little light into your lives! Sorry this took so long! 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

and don’t overexert someone who just came from a fever, please. theo, get her some food at least...

[dirtydoesgood]

Hey guys! I hope everyone is going ok and are living healthy, if isolated, lives! 💕 Sorry to ask, but are there still some stories to come? I know obviously everyone has waaay bigger fish to fry right now and that is obviously absolutely fine, but I thought I'd check, just in case. Thanks again for your amazing hard work! Keep healthy! ❤️

Hello ☆ hopefully you’re staying well & healthy too! As of right now, we have approximately 14 more stories to go - things are pretty hectic for all of us, unfortunately, whether it’s with our families or finals week underway.

Of course, please do not hesitate to reach out to us with your particular commission, if need be! We can give a much more precise response in that case.

As always, take care!

[dirtydoesgood]

Sugar & Spice

Title: Sugar & Spice Author: @maanawa​ Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku Character(s): Date Masamune / MC (Female) Rating: E - Explicit Warnings: Smut, shenanigans and not much more.

Prompt: “If we get caught, I’m blaming you” Summary: Who knew that your warlord boyfriend’s shenanigans could be this rewarding?

“If we get caught,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “I’m blaming you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first, lass,” Masamune grinned back towards you, the glint in his eye somehow predatory and mischievous at once. An exasperated sigh was the only response you could muster, as your fiendishly roguish lover reached behind the jars hidden in the kitchen to pull out the bag containing konpeito, the Devil King’s favourite. “Simple, see?” 

“Oh heavens, it’s you,” the tone was somehow one of relief and accusation, as both you and Masmune turned around to see Hideyoshi’s now-familiar silhouette at the doorway. “I thought it was Lord Nobunaga again, trying to get to the kon- hey!”

“Aaaaand - here we go!”  Masamune’s words dissolved into laughter as he grabbed your wrist and bolted out the doorway, skirting around Hideyoshi with unprecedented agility. Your resulting shriek of surprise and following complaints were probably enough to wake up half the castle but with the konpeito clutched tightly in one hand and your hand in his other, Masamune tore through the hallways faster than you could’ve ever imagined and you had no choice whatsoever but to keep up.

It wasn’t until he had brought you along to some sort of half-empty storage room that he let go of your hand. As much as you tried to give him your fiercest glare, catching your breath was a much larger priority and amidst pants, you asked him how the hell he knew about this place.

Masamune shrugged, leaning back against the wall and sliding down to settle comfortably on the floor. Perhaps there was some sort of satisfaction in the fact that even a warlord like him seemed to be slightly out of breath, too. And anyway, it was not difficult to mad at your boyfriend when he was grinning up at you and holding out the konpeito, almost as if you meant the world to him.

With a smile of utter resignation, you took the outstretched candy and sat down beside him, making sure your kimono wasn’t to be caught in anything. To imagine that this wild adventure was a result of your sugar craving was both ludicrous and heart-warming. It seemed that your slightly crazy but utterly loveable boyfriend would really do anything for you. A smile touched your lips as you felt the sugar melting on your tongue - who would’ve thought you would miss it so much? It was only after you’d finished a small handful that you realised Masamune was still beside you. Turning around, you found him looking at you with a faint smile, head resting on arms that leaned on knees drawn close to him. You felt your cheeks flaring up in embarrassment, something that Masamune probably saw even in the dim moonlight because a chuckle left his lips as he pinched your cheek closest to him.

“Ow, Ma- bwa- ack!” your cries of protest were only met with laughter from the warlord, as he tugged gently. 

“What’re you getting all shy for?” Even if you couldn’t see Masamune, you could feel him grinning at you. Instead of choosing to reply, you held your palm out, precious few konpeito gathered there, to share with your beloved.

Choosing to forego your peace offering, Masamune leaned forward murmuring something about “better taste” and “your lips” - it was all inconsequential when he pressed his lips up against your own. It would be a lie to say that you weren’t startled but, at the same time, you had learnt to always expect the unexpected with the warlord that kept you on your toes, in the best way possible. As your hands wound their way around his neck, the faint sounds of the konpeito falling to the tatami mat could only serve to amplify the fact that there was no one else around - simply you and him. You could feel the way Masamune’s lips curled into a smile, your embrace a symbol of your acquiescence - but it didn’t matter, because submitting to his touch was your favourite defeat anyway. 

Strong arms pulled you onto your boyfriend’s lap, without breaking the kiss. There was a nagging thought at the back of your mind that perhaps the best place to get intimate was, in fact, not an abandoned storeroom but that’s the strange thing about love - some things matter less when you’re in it. Like the location, the fact that the rest of Azuchi castle was probably very much asleep and that Hideyoshi might find you both at any point. The way his hands wandered down to your loosened obi, undoing it with a certain deftness that you had become used to with Masamune - that mattered so much more. Your kisses trailed down his jawline and up to his ear, where you whispered to him just what you wanted from him.

A roll of your hips in conjunction with your words made a soft groan leave Masamune’s lips, allowing a smile to bloom upon yours. Of course, the lingering threat played at the back of your mind but it didn’t matter, not when you saw the desire flash through your lover’s gaze. Fingers trailing down his chest, you made quick work of the knot holding his hakama in place while Masamune took this opportunity to pepper your exposed skin with nips and kisses, his palm snaking under your open kimono to cup your breast, toying with the nipple and eliciting a soft gasp from your lips.

“If…” you paused, momentarily, “if you’re quick, we can get a lot more done back at your place.” The cool breeze you could feel on your exposed shoulders and chest elicited a shiver from you - or was it from the wetness you could feel, as you rolled your hips against those of your boyfriend’s? By now, Masamune had one arm around your waist, holding you close and on his lap, while his other hand moved upwards to tilt your chin down. His finger tracing over your bottom lip, you barely had a moment to react before he used that opportunity to push a long-forgotten konpeito into your mouth. The luxurious way the sugar melted across your tongue, coupled with the way in which your boyfriend’s lips and fingers had you so worked you up felt all too sinful, decadent. “Don’t worry, kitten - as long as you can keep it down, we can do plenty here too.”

Perhaps it was the moment’s distraction but Masamune took this opportunity to lift your hips and guide yourself over him. Without a moment’s hesitation, you slid down, taking in as much of him as  you could, a low groan of satisfaction from Masamune brought a smile to your lips. As you worked your way into finding just the right pace and rhythm, your lover leaned up and takes this opportunity to press another kiss to your lips. This one is more haphazard than the previous ones and you can feel Masamune’s composure slipping like sand through your fingers. Moans and pants from both of you seem to make this space feel hotter than it is and there’s no denying the physical exertion this takes on you - but strangely enough, it adds to the sense of intimacy that is created with heated breaths, fervent touches and the way your hips meet his insistently, feverishly. The remnants of sweetness on your lips and his serves as a reminder of his love for you, you can’t help but cherish konpeito more than before. His fingers coax you faster towards your climax and before you know it, you’re clenching around his length, seeing stars brighter than the Sengoku night sky you can glimpse from the room’s open window. 

Masamune follows soon after you and you break your kiss, choosing to rest your head against the crook of his neck and make a valiant effort to catch your breath. A giggle escapes your lips, before another one follows and he cannot help but join in, delirious exhilaration coursing through both of your veins. The way you can feel his laughter rumble through his chest is, by far, one of your favourite sensations - a feeling that your boyfriend is with you, alive and present - but you do not want to dwell on that now. Not when a konpeito chase has led to storehouse sex. 

“I can’t believe we did that,” you manage to piece together amidst laughter.  “You know I’d do anything to see you smile, lass,” he replies, pressing a clumsy kiss in your hair. There’s affection, love and so much more unwritten between the lines. Sometimes it feels too much to handle - hells, sometimes Masamune feels too much good to handle but right now, he is the luxury of sugar and spice and you have never felt more in love. 

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[dirtydoesgood]

Raising The Stakes (MLQC Lucien - NSFW)

Title: Raising The Stakes

Author: Otonymous Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice Character(s): Lucien x Reader (Female MC) Rating: Explicit Warnings (***Please check for potential triggers before reading!***): A hint of angst, sexting, sex toys, masturbation, break-ins (mention of slightly rough physical behaviour), edging, slight D/s overtones Prompt: “You should’ve stopped when you still could” Summary: Learn the consequences of trying to one-up Lucien.

You thought you knew loneliness, but you were wrong.  It wasn't the easy solitude existing before; coming home to an empty apartment and slipping into a bed you knew would be cool to the touch.  No one asking whether you’d be working late.  No ready smile waiting on the other side of the door.

The loneliness after is a cut from a different blade; a yearning so pungent and sharp it flavoured the days of your life to incite a hunger more savage than any you’ve ever known, gnawing from within as you wait and wait…

…waiting for a lover’s return.

You clench at the sheets, messy thoughts jumbling in a sleepless brain until you finally give in and reach for the smartphone on your bedside table.  Swiping across the screen, you summon it to life; bathe in its cool light as it banishes the suffocating darkness of night.  

Open your voicemail.  Scroll to that saved message.  Press play, just one more time.  Let his voice wash over you like a compulsion soothing the beast of obsession.

“Don’t worry about me over here, foolish girl.  The only thing you need to do is take care of yourself.  Eat well and make sure you’re getting enough sleep.  And remember, if there’s anything you need, anything at all, I’m only a phone call away.”

A pause, then his words like a caress:

“I love you.”

How many times did you listen to that message?  You had lost track in the days since Lucien's work took him overseas.  They bled, one into the other, the flow of time indistinguishable like water in a stream without your lover by your side to mark the transitions with each tender moment shared:

Lunches fed from hand to smiling mouth under the shade of a camphor tree, tucked away from the eyes of staff and students alike on a hidden path just outside his research centre.  

Sleepovers for two with your handsome neighbour; laughing at the irony of the term when your breath wasn't being stolen by the slide of his body within yours.

Dawn-drenched kisses and breakfast in bed.  Smiling at each other's reflections in the bathroom mirror whenever elbows knocked to produce foamy-mouthed giggles as you brushed your teeth side by side.

Lucien’s toothbrush sits still on your bathroom counter.  A hostage, you had teased him, to be exchanged upon its owner’s return.

“You’re forever bound to me now.  There’s no choice but to come back.”  Your laughter had faltered through a voice choked by tears, seeping through fine cotton to wet the broad expanse of Lucien’s chest as he lingered at your door, luggage resting by the heels of his polished Oxfords.

He had drawn you closer then, pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as long fingers gathered a lock of your hair to pass under that Grecian nose, inhaling deep.  And when he whispered with such solemnity, “As if anything could ever keep me away,” you had all but forgotten your joke.

The screen of your phone goes dark, and the reflection staring back at you is a bitter pill to swallow.  Your cheeks had lost a bit of their roundness, your eyes dimmed by tears you only allowed yourself to cry in the dead of night — the times you missed him most.

You had told Lucien nothing about this, of course; was careful to slip on the mask of one so consumed with work that it left little time to consider much else, let alone an absent lover.  It felt silly, that a grown woman should pine to the point where food became flavourless and sleep elusive.

Well then, grown woman, deal with it.

And you had.  Threw yourself wholeheartedly into work to the point where even Victor Li was marginally impressed with the report you submitted the first week Lucien was gone.  Anna, Willow, Kiki and Minor had done their best in the following days, inviting you to dinners after work and distracting you with hilariously off-key karaoke performances.  But now with the end of the month drawing near, your veneer of strength was starting to crack.

You missed Lucien.  The smell of him: crisp and clean with a hint of masculinity that tugged at your core.  Missed his weight upon you, the softness of your limbs yielding to his muscle and sinew.  Dreamt of his breath; phantom wildfire searing over wet flesh to drive you mad with desire.

So crazy, in fact, that you aren’t even thinking when you dial his number, the ringing merely a backdrop to the echo of your pounding heart as one hand makes its way beneath lace to feel the moisture pooling between lips swollen with need.

“You’ve reached Lucien Xu.  Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now.  Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

Your eyes close at the sound of that deep voice, pulse quickening as it keeps pace with the throbbing that grew in intensity beneath the movement of desperate fingers, rubbing in tight circles further down, down…

Down, in that place where the professor loved to settle; lips, fingers and tongue moving soft, slow, nimble and quick — agile to adapt to the writhing of your body on his mouth.

Beep.

In your current state, it doesn’t quite register that every moan and breathless sigh of his name is being recorded, so caught up are you in holding the tremulous image of your lover in your mind even as your fingers conjured up the thickness of his cock, sliding in and out of your body in a pale imitation of the real thing.

Still, it did the trick.  And as you cried out, walls contracting to clamp down on your own hand, you miss the dull tone that sounds, signalling the end of a message you were too blissed out to realize had been delivered.

Buzz.

You awake to your pillow vibrating once before you realize your phone was still next to your ear, halfway buried beneath disheveled hair.  The sunlight peeking bright through the slats of your blinds makes you wonder if you had somehow slept through your alarm, but the time indicated you still had half an hour before rising.

Scanning your notifications, you see a text from Lucien.  Smiling, you open your messages…and promptly drop your phone to the floor as you suddenly bolt upright in bed, frantically blinking off the morning haze to clear your vision.

Oh my god.

Reaching out a shaky hand to retrieve your phone, you check the message again.  Study it intently.  Bring the screen up close to ensure this was no mere trick of the eye.  For even though the photo was cropped mid-torso, the muscular V-line disappearing past the waistband of the loosened dress pants undoubtedly belonged to Lucien.

As did the massive cock standing at stiff attention, gripped at its base by long, elegant fingers you'd recognize anywhere given the number of times you’d worshipped them in your mouth.

No accompanying words.  No explanation.  Just the image of something - someone - you wanted so badly it ignited a dangerous spark from deep within all over again.  You check the time: fifteen minutes before your alarm goes off.  That’ll be enough, you decide, sinking back beneath the covers as your fingers find your clit.

That morning, you leave your apartment positively glowing.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Morning Commute

“On the subway today, I imagined you standing behind me.  Inching closer and closer with each passing stop as people flood the space around us.  The buckle of your belt would press cool and hard at my back, and below that, your erection — solid, like the steel tracks upon which the train was moving.  I’d hear the soft sound of your zipper sliding down, signalling my obedient hands to lift the hem of my skirt — just enough to preserve a shred of modesty in light of the fact that I had neglected to wear panties.  For you see, professor, all this time…I had been waiting for you to come to me.”

You hit the send button, a frisson of excitement shooting electric through your body as you close your laptop, trying to envision Lucien’s face when he wakes to your email in his inbox.  

It is, in fact, you that are left shaking when you receive his reply the next morning.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Bountiful Harvests

“Peaches, my love, are currently in season in this part of the world.  They filled the baskets at the farmer’s market yesterday, the same one I pass on my commute to and from the research institute.  Round, ripe and fragrant, they infused the air with their sweet scent, and my thoughts found their way to you, as they often do.  This time, I saw you lying on the hood of my car on that abandoned strip of road.  Remembered the tiny goosebumps that dotted your soft skin whenever the evening breeze blew, the fine lace of your underwear hanging about your delicate ankle.  Smiled when I thought of your tender flesh beneath my fingers, spreading to reveal glistening fruit and the most intoxicating fragrance.  It awoke in me a hunger so primal it could only be sated by the flavour of your delicious peach on my tongue.”

“I can taste your sweetness even now, butterfly.  You should know that each passing day is filled with the torturous prod of my unfulfilled desire for you.  Continue provoking me as you have done, and I cannot be held accountable for any consequences.”

And there, in the warning that signed off on your lover's message, a seed of mischief was planted in the fertile soil of your imagination.

Its heft was strangely comforting as it gradually warmed in your palm, the fingers of your other hand running over the smooth surface of the glass dildo as you took another deep breath to calm your racing heart.

You had chosen the one he’d liked, the one Lucien had gravitated to in the adult toy shop he persuaded you to enter not long before he went overseas.  “Let’s just see what’s inside, shall we?  We don’t have to buy anything if you’re not yet comfortable,” he said then, as breezily as if he were shopping for a sweater.  Thus enticed, you had stood with burning cheeks, watching as he picked up the sleek, glass dildo —  elegant and beautifully shaped; no less a work of art than a tool for pleasure.  

“This one’s perfect.  I’d love to see it spread your pretty pink flesh from the inside when I slide it into your pussy.”

Lucien’s words came back to haunt you just when you brought the toy to the register.  You had lowered your head even further, sheepishly hoping the cashier wouldn’t notice just how red you had become.

No matter.  You were absolutely determined to give Lucien the surprise of his life.

And so it was that you found yourself crawling to the head of your bed after pressing record on the phone set up at the foot, lying back against pillows piled high to prop yourself up until the screen was filled with an image of you, clad in nothing but one of Lucien’s dress shirts.

You think of your lover as you unbutton the shirt, shivering slightly as you pull back the panels to expose your breasts.  Close your eyes to imagine him above you when you spread your legs.  Taste him in your mouth when your tongue peeks out to lick the glass head.  Allow your saliva to run copiously down the column like it was Lucien’s flesh in your hands.

Then, looking straight into the camera, you slowly...slowly...push the dildo in to its hilt, moaning his name as you do.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a full minute!  Are you coming down with something?  You’ve been really out of it these past few days.”

Anna frowns, brows knit together with worry when she suddenly puts a hand to your forehead.  You start at the touch before looking up from your computer, warmed to the core by the motherly gesture.

“I-I’m fine, thanks.  Just a bit tired, that’s all.”  Conjuring up as bright of a smile as you could, you hope to pass your coworker’s sharp-eyed inspection.  It was hard to keep anything from the woman who had known you for ages, but it wasn’t as if you were lying…completely.

For the truth of the matter was that you were tired, having spent the previous two nights lying awake in bed and agonizing over why Lucien hadn’t responded to your video.  No texts.  No emails.  No phone calls.  Regardless of how many times you had tried to contact him.

At first you questioned whether he had actually seen it; perhaps it had failed to send.  But that theory was dashed when your message was clearly marked as read.  Perhaps it displeased him in some way.  Was it too daring, too out of character?  Did he find it vulgar?  Well, even so, the least he could’ve done was respond when you had gone out of your way to leave yourself so horribly exposed and vulnerable.  On and on it went, the same frenetic thoughts racing through a frantic mind.  Sleep, when it did come, was fitful to say the least.

“Your eyes are glazing over again.”

Anna’s voice draws you back to your surroundings — the bustle of your coworkers as they begin packing up for the day.  Sighing, her lips press together in a defeated smile as she reaches over your shoulder to turn off your monitor.

“Go home and get some rest.  I’ll wrap up here.”

“Umph!”

You’ve barely entered your apartment before a large hand clamps over your mouth, effectively robbing you of the chance to scream.  Another hand circles your wrist, pinning your arm behind your back to push you face-first against the wall.  And though you cannot see the perpetrator, you can feel the tension emanating from taut muscles.

A swift kick is delivered to your front door, slamming it shut with a bang that elicits a muffled whimper from your lips.  The fluorescent lights of the hallway outside recede to a tiny sliver peeking through the crack under the door, illuminating next to nothing in your darkened apartment.  You hadn’t even had the chance to flip the light switch before you were accosted, dropping your keys and purse onto the floor of your entryway — even now being brushed aside by the swipe of impatient feet behind you.

Growing mindless with fear, you start to struggle like a cornered animal, squirming to push off the wall for even just an extra inch of space to make an escape, but to no avail.  The person at your back is just too strong.  They press harder against you, and despite your panicked state, there is no mistaking the erection that settles heavy over the cleft of your ass.

They lean in close, breath warm and moist on the back of your neck.  You squeeze your eyes shut in dread anticipation of what might come next when they suddenly fly open at the sound of a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

“I warned you not to take it too far, butterfly; told you not to push me over the edge.  You should’ve stopped when you still could.  Now, however…” Lucien pauses, tongue licking a wet strip from the base of your neck to the nape, “…now, it’s too late.”

Before you could respond or even process the shock of your lover’s surprise appearance in your apartment, he releases his hold on your arm, impatient hand sliding up your skirt.  Strong fingers grip the supple flesh of your buttocks, kneading forcefully to steal any and all questions from your lips.  And when they gather your panties in a violent bunch to rip them clean off your body, your mind goes completely blank.

Lucien releases his hold on your mouth, his hands making their way up and under your blouse to tug on the cups of your bra, freeing your breasts into the warm embrace of his palms.  You gulp lungfuls of air but it isn’t enough — never enough — to quell the way your heart races around him.  Because his touch was a drug to which you had been faithfully conditioned, readily responding to his every move.  Like your nipples, growing hard with each pinch and roll between his thumb and forefinger, puckering in a beautiful show to entice the professor to take them into his mouth.

But your lover was much too impatient for that tonight.

“What will you do to me?”  you ask, voice laced with a coy innocence to provoke, as was the subtle arch of your lower back — your ass grinding into the cock already straining hard against Lucien’s pants.  For this was a side of him you had never seen before.  There was no doubt he was an ardent lover: the man had proven the intensity of his passion many times over between the sheets.  The novelty lay in the slip of his cool mask of control in his ironic exercise of it; in the hands that pinned you down, the body caging yours.  The professor sought desperately to tame what had grown wild in his absence: your desire for him, and his insatiable hunger for you.  And the knowledge made you wet.

“What won’t I do?”  he replies, the statement deceptively simple for all the possibilities lurking beneath that dark promise.  He pulls away and from behind, you make out the clink of a belt unbuckling, a leather strap pulling smooth through the loops of trousers.  You press your thighs together in anticipation.

“Eyes on the wall.  Spread your legs.”

Your obedience is instantaneous, mind awash in a dopamine haze as you bow to the euphoria of yielding to him.  And when he rewards you with a rich chuckle rising from deep within his throat, you are so happy you could cry.

“You’ve been a most wicked girl, teasing me so.  First that phone call, then the email.  But the video of your little performance, prima donna?  That…that really was the last straw.”

The leather belt loops several times around your wrists, Lucien expertly binding your hands and resting them on the wall before you.  Then you feel his hand settle on your thigh, tracing up and down its length before sliding towards your heat.  Bending closer, your lover whispers soft against the shell of your ear.

“Do you know what it did to me, seeing you unravel so beautifully while being denied the opportunity to partake in your pleasure?  No matter how many times I spilled by my own hand, it wasn’t enough.  I needed you and yet you were out of reach.  It was torture of the most exquisite kind.”  

His fingers approach your mound, stroke the hair at its apex with a few languid motions before his index begins its slow slide between flushed lips.  You press your hands harder to the wall, bracing yourself against the tremble in your legs.

“I had to come back, butterfly…even if just for a day or two.  It behoved me, as a professor, to teach you how it feels to be subjected to such inhumane treatment.”  

A second digit joins the first, gently parting your pussy to tease at its entrance.  Fingertips delve into the slick moisture, gathering your juices to lubricate a circular path about your clit, swollen beneath its hood under the influence of Lucien’s touch.

“So you, my love, will be taught a lesson on delayed gratification.  You will not come until I permit it, do you understand?”

His voice hardens, stern in a way that brooks no argument.  You nod vigorously, biting hard on your lip to stem the rising tide of tension surging through your core at the sensation of his fingers inside you, reaching deeper and deeper until the wet sounds suffuse the otherwise quiet space.

“Good girl.”  A hand wraps around your neck — gentle yet firm — turning your head until your lips meet his, your mouth open to welcome the taste of his tongue in a deep kiss.  Lucien kisses with a fervour that leaves you breathless and you respond in kind, surrendering to his will, his very touch easing the visceral longing that had built up in the month he’d been away.

The professor feels you tense, catches the hitch in your throat that he’d learned was a tell-tale sign of an impending release.  So his fingers slow, Lucien giving you a disapproving tut when you groan to feel them pull out, leaving you hollow just as you were a few seconds shy of convulsing around them.

“Shh, kitten.  I know.  It’s a horrible feeling, isn’t it?  Wanting something so badly but knowing you can’t have it.  Not yet.  I’m afraid you’ll just have to be content with this for now.”

His fingers flash before your eyes, and even in the dark, you can see the arousal stretching in thin strands between them.  He brings the tips to your mouth, tracing along your lips before pushing past them to stroke your tongue, flooding you with the salt of your own flavour.

“I would ask how you taste, but I’ll find out soon enough.”

With that, Lucien whirls you around, and for the first time that night, you get a good look at him.  He, too, had lost weight; the angles of his chiseled jaw looking sharper beneath the uncharacteristic stubble that darkened cheeks and chin.  And despite the violet shadows beneath his eyes, the latter shone bright: the intensity of his want obvious through a shifting kaleidoscope of amethyst and onyx hues, the colour of his irises impossible to pin down.  

He lifts you in his arms, guiding your legs around his muscular waist as he makes his way to your dining room table, laying you upon its cool surface.  He pulls your legs to the edge, pushing them further apart as he drops to his knees between your thighs, that beautiful face dipping towards your core.  Lucien’s breath is hot, caressing your sensitized skin to make you twitch though he hadn’t even touched you.  And when you finally feel his tongue — broad and flat as it licks from the base of your entrance to the clit — you clench your hands in tight fists, fighting back the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm you.

You couldn’t come yet.  Not when you didn’t have the professor’s explicit permission.

Lucien recognizes your efforts, smiling when he lays a wet kiss on your clit as a reward before burying his face even deeper into your folds.  Continuing to eat, he hums appreciatively, hands sliding beneath your ass to lift for better access as his tongue dips further into your entrance in a bid to taste you from within.  His stubble scrapes rough against your flesh; a tinge of pain to enhance your pleasure.

“Lucien, I…I can’t…can’t hold it in-”

“You can and you will, kitten.”  The professor’s voice is muffled, continuing to lap at your pussy even as you start to thrash about on the table, fighting to exercise control over minute contractions that were getting harder and harder to contain.  You strain against the belt wrapped around your wrists, trying to distract yourself from the intense throbbing in your clit.  At this point, keeping your release at bay for a moment longer seemed like a Sisyphean task.

At last, Lucien relents, planting another kiss on your pussy before rising to stand.  He looks at you, trembling and spread on the dining table.  Wipes his mouth on the back of his hand as the other pulls down the zipper on his slacks.  He extracts himself with care, smiles to hear you gasp at the intimidating sight of him fully exposed.  Wraps those long fingers around his cock to slide along its length solely for the sake of eliciting a desperate moan from your lips.

He aligns his cock with your entrance; you sense it twitching against your wetness.  And when the head, hot and hard, slides along your slit, you cannot help but lift your hips.  Lucien chuckles again, but this time, even he cannot hide the shaky breath that tells you that this is as torturous for him as it is for you.

Then finally…finally…you feel him settle again at your entrance, feel the pressure of his push, the stretch of your skin before it gives and your lover is inside you once more, stroking hard and deep and so fast that you are already convulsing though Lucien had barely picked up his rhythm.

Your orgasm is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, the intensity of the sounds escaping your throat almost foreign to your ears as you inundate Lucien from within.  Wave after wave of contractions traverse your body, taking much longer than usual to subside — undoubtedly spurred on by the way the professor continued to fuck you as he chased the ecstatic high of his own release.  His hips snap ceaselessly against yours until he finally floods you, hot and deep, his arousal mixing with yours as his head settles on your chest to listen for the sound of your slowing heart.

“I can’t believe you caught the first available flight when you saw my video.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take you away from your work.  I know how important it is—”

“Shh,” Lucien interrupts, planting a kiss on your forehead as he pulls the covers over the two of you, naked and snuggling on your bed.  “Nothing is more important to me than you, butterfly.  You know this.  My research can wait for a day or two.  Besides, that is not the most pressing matter at hand.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at him.  “What is, then?”

Lucien’s handsome eyes narrow as his lips draw into a smile.  “Well, there’s the issue of a very disobedient kitten who came when she wasn’t given express permission to.  And I intend to use the rest of today and tomorrow to correct her behaviour.”

Thank you so much to the lovely person who commissioned this piece!  I know there’s a lot of kinks to handle in this one story here, but I hope you liked the read!  🤣💕

[dirtydoesgood]

On Your Knees

Title: On Your Knees Author: @kazesuke​ Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Character(s):  Comte de Saint-Germain, Female MC Rating: E- Explicit Warnings: Lots of smut, cock-warming, shibari, oral sex, dirty talk, doggy style, cunnilingus, body worship Prompt:  Kink Summary: 5 times she was on her knees for Comte and one time he gladly knelt for her.

1.

Comte sighed as he perused the many letters he received on a daily basis. Shifting a little, he felt the warmth of her mouth tighten momentarily around his cock. He stroked his fingers through her hair in silent apology for any discomfort but she hummed softly, sending a streak of pleasure along his hard cock.

Her legs had to be aching by now. She’d been beneath his desk for a long while and he still couldn’t believe how readily she’d agreed to go along with his request. Her hair whispered soft against his fingers as he stroked and pet, his cock swelling as she sucked gently. He gave a tug when it became too much and felt her shudder around him. Comte had already filed that little detail away for later.

He returned to his letters, groaning this time in irritation at the content, some request from a far off cousin who’d gotten into trouble with the locals <i>again</i>. Comte rocked his hips, replacing the frustration with pleasure, feeling the slide of his cock into her pretty little mouth. He moved slowly and lazily as he composed a reply in his head, his hips stopping to regain concentration while he wrote it. He chuckled softly at the disappointed whine from under the desk.

“Patience, ma chérie. I still have many more <i>frustrating</i> letters to reply to.” He groaned at her swallow of reply. “Naughty girl,” he added softly, eyes tracking across the page but his thoughts filled with her.

2.

Moonlight was beautiful, eternal like so few things were, bathing his beloved’s skin in cold brilliance. The rope, harmony in its difference, warm and heavy in his hands as he wove it around her body in intricate patterns he’d learnt over the many centuries. Pink blossomed across her skin, her chest heaving faster with each pull of the rope sliding against her slick pussy.

Comte tied the final knot, tracing the rope and watching her shiver. “Perfect,” he breathed. Comte hooked a finger beneath a length of rope and met her eyes, dark and warm, before he tugged. Pleasure suffused across her face and a moan tumbled past her trembling lips, the flood of pleasure clearly catching her by surprise. He kissed her cheek, a chaste press of her lips in complete contrast to the unrelenting tug of the rope in his hands. She moaned and trembled, back arching as she pushed her body closer to him.

He longed to touch her, certain in the knowledge she didn’t know just how much he tortured himself teasing her like this. Keeping his touches to the bare minimum, just a little stroke, a quick tug when all he wanted to do was drown in her night after night until he’d claimed all she had.

Comte drew back, settling his hands on her knees, her legs bound beneath her as he idly stroked patterns. Beautiful, she was so beautiful.

He ducked his head, tongue flicking across her nipple and drawing a quiet gasp before he took it into his mouth. He swirled his tongue, hot and wet around it, sucking and holding back his amusement when her hands jerked and dragged the rope against her sensitive pussy.

She’d soon learn.

3.

“Open your mouth.” The words settled into the quiet air of the room, his voice barely breaching the silence. She knelt before him, her cheeks flushing as those words registered. She slowly opened her mouth, watching his cock twitch in anticipation.

The rustle of his clothes sounded loud in comparison when he stepped closer, the tip of his cock rubbing against her tongue and then sliding into the wet warmth of her mouth. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, holding her gaze.

She opened her mouth wider and something deep inside him flared with desire, but he held back, slid his hips forward and watched his cock disappear. Keeping absolutely still, her eyes slid shut with a soft moan that vibrated across his skin.

Comte rolled his hips, slow and deliberate, letting his cock slide in and out of her willing mouth until he rested the tip of his cock on her tongue. Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he began to stroke, feeling the pleasure rush through him. He groaned and shivered, setting a lazy pace while already imagining his come splattered across her tongue and slipping down her throat.

He breathed her name and her eyes fluttered open, the pure heat in her gaze enough to send him over the edge. Comte stroked hard and fast, coating her mouth with his come and watching flecks escape onto her skin. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, moaning quietly at the taste.

4.

Comte did feel a little mean to bother her while she worked, but he knew scrubbing the floors was one of the more frustrating jobs she had to contend with. He crouched down behind her. “Chérie,” he murmured before placing a warm hand on her lower back, leaning his head on her shoulder.

“Comte, wha-?”

“I couldn’t help but stop to talk to you.” His fingers moved in comforting circles, slipping lower and skimming over her skirt before moving to places more innocent. “I know this is a very hard job, but I also know you enjoy being on your knees for me.”

He spoke in barely a whisper, not wishing for anyone else to hear his words to her. Comte chuckled at the pink that spread across her cheeks. “Just think of me, watching you clean, the way you work so hard, the sway of your body, enticing me to do things that will leave your cleaning the last thing on either of our minds. As much as I enjoy the view, I much prefer you spread beneath me.”

Comte nipped her earlobe, catching the sharp gasp of her breath before he got to his feet and straightened, patting her on the head. “Good work as always, I’m looking forward to dinner and dessert this evening.” When she turned to him, he gave her a soft smile but knew she would still see his passion for her. “Make sure Sebastian doesn’t keep you too late, hmm?”

She nodded and he turned, walking quickly away before he really did take her away from her task.

5.

His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her body back into him as his cock sank deep inside her. Her sweet cry filled his ears and he hid his satisfied groan in her shoulder. Comte draped across her back, feeling every inch of her, warm and soft. Her hips rocked back, meeting his hips with each thrust, her moans muffled into his pillows.

“Ah - chérie-” he groaned. “You feel wonderful.”

Her skin felt warm beneath his palm as he cupped her breast and squeezed. His fingers slipped to her nipple, pinching and twisting while she bounced slow and steady against his hips. Comte groaned into her skin, nuzzling into her skin and inhaling deeply. The sweetness of her filled his nose and the thrum of her pulse called like a siren in the night.

She couldn’t know how she truly enticed him every moment of every day. He pinched harder, desperate to sink his fangs into her, desperate to bite with teeth alone, but he didn’t trust himself. Instead, Comte tugged and twisted mercilessly, feeling her squeeze tightly around his cock, drawing him in. “Beautiful girl, wonderful girl,” he whispered into her skin, fingers slipping to her wet and swollen clit.

She trembled beneath the touch to her sensitive bundle of nerves as he stroked with each hard thrust. Her pussy tightened, squeezing and fluttering with pleasure that he felt shake her smaller frame.

“Come for me.” He spoke the words against her ear and felt her body give in.

Her pussy squeezed hard and he barely managed a few more thrusts into her exquisite heat before he tumbled over the edge right alongside her. Comte spilt every last drop into her greedy pussy even while her voice pitched higher as she became more sensitive.

Comte finally stilled, buried inside her and panting softly. He pressed soft kisses to every patch of her he could reach, hearing her soft sighs of contentment. “I hope I didn’t go too hard,” he hummed, unable to resist teasing her.

He saw her blush as she huffed softly. “No, you didn’t, I’m fine.”

He chuckled and her body squeezed in protest, a soft gasp escaping her “No? Then I’ll have to try harder.”

Sebastian would have to forgive him. His excellent butler would be without help tomorrow.

+1.

He could drown in the fire of her eyes. She sat tall and proud on the bed, her stocking-clad foot resting on his thigh. So close. Not close enough.

She smiled sweetly but a not-so-innocent edge he never saw in the daylight tugged at the edges of it. Sometimes Comte wondered if he dreamed it.

Her fingers, still soft and delicate despite all the work she did for them, settled beneath his chin and tipped his head. Their gazes met and he surprised even himself by blushing. Comte worshipped her, showered her with gifts every opportunity he got, liked to fluster her at every turn, and yet….

Truly a goddess. A bright spot in a house of darkness and second chances. He’d be jealous, if not for the fact that she’d been gracious enough to choose his bed and his company to share.

Her thumb brushed electric across his cheek bone, feeling the heat beneath it. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Comte always had, ever since he’d first seen her in the Louvre. He’d found himself unable to take his eyes off her.

“Yes, Mistress.”

She smiled, hiding her blush in her movement and the rustle of her negligee, drawing his attention as her legs parted. The thin, gauzy fabric fell away, revealing the glistening lips of her pussy.

Her fingers grasped tightly in his hair and she dragged him forward. Comte moaned when she pressed him close and he immediately began to lick and suck. She tasted heavenly, her essence sweet on his tongue as he licked and swallowed her juices like a man starved. His cock ached and bobbed eagerly between his legs but just as he enjoyed teasing her, well, she liked to pay him back.

She moaned above him, sighing in pleasure, dragging him up to her clit. Comte teased and traced the bundle of nerves, knowing she drew closer and closer to her orgasm. Her fingers teased through his dishevelled hair, tugging lightly on the strands as her thighs trembled.

Her hips rocked and she pressed him impossibly close, used his mouth as if he had no say in the matter, and he felt all too happy to worship her in any way she pleased. He devoured her, her thighs pressing tight when he heard her tumble over the edge, only stopping when she dragged him away from her slick skin.

Comte groaned softly in disappointment but her flushed face soon filled the void. “Patience, naughty boy.” And he shivered as she turned the familiar nickname back on him. “We’ve barely begun.”

To the commissioner:

I hope you really enjoy this, I had a looot of fun writing it! Thank you for commissioning us <3

[dirtydoesgood]

Golden Eyes

Title: Golden Eyes Author: @kazesuke​ Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Character(s):  Comte de Saint-Germain, Vlad, Female MC Rating: M - Mature Warnings: Spoilers for Comte’s real name, Incubus AU, dub-con (because Incubus) Prompt:   "How sweet, sacrificing yourself for her. When did you get a heart?" Summary: She enjoyed the dreams of golden eyes and the soft smile of the man she met at the museum but the red of wine sent chills down her spine.

She supposed she should be frightened. The man in her room shouldn’t have been there, couldn’t be there - even her sleep addled mind felt sure all the windows and doors remained locked as always.

Yet, he hovered above her - hovered because she couldn’t feel the weight of him, just the heat of his body calling like a siren to her.

Her brain urged her to do something as she gazed up into captivating golden eyes, an alluring smile that almost looked gentle… sad.

His lips felt warm as they brushed against hers. She thought fear ought to well up inside her, but a tingling warmth spread from the touch before he took her lips again. Again and again, rolling warmth spread through her body while he plucked pleasure from her. She couldn’t feel the definition of his touch but she felt the way her body ached for more and the disappointment when it clenched on nothing.

She tried to raise her arms, to touch him in return, but they felt heavy, her body languid. A tiny spike of fear needled at her heart before the scrape of his teeth, too sharp but oh so wonderful, replaced that needle with a bright stab of pleasure.

A jolt of pain, then pleasure burned her veins and her body trembled in ecstasy.

She bolted awake at the blaring of her work alarm, feeling as sated and warm as her dream but, of course, alone. No warm, beautiful man above her.

She checked all the windows and her front door before she went to work that day.

Locked.

She first met Abel at the local museum, a warm, gentle smile on his lips and a sprawling knowledge of history in his brain.

“I’m not sure it would have actually flown but he seemed to have some good ideas.” The soft, low voice made her jump and he smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I work at this museum, my name’s Abel.”

She gave him her name in reply, the brief hope that her beating heart would calm leaving her as she looked up into his handsome face. His golden eyes were most captivating, hauntingly familiar like she’d seen them once in a dream.  “Y-yeah, it seems logical to study birds to figure out how to fly but it’s a shame it didn’t work out for Da Vinci.”

Abel nodded. “I wish we had more things of his to display here, but of course they’re in various European countries. These are just some models based on his designs. If it’s not too presumptuous of me… would you mind a guided tour?”

“N - no of course not!” Her face split into a grin and his smile never wavered.

She listened to him for hours as he took her on a personal tour - a perhaps unauthorised event, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask for sure in case the spell between them somehow broke.

“Did you know Vincent Van Gogh had a younger brother? He was desperate to show the fruits of his brother’s labour to others and supported him as best he could.”

She shook her head, the two of them standing before Sunflowers. “No, I didn’t, but I think it’s good that he had someone.”

Abel gave a soft nod. “I agree,” he murmured, something so immeasurably soft in his tone that it made her heart ache. “It’s strange.”

She opened her mouth to ask what exactly was strange, but a voice called from behind them first;

“Abel? Can you come help me with the Monet display?” A man of a similar age, yet with white hair and piercing eyes the colour of wine, approached them. He gave her a smile that she couldn’t quite follow to his eyes, but his tone was soft and gentle. “I’m sorry, miss, if you need help with anything the information desk is available to you, not to mention our very comprehensive audio guide.”

He took Abel’s hand and dragged him away to a protest of “Vlad!” which she assumed to be the other man’s name. She stood for several moments, the whirlwind of the conversation settling around and over her like a blanket before a needle of hurt poked her heart. She really had been taking up too much of Abel’s time - possibly gotten him into trouble.

Maybe she could leave him a message at the information desk. She left him an apology and her number, thinking nothing would come of it.

It arrived 5 hours later. “No need to apologise, I enjoyed your company. I’m sorry about Vlad (my coworker).”

The same dream plagued her that night too. It felt just as real, the warmth burning brighter in her chest the moment she met his eyes. They looked like Abel’s. Had they been like that before in the dream or was her mind just embellishing? Her subconscious adding what she wanted, yet could she truly want it after only half a day? She could feel his touch more clearly in this dream, his fingers cupping her flushed cheeks, his thumb brushing over desperate lips.

She ached when his hands drifted lower, teasing her body as his weight settled on her and a moan slipped past her lips. He nuzzled her throat, breath tickling her skin with a sigh, the sound utterly satisfied. She could feel him through clothes that to be skin tight, the hard bulge of him rocking against her, and she longed to press up into him. His moans grew desperate, pants heavier as a quiet whine escaped him before a flood of pleasure engulfed her body and he shuddered above her.

“Ab-el-”

She jolted upright with the last syllable leaving her lips. Her alarm had rudely awoken her once more and she flushed hot with embarrassment. She had to get it together if half a day of Abel’s undivided attention had reduced her dreams to this.

Abel sighed softly when Vlad insisted on joining him on his visit to the coffee shop.

“This isn’t like you, Abel,” Vlad muttered, voice darker than Abel felt comfortable with. “Making a connection with a human.” That was a lie. Abel had always been far too interested in humans and their relationships. That wasn’t the point of their existence. They gave humans a nice time and then they went on their way. No strings, no relationships, no nothing.

Humans in the mean times had come up with words that perfectly described the kind of sex their kind had: one night stands, friends with benefits.

Humans were too messy. Too emotional.

“I just prefer to understand humans a little more.”

“You shouldn’t play with your food.”

Abel gave him a hard glare but the pretty little human arrived and Abel’s face immediately softened. Disgusting. Almost like Abel felt affection for her. Vlad would think he’d fallen in love. But that should be impossible for an incubus.

Abel made some apology for his presence but she smiled softly and shook her head. Too sweet to declare it a problem. Too kind. Vlad watched her and felt a flush of surprise when Abel left the two of them alone to get coffee.

“So, Vlad. You work at the museum too, are you also as interested in history?”

Perhaps he could ruin this whole thing before it went too far. Vlad put on his most charming smile. “Yes, 18th Century architecture is my real passion, it’s a shame there’s not exactly a place for it in the museum.” Each expression, every word a calculated move to pull her in. A mere hunt. “Abel tells me you’re very interested in history too?”

She went off on some ramble that he lost half way through, but he’d noticed the way her cheeks flushed with excitement and her whole face lit up. Vlad might have given some indication of that, since she wound down with an apology; “I - I’m sorry, I got a little carried away.”

The smile on his face had become effortless after decades of practice. “It’s quite alright, it’s beautiful the way your face lights up.” He leant a little closer and could practically feel the elevation of her heart rate. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about your passions.”

“Yes… You’re right, Vlad, thank you!” The smile she gave him looked warm but not shy, not flustered. The woman remained so unaffected by him it was almost laughable. Vlad would have to try harder.

She opened her eyes to the beginning of the dream, the night quiet around her but rather than golden eyes, she woke this time to deep red, the colour of wine. Ice slid down her spine at the sight and she wondered if she should have been feeling this all along, this sense of wrong. He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes, just like….

Her whole body jolted as though she’d been released from some spell and she scrambled back in her bed. Vlad braced himself against the wall, a snarl on his lips and hair in disarray. A warm hand settled on her shoulder and tension drained out of her when she saw it belonged to Abel.

Even if he wore skin tight black and tiny wings protruded from his back and his forked tail looked like a snake poised to strike.

Vlad wore much the same now that she looked at him properly.

This must be one hell of a dream.

“What are you doing here, Vlad? She’s my prey.” Hissed words that made her shudder. She’d never heard Abel angry before but this felt beyond that. He sounded incensed, even though his touch on her shoulder remained as gentle as always.

“Prey? You call her that but I’ve seen the way you look at her. I’d say it was love if we were capable.” This Vlad seemed so different from the one she’d seen. His features twisted with rage and contempt, sneering at the both of them, like they were something nasty he’d stepped in.

“Maybe we are, Vlad! Can you truly say you’ve never felt anything for anyone?!” Abel’s voice so different yet so comforting even with the fierceness that laced his tone

A deep hurt crossed Vlad’s face before rage overcame him once more. “The council could strip you of everything for this. Time and time again I have to stop you, but this time…” His narrow eyes flickered to her. “It should be impossible… but she almost rejected me.”

“The council can do as they please, I don’t care if it’s for her.” Softer. The words made her heart thump harder than the dreams ever had.

"How sweet, sacrificing yourself for her. When did you grow yourself a heart?" Despite the words, Vlad knew Abel had possessed one for a long time. “And what about your little human, what will she say about an incubus crawling into her bed and trying to cosy up to her as if you can have some kind of… anything!”

Abel glanced at her and, for the first time, he looked nervous. Her hand settled on his, head spinning with all the information, her mind foggy with sleep. A lot to ask of her in one breath.

“I’d like to talk about it, at least. You owe me an explanation if nothing else.” Her sleepy attempt at scolding didn’t do much to dent the look of sheer relief and delight that she hadn’t immediately rejected him. She couldn’t stay mad.

“Disgusting,” Vlad snarled, but she thought she saw hurt and not anger this time. He swirled from the room, the night settling quiet and deep around them.

Abel dropped heavy onto the bed with a quiet sigh and a guilty look cast her way.

“Do you still drink coffee… Like this? I think we could use some.” She made the first move, an olive branch coated in caffeine, and a helpless laugh of relief returned as her reply.

“Coffee sounds wonderful.”

Like what you just read? Want to see one of our authors tackle a character you love, all while supporting a great cause? Consider commissioning our group in our charity drive, or just spread the word if you can with a reblog!

[dirtydoesgood]

A Star Is Born (MLQC Kiro - NSFW)

Title: A Star Is Born

Author: Otonymous Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice Character(s): Kiro x Reader (Female MC) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Exhibitionism, explicit language Prompt: Fake married Summary: Kiro helps you discover a never-before realized aptitude for performance

You brought this on yourself.

It was at times like these that you wish the voice in your head wasn't such a bitch.  Especially when you could barely stomach the sight of Kiro’s hand on her face, fingers sweeping in a light caress over perfect cheekbones, her blush so rosy she could have done without makeup.

Not that you could blame her.  After all, who could resist the charms of the superstar with eyes so blue they shone with the light of their own sun?

You were not immune, and Niki, the leader of the hottest girl group in pop music at the moment, certainly wasn't either.  But business was business, and you should’ve been thankful that both artists agreed to sign on for the new show your company was producing, ‘Just Married.’

Kiro had cocked his head when you brought it up a few weeks ago, still sweaty from ravishing each other the moment you entered the privacy of his home.  Snuggled in the crook of his arm with his racing heart echoing in your ear, you had posed the question.

“You want me to WHAT, Miss Chips?”

“Pretend you’re married to her.  The staff will film the two of you doing things that couples do: going on dates, cooking together…you know, playing house.  Oh, and there will be a wedding photo shoot as well.  Niki’s agent said she agreed, but only on the stipulation that you’re to be her co-star.”

“I guess you must be really desperate if you’re asking me to do this kind of thing.  But why don't you play my wife?  It wouldn’t be far from the truth.  Plus, shouldn’t your hero’s star power be enough to save the day AND your show regardless of who I’m paired up with?”

He pulled his face into a mock pout so enticing you couldn't help but plant a kiss on those luscious lips.

“Technically, yes.  But I’m not a celebrity, and Niki’s father is an important investor in our company.  We can’t afford to offend him or his daughter, no matter how unreasonable their requests.”

“Fine, fine.  If it will make Miss Chips smile, this hero will sacrifice the sanctity of his body to provide.”

“Good thing I already defiled you a long time ago-”

Your chuckle turned into an abrupt shriek when a pillow hit your face, and it wasn't long before your impromptu wrestling session became another excuse to put your hands on one another, fits of laughter dissolving into passionate love making.

How you wished those hands were on you now; that it was your hair his fingers were running through, careful as they brushed back errant strands from the frame of Niki’s enraptured face.

How you wished he wasn’t such a talented actor, looking into her eyes with an intensity that touched and broke your heart at the same time.

How you wish you had never agreed to the outrageous idea of putting your lover in the arms of another, much less someone as gorgeous as Niki.  Niki…who looked like there was nothing more she wanted than to turn this fantasy into a reality.

“I’ve never seen such a beautiful bride,”  Kiro whispers his line as he lifts the gauzy veil from her face, the stilted rhythm of the wedding photographer’s shutter mirroring the beating of your sore heart, growing increasingly violent as Kiro brings his face close…

No.

Closer.

No more.

So close, his lips are on the verge of brushing hers...

STOP!

“CUT!  Good take, everyone!  Let’s break for lunch.”

The director’s shout carries across the room to halt all action, and the breath you'd been holding finally escapes.  Kiro quickly pulls back — much to your relief and Niki’s chagrin — and you can’t help but grin in return when he throws a discrete wink in your direction.

You head towards Kiro, threading your way through the bustling staff that separated you.  But before you could reach him, Savin overtakes you at the last moment — eyes sharp and lips tight when he wrangles the superstar by his ear.

“For the last time Kiro, you are NOT to post any more mukbang videos online, do you hear me?!  You still haven’t lost the weight you gained from the previous one!”

His agent drags him away, merciless even in the face of Kiro’s pitiful expression and you are powerless to answer your boyfriend’s silent plea for help.  There really was no stopping Savin once he got started on a tirade.  So you suppress a sigh, doing your best to school your crestfallen expression into one of neutrality.  

You had to keep your relationship with him a closely guarded secret.  After all, Kiro, the nation’s sweetheart, did not belong solely to you.  

Between recording a new album, fan meets, interviews and photo shoots, your lover had already made a valiant effort to fit you into his insanely packed schedule.  A night spent entangled in each other’s limbs before someone had to tear themselves away at the crack of dawn, hidden beneath a baseball cap pulled low.  The odd picnic on out-of-sight rooftops, laughing as gusts of wind upturned convenience store lunches.  Lithe yet powerful arms wrapping about your waist to whirl you into kisses in shadowy corners designed to take your breath away.

No, you wouldn’t trade any of this for the world.

So you slap your cheeks, pushing back the dull ache that arose at the thought of going yet another day without time alone with Kiro.  Count your blessings, you chide, slipping your hand into your pocket and smiling to feel the cellophane-wrapped candy your lover had given you just for moments like these.  Green apple sugar dissolving pleasant on your tongue, you are reminded that sweetness could be found even in bitter situations.

You could handle this.

You could not handle this.

“Why is there a bed scene all of a sudden?!  When was that added to the script?!”

Willow rolls her eyes and nods in Niki’s direction, still being fussed over by hair and make-up on the other side of the set.  “Last minute change courtesy of the queen.  Her father was on the phone and Anna couldn’t reach you, so she had no choice but to agree on your behalf or else stall production.  Director Young is annoyed too but rolling with the changes.”

Silently cursing the fact that your phone’s battery had decided to die the night before, you glance towards Kiro, already changed and studying the script.  Your heart skips a beat to see his handsome face serious and focused.  But then — as if sensing he was being watched — Kiro’s head snaps up, a broad smile infusing sunshine into that perfect visage to see you.  

Right before it is drawn into a frown that has him jumping from his chair and headed your way.

“What’s wrong, Miss Chips?  You don’t look well.”  Kiro’s voice is low, soft so only you could hear.  Azure eyes peer into yours, his concern palpable as he searches for signs of anything amiss.  You offer him a weak smile.

“I’m…I’m okay.  It’s just, they added a new scene to the schedule today and it took me by surprise, that's all."

“Ah.  The bed scene we’re filming after lunch.  Savin mentioned it this morning.” Kiro looks away, lips pursing as he thinks.  Then, he bends to whisper in your ear, a mischievous smirk on his face. “If it bothers you that much, I could call her bluff.  Want me to throw a fit and refuse to do it?”

“Oh god, no.  Please don’t.  I don’t want you to tarnish your reputation over something as silly like this.  Plus, I don't think I can take any more excitement.  It’ll be a miracle if I get through the rest of this day alive-”

“Places everyone!”  

You are interrupted by a shout from the assistant director, her command igniting a flurry of activity across the set.

“Well, if it’s a miracle you need, Miss Chips,” Kiro says as he begins moving to take his position, “a miracle you will get!”  Blue eyes twinkling, he twirls his finger in the air with a flourish like a magic wand, leaving you perplexed but amused nonetheless.

“Not a peep, Miss Chips.  Savin is watching.”

Kiro’s statement, a warm whisper laid at the shell of your ear, was entirely unnecessary.  That much you could already see for yourself.  Not just Savin, in fact, but the entire crew had eyes and cameras trained on the two of you lying on that bed and tucked under a blanket.  And with your back curved up against the superstar’s torso — muscular beneath the thin cotton pyjamas that matched your own — you tried to focus on something other than his deft fingers toying with the waistband of your shorts.

Like how Niki was probably still fuming on the toilet, for instance, cursing fate for mysteriously having been the only one to contract food poisoning on the set.

Your face had paled when Kiro pulled you aside shortly after the midday meal, voice low in a way that made you bend closer to make out what he was saying.

“Must’ve been the fruit she was snacking on during the morning break.  Good thing I stayed away from the cantaloupe."  Kiro nodded thoughtfully.

“But I ate it, and I’m fine.  Same with Willow—”

“I wouldn’t think too much about it, Miss Chips.  Don’t question a miracle when it drops in your lap!  Fact of the matter is that Niki is stuck on the can and we need to film this scene.  The crew already has everything prepped and my schedule is too packed to push this back another day, so…”

Kiro tossed you a wig and a wink.

“…you'll have to be my co-star for the bed scene!  Don’t say no!  Everyone else is already onboard!  Besides,” he leans in close to whisper conspiratorially, “it’ll be a perfect way for us to spend some quality time at work!”

So it was that you found yourself in the awkward position of being filmed as your lover held you in an intimate embrace, all while pretending you were Niki through a well-constructed hairpiece and camera magic.

Magic.  

That is what you needed to continue holding onto your poker face when Kiro’s hands constantly threatened to shatter your fragile mask.  Because the meandering movements of his fingers were nothing short of maddening, exploring beneath your shirt until his index traced slow circles about the dip of your navel, not content to move on until it had drawn out goosebumps that spread along the circumference of its path.

Your breath escapes in a shudder that does nothing to ease the tightness in your chest, fit to burst when Kiro’s hand slips even lower, past the waistband of your shorts — warm palm cupping your mound possessively through silken panties already damp with desire.

“You gotta be quiet, Miss Chips.  You know how sensitive these boom mics are.  I don’t think you want everyone to know that I’m about to fuck you with my fingers, right?  So be a good girl and make sure you keep that straight face, okay?  We’ve got reputations to maintain.”

The honey in his voice contrasts with the stark honesty of his words in a way that makes you blink, feeling your nipples tighten into hard points aching to be sucked into a hot mouth even as Kiro’s fingers slip beneath your panties.  Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to suppress the flush spreading pink over your face as you scan the gazes trained in your direction, wondering why being observed like a caged animal made you wetter than you have ever been before.

“You’re captivating, Miss Chips.  A natural-born performer.  A true star.”  Kiro had said that of you before, tongue wetting his lower lip as he zoomed the camera in on the curves of your body, moving in slow, fluid motion to a song he had written just for you — secret flesh unveiling in a striptease for his eyes only.

Now, you were centre stage once more, testing your ability to act like nothing was out of the ordinary when all you wanted was to cry out in pleasure at the way Kiro teased at your pussy.  First, one finger: gentle taps upon the hood of your clit in time to the blood pulsing rhythmic though slick flesh.  Then, two: the pads of index and middle sliding along your entrance, gathering moisture to run a torturous circuit around your throbbing clit, slow and smooth.

Kiro’s breath blew warm and even at the nape of your neck, but the pounding echo of his heart against your back made it clear that he, too, was caught in the inexorable grip of excitement.  That, and the erection that pressed insistently against the cleft of your ass.

And the cameras were still rolling.

In the midst of all this, the questions: what if the director yelled “Cut!” when Kiro’s fingers were still deeply burrowed in your pussy?  What if the wet sounds of his hand at play were even louder than you thought they were?  And if you failed to hold back, what if your orgasm was witnessed by everyone present while being recorded for posterity?  Your mind was a mess, torn between the fear of being caught, yet becoming more aroused for it.

Then, the near-miss: Kiro’s fingers delve inside you, skin stretching against the slide of his digits that move with leisure — in and out and in and out in a slow finger fuck before searching for its favourite spot to curl and press against, leaving you slack-jawed.  And for a moment, your mouth drops, eyes closing a touch too long before you remember to pull yourself together.

For the truth was that you were falling apart in the most gentle of ways, Kiro drawing out a relaxed release that was so different from the manner in which you usually climaxed with your lover: hard and intense, desperate to imprint onto each others’ bodies with what little time you had together.

Here, before an audience, your tremors sprouted from the seed at your dampened core, still clenching around Kiro’s fingers when they rolled in waves to shake your limbs and arch your back in that tell-tale way your lust-addled mind tried to fight.

“I wish I had my mouth on your cunt right now.  I bet you’re sweeter than candy.”

Kiro’s whisper sends fresh shockwaves through your body.  You could feel yourself growing even slicker on his hand - soothing as its caresses slowed.

“CUT!  Good job, Kiro!  And excellent work for you, newbie!  You’re a natural.”  Director Young’s shout breaks the silence on the set, and you take advantage of the ensuing noise of the bustle to unleash a soft groan as your lover slides his fingers from your pussy, his other hand quickly fixing your clothes beneath the covers.

The heat on your cheeks now unbearable, you quickly turn to face Kiro, ready to pounce on him like Savin.  But then the irresistible grin on his face stops you in your tracks, the choice words you had for him scattering from your mind to see those blue eyes wink as Kiro says,

“Told you you’re a true star, Miss Chips.  Your body performs so beautifully…especially in front of an audience.”

To the person who commissioned this piece:

Thank you so much for supporting our cause, and for your patience in waiting for your story!  I hope you enjoy the read 💕

[dirtydoesgood]

Are there still some requests left to come out? Don’t mean to bother you because this was a wonderful thing you all did! If it’s done already i just wanted to say the fics were amazing! And thank you for all you did!

Hey! There are quite a few left but unfortunately, many of our writing team are caught up with life matters and such. We’re also in the process of tallying up our totals and having to find a new charity as the one we previously chose has now met its goal.

With that being said, if you have a commission and have a question about it, feel free to message us here off-anon or reply to the email you got and we’ll try to reply ASAP 💛