Summary: During a humiliating public breakup, Zayne comes to your rescue.
tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, protective Zayne, confession, suggestive at the end
“This just… isn’t going to work.”
Your boyfriend, or rather, ex-boyfriend, runs a hand through his close-cropped hair and lets out a sigh. He had to do this here, of all places. Your favorite cafe.
Your heart sinks to your stomach, pulse roaring in your ears. Your eyelids flutter as you try desperately not to break down. You thought things were okay. Maybe a little distant since you’d had a lot of missions recently, but nothing unsalvageable. You take in a measured breath. “Can I ask why?”
Across the table, your ex’s lips press into a line. “Honestly… I don’t know what I expected, dating a Hunter, but it wasn’t this. You’re never around, and when you are, you just sleep and pig out on snacks. I guess I just need someone less–”
“Boring?” You finish, letting out a humorless laugh. “Pigish? Sorry to disappoint.”
“Hey, I never said that.” His mouth curves down. “I’m just tired of explaining to my friends why my illustrious city-saving girlfriend can’t make it to dinner. They give me enough shit for dating a girl that makes more money than me, I can’t have them thinking you’re imaginary on top of that.”
“Seriously?” You shove your chair back and stand, cheeks flaming in humiliation. You had no idea he thought any of this. “I see, this is about your ego.”
“Whoa, don’t blame me,” your ex smacks the tabletop for emphasis, standing up to get in your face. “You’re the boring bitch who’s never around—Agh!”
You gasp in shock as a cascade of iced coffee is poured directly onto your ex’s head. The dark liquid drips from his face and soaks through the shoulders of his white hoodie. He sputters and curses, but he’s not the one grabbing your attention. Instead, your gaze snaps to a man with the now-empty cup. To your utter disbelief, it’s Zayne Li, your old friend and primary care physician. His arm is still extended, frozen above the mess, expression blank.
“Apologies,” he deadpans, “my hand slipped.”
“Huh? My clothes! Wh-Who–?”
Zayne seems to reanimate, projecting logical calm. Only because you know him well can you tell how tense his features are.
“You mentioned money troubles. If you can’t cover your dry-cleaning bill, feel free to send it to Dr. Li at Akso Hospital. However,” he gently takes your arm, lifting your purse from the seat behind you before continuing in a tone reserved only for instances you’ve done something life-threatening on a mission. “I’d ask that you refrain from speaking to my patient in such a vulgar manner.”
“Hey, buddy, this is none of your business–”
“And,” Zayne continues, his green eyes flashing, “if you ever consider trying to physically intimidate her again, I must warn you that she regularly bests Wanderers twice your size. In addition, I myself am quite dextrous with a scalpel.”
Your ex stands there, slack-jawed for a long moment, like he can’t quite connect the dots of this surreal situation. Finally he settles on, “Wait. A-Are you threatening me?!”
“Yes.” A micro-smile plays on Zayne’s lips. “Goodbye.”
Your ex’s face goes practically purple. He starts to sputter, to seethe, but Zayne simply ignores it and turns his attention to you. He guides you toward the exit, murmuring an apology to the staff and handing them a generous tip on the way out.
You barely notice the chime of the cafe’s bell, your ex’s fading protests, or the autumn air hitting your flushed cheeks. There’s only Zayne. His grip on your arm, his broad shoulders haloed in the daylight.
For a long, tense beat, the two of you walk in silence. Zayne is going slightly too fast, brows furrowed and movements rigid. You realize that before now, you've never seen him angry. Worried? Disapproving? Definitely. But never like this, where the tight leash he keeps on his emotions seems to have loosened. You peer up at him, heart fluttering. “You okay?”
“I’m sorry,” Zayne lets out a breath, still looking straight ahead. His grip on your arm tightens almost imperceptibly. “It was inappropriate of me to intrude back there. I tried to mind my own business, but my body seemed to move unconsciously–”
“No, it’s okay,” At this point, your adrenaline has started to dip. Reality settles in your gut. Waves of embarrassment. You slap a hand over your mouth–dId all of that really just happen? In public? Tears fiercely held back at the cafe now slide down your cheeks in salty rivulets. “I’m glad you were there. Thanks.”
Zayne immediately notices the break in your voice. He stops walking, calling your name softly and wiping the teardrops from your lashes. “Perhaps we should get you out of here.”
You nod your consent, and to your surprise, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and tucks your shaking form against his solid one. He guides you to where he parked nearby, eases you into the passenger seat. Then, the second the two of you are alone, the dam bursts. Time loses meaning as you cry and cry.
You feel like a child, blubbering and sobbing and clinging to Zayne’s shirt. You’re definitely wrinkling it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” You murmur. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”
“Don’t apologize,” Zayne loops his arms around you, rubbing your back in gentle strokes. “Crying means you’re allowing yourself to feel the indignity of this situation. It’s healthy to do so.”
You giggle a bit in spite of yourself at his words. “Always so wise, Doctor.”
A line appears between Zayne’s brows. “I thought I told you, just ‘Zayne’ is fine outside the hospital.”
“Ah, sorry,” you wipe the corners of your eyes, sniffling. “I guess just don’t know how I should address you after you witnessed that unmitigated disaster back there.”
“What I witnessed,” Zayne says after a time, thoughtful, “was proof that your former partner didn’t understand how lucky he was to have you.”
At his straightforward praise, your heart speeds up and heat rises to your cheeks. “Awwww, Zayne, stop,” you bat at his arm, letting out a sound that’s half-laugh and half-sob. “Y-You don’t need to take pity on me. I know I picked a selfish prick for a boyfriend.”
“That’s true,” Zayne allows, and you’re giggling again. “But his prickishness and your worth as a person aren’t related. And there’s a difference between pity and pointing out that you deserve much better.”
For the first time in awhile, your red-rimmed eyes drift up to meet Zayne’s. They look nothing like they did during the confrontation—sharp and cold. Now, they gaze upon you with such soft adoration that you suddenly feel shy. “Thank you, Zayne.”
You throw your arms around his neck and nuzzle into his chest, inhaling the scent of jasmine with an edge of antiseptic. You recall how he comforted you when the two of you were kids, with pats that were clumsier and more awkward than he is now, but just as sweet. You always feel safe when he’s nearby, and right now, you feel so grateful to have him here that you could start crying all over again.
Zayne seems to sense this. He tightens his grip on you and says softly in your ear. “Let it out if you need to. It’s all right.”
You do as he bids, but this time it’s cathartic. A relief to your system. Zayne just lets you melt into him, unconsciously tracing patterns across your skin. After an unknown amount of time, you feel something warm press against your forehead. You blink, realization belatedly dawning.
He just kissed you.
You lean back, looking up at him with wide eyes. Zayne, for his part, looks just as surprised as you are. He brushes his hand against his lips, and a tinge of pink spreads from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. “I-I’m sorry, that was…” Zayne opens and closes his mouth once. Twice. But he can’t seem to finish his thought.
“I-It’s alright,” you supply, overcoming your giddy disbelief to show him what you hope is an unbothered smile. “You really helped me calm down, Zayne. I appreciate it.”
“…Much obliged.”
He looks away. The silence is grueling.
“Maybe, um, we should go now?”
“Ah, yes. Would you feel more comfortable going to my place or yours?” he asks. He looks embarrassed to have clarified, and you have to bite back a laugh.
“Yours.”
Zayne nods, only looking straight ahead as he puts the car in gear. The drive home is silent, a little awkward. But you can’t deny that your sadness feels dimmer than it was, softer at the edges. It’s been replaced with a dawning realization that maybe you chose the wrong person, and the right one was there all along.
It’s only the third or fourth time you’ve been to Zayne’s place since he became your physician. It’s tidy as you remember, with a few materials–probably work-related–scattered about and keeping it from feeling straight out of a magazine.
“Here,” Zayne sets a pair of lilac slippers in front of you. You recall that last time you were here, he didn’t have an extra pair of house shoes for guests.
“You got another pair!” You beam, sighing at the softness of the fluffy material. “I love the color.”
“Well, I hoped you–ahem. I hoped I’d have guests.” Zayne doesn’t meet your eyes, but your heart swells with gratitude.
Zayne brews some calming tea, and the two of you get settled on his couch. You’re wrapped in a soft throw blanket, and he’s settled among some pillows with his laptop perched on his knees. “I have a few charts to look over,” he looks apologetic. “But I don’t mind background noise.”
“And I don’t mind that you have obligations. I’m just happy to have you here.” You snatch up his remote and put on a nostalgic rom-com. It’s one you’ve seen hundreds of times, you know the dialogue by heart. And the comfort of that, mixed with the satisfying taptaptap of Zayne’s keyboard, has you drifting off to sleep.
When you open your eyes again, it’s because a low, gentle voice is calling your name.
“Zayne…?” His name comes out as practically a yawn.
“You’ve been asleep awhile. You should try to eat something, hmm?” His fingertips trace the shadows under your eyes, only to gently caress your cheek.
“You’d be a good husband, you know that?” you say dreamily. He bites his bottom lip, but you don’t notice, stretching your arms above your head with a groan. “Or a mama cat.”
“Ha. You flatter me.”
The two of you sit cross-legged with your takeout containers, watching a medical drama. Zayne dutifully points out when the actors’ techniques are bad, what alternative treatments he’d recommend, and how never once in his years of cardiology experience has he been tasked with removing a live bomb from someone’s chest cavity. But you’re both enjoying yourselves, getting invested in the melodramatic romances and betrayals. Three episodes in and the sun has set. You’ve switched to ice cream.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?” you ask Zayne, licking a smear of chocolate from your spoon. On the screen, the main couple is having an impassioned fight.
To your surprise, he sets his carton on the coffee table and sends you a slight smile. “Once.”
“Really?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you were totally focused on school. I’d have never pegged you for the lovesick type. Was it some amazing classmate?”
Your brain betrays you, then, picturing all of the gorgeous, mature doctor-types that Zayne could have fallen for. Or a soft-hearted nurse. A confident researcher. Something about the idea turns your stomach and makes your mouth taste sour.
“It wasn’t in school,” he clarifies.
“A colleague, then? Or… a patient?”
“Well…” He studies your face, the mask of conflicting emotions that must be twisting your features. “Rather than thinking of her as a patient, I’d say it was someone I held a torch for for many years.” Your heart clenches. You never knew there was a special person like that in Zayne’s life.
“That’s… wow.”
To your shock, Zayne picks up your hand. His thumb traces your knuckles in a gentle arc. “The first time we parted, as children, was the closest thing I’d ever known to ‘heartbreak’. And I think the loneliness of not seeing her never fully healed, either.” He raises your joined hands and squeezes. His hazel eyes never leave yours. “And then, after we reunited as adults, I realized how painful it was to see her with someone else. I knew that I didn’t want to let her slip away again. That would be true heartbreak.”
Your lips part and a small gasp escapes. The implications, the weight of his words, makes your chest feel like it’s on fire. “Oh.”
“Oh,” he agrees.
All at once, the gears start to whir in your brain, memories flit by with new context. Foggy feelings become clear, and withheld desires are stirred up like a summer storm. “Zayne,” you breathe. “You were dealing with these feelings alone, all this time?”
He nods. Then frowns. “But I don’t want you to feel any pressure to respond. I answered your question truthfully, but it doesn’t have to upend our friendship if you–”
You cut him off by nearly pouncing on him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. “You were my first crush, you know,” you whisper against his mouth. “And I don’t think it ever really faded.”
Zayne makes a deep rumbling sound you can feel in his chest. His hold on your waist, at your jaw, almost burns. His kisses are demanding now, an intoxicating contrast to the taste of mint, chocolate and second chances. With every reverent, sensual touch, you become achingly sure that this is right. It’s not just an impulse, a whim. It’s always been Zayne.
When you break apart, he cradles the back of your head with one hand, breath hot as he lets out a heavy sigh. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”
You let yourself fall forward and laugh against his collarbone. “You stole my line. But aren’t you worried this is some kind of rebound? A flash in the pan?”
Zayne arches an eyebrow. His warm hands settle on your thighs, maneuvering you so you’re straddling his lap. “I have ways,” he says, teeth grazing the shall of your ear and making you shiver, “of making you want to stay by my side.”
“Care to elaborate?” you coax.
“Patience, darling,” he kisses you again, sweet and tender. “We’ve got all night.”
Description: Jealous Lucien smut from “True Love Date.” That’s it
Summary: Lucien shows her just exactly who the most important person to him was.
Word Count: 4,013
Author’s Note: This is my entry for Day 6 of Kinktober. I used this Kinktober 2020 Prompt
Day 6: Free Use
Also, requested by Icy~ ^-^
Inspired by this little section from my "Partners in Pleasure" fic:
The Lucien who had slammed her into the wall with a dangerous “Tell me,” hissed angrily through clenched teeth when she was asked about the most important person in her life. The Lucien who had tortured her so ardently that very night as he grit out a “You don’t want to make me jealous again, kitten,” before thoroughly ravaging her.
I'm pretty sure every Lucien stan who is a writer have written some version of this. This is my take. Also, I've taken "overstimulation" as in "fucking brainless" which also translates to "too many damn orgasms" in my book. Enjoy!
[DISCLAIMER] As always, the characters, art, music do not belong to me. The only thing I own is the plot. Lines that are taken directly from the "True Love Date" will have * in front of the text.
⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰
“If you don't mind, I'll walk that line
Stuck on the bridge between us
Gray areas and expectations
But I'm not the one if we're honest
But I wanna sleep next to you
And I wanna come home to you
I wanna hold hands with you
I wanna be close to you”
Troye Sivan – “Talk Me Down”
*“So, Professor Lucien, is there anyone you’re crushing on here?” Kiki asks Lucien amidst boisterous cheering.
Lucien chuckles as he looks over at the girl, whose cheeks were blazing scarlet. “Yes,” the answer slips easily and naturally out of his mouth.
She ducks her head then, trying to tug her hand free from Lucien’s grasp, but he holds on tight. The crowd of her coworkers cheer and spin the bottle again. The neck of the bottle comes to a stop in front of Lucien again and everyone burst into loud exclamations once more.
“Who is it? Who?” Everyone clamors around Lucien in excitement, trying to force the answer from his lips.
He gazes back at her and her eyes skips from him, staring pointedly at the wall behind him. Lucien smiles amusedly and downs the shots, much to everyone’s disappointment. A wave of warmth spreads from his throat, blossoming outward from his chest.
Her coworkers continue to play until the bottle stops in front of her. “Finally, it’s the boss’s turn!” Kiki grins widely as the mood suddenly changes, everyone leaning forward in anticipation.
“Tell us who is the most important to you and why,” Willow announces after a dramatic pause. She winks at Kiki and adds, “Be specific.”
Lucien could hardly admit to himself how eagerly he awaits her response, stiffening up and holding his breath.
She sighs and chances a peek at Lucien, cheeks and ears turning a rosy shade of pink as she prepares herself. *“Because I got to know this someone…” she begins shyly, blushing harder. “He…showed me a brand new world. He’s gentle, but not pretentious. A mystery, but also clear as day.” She starts slowly, but her voice begins to pick up enthusiasm as she goes on. “He can see all of my thoughts and he teaches me the ways of the world.”
Lucien’s hand tightens on his glass as he desperately tries to swallow the prickly feelings that were threatening to engulf him. For some reason, he didn’t like where this is going. There was a thought that nagged at him in the back of his mind. He had seen her chatting cheerfully with that officer…that-Gavin. Had heard her burst into excited laughter when she was on the phone with Kiro. Had witnessed that damn CEO, Victor, picking her up in his stupidly expensive sports car. Could she be talking about any one of them?
She leans forward unknowingly, as she continues, *“When I meet setback, he’d guide me with patience and understanding.” Her voice has a tender lilt to it.
Lucien savagely downs the contents of his glass and sets it down before he could crush it. The warming effects of the alcohol disappears and all he could feel is the thudding of his heartbeat roaring in his ears. The only thought that rages through his mind is who, who, who?
*“He is…very important to me,” she concludes softly with a small sigh, a rare smile breaking through her features.
Her coworkers collectively release their breaths.
*“That was visceral! I bet the person isn’t here or else Boss wouldn’t have said all that!” Someone chimes teasingly.
“Yeah! You know how shy Boss is!” Another person laughs noisily.
The comments grate at Lucien’s ears and he grinds his jaw. A different kind of warmth, one that is white hot, courses through his veins.
“I really want to know who it is!” Kiki wonders aloud.
Lucien silently takes another shot, trying to quell the rage that was slowly building inside him. His vision starts to blur, but he pays it no mind.
She laughs quietly and shakes her head. “Let’s just continue the game,” she hastily directs their attention back to the bottle on the table.
Coming here tonight…was a bad idea, a thought pops up unbidden. Lucien tosses back another shot, missing the worried glance she throws in his direction.
The party continues, but Lucien’s mood worsens, along with the drunkenness of the crowd.
At some point, she slips to the bathroom and when Lucien couldn’t take the burning question any longer, he says some stupid excuse to her coworkers and leaves to go find her. The question bores a hole in Lucien’s mind as he stalks silently along the dimly lit hallway.
Who is this important person?
His fists clench and the scowl on his face deepens. The alcohol he had drunk earlier blurs all thought, all reason.
Remember your purpose, Ares. A voice whispers in his mind, but Lucien shoves it aside. He could care less about his purpose at this moment.
A sudden movement catches his eye and before any reasonable thought occurs, he’s pushing the girl against the wall, his hand grabbing her wrist.
*“What are you doi-“
*“That person who’s most important to you…Who is he? Tell me,” his mouth is moving before his brain registers the words. A look of confusion spreads across her face and Lucien presses harder against her. “Tell me!” Nothing but fiery rage runs through his entire body.
Her expression softens, “It’s you…” she says, but Lucien presses harder against her, only hearing a soft buzzing. “Lucien,” she calls his name and her words finally gets through the buzzing in his ears. “It’s you I was talking about,” she murmurs, smiling. “You’re very important to me…” Stunned, Lucien loosens his grip on her as he backs away. He hears his heartbeat thudding in his ears, a roaring that reverberates throughout him and she continues. “Everything I said was meant for you to hear but you misunderstood…”
The relief flooding through him was instantaneous and he nearly stumbles. There is nothing in his eyes except for the sight of her smiling face. “I’m sorry…did I hurt you?” Lucien asks as he drops her wrist.
“A little…but I’m okay,” She smiles, and Lucien rubs her wrist gently.
“I’m…sorry,” Lucien pulls her into his arms as he breathes a sigh of relief into her hair. It should’ve unnerved him with how relieved he felt, but Lucien couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Shall we go?” She asks, voice muffled into his chest, “I think I’ve had enough.”
He agrees readily and ignores the whispers of “Stupid. You’re a fool, Ares.”
The girl in his arms robs all reasonable thought, but Lucien thinks to himself that he prefers it that way as she slips her hand into his. His only colors in the world, he would follow her blindly wherever she goes.
They say goodbyes to her coworkers and Lucien fights the urge to claim when he sees a male coworker smiling at her. Kim, Lucien remembers.
The two of them chat a little too long for Lucien’s liking, and he walks up to the pair, offering the singer a tight smile. “Shall we go?” He asks the girl, his hand naturally finding purchase on her shoulder.
She nods cheerfully as she waves goodbye at Kim and allows herself to be led away by Lucien. Lucien clenches the hand not holding hers.
Fool, a voice creeps up in the back of his mind again, but Lucien ignores it.
Lucien is silent in the cab ride home and he can feel her sneaking glances at him, questions as clear as day written on her face.
He could sense her reluctance to part as she squares her shoulders, physically preparing herself to say goodbye when they reach their respective doors. Gently, he places his hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing a soothing circle as he maneuvers her to face him. “Come inside for some tea to sober up. You’ve drank a lot tonight.” Her eyes instantly light up and Lucien’s mouth curls up in an answering smile. He lets go of her shoulder to unlock his door. She follows him inside eagerly.
No sooner did the door close behind her, Lucien is tugging her into his arms. “Lucien, wha-mmph!” Her question is muffled by the sudden press of Lucien’s lips. “Lucien!” She gasps against his lips.
“Shh,” Lucien murmurs, taking her lower lip and biting down gently. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw you today.” The sudden confession renders her speechless, but she accepts his kiss, earning a pleased sound from Lucien. She tastes the sweetness of the wine he drank earlier, and a heady feeling fills her veins, as if she could get drunk on his lips alone. He kisses her slow and sweet, pulling her snug against his chest. “I’ve missed you, my little butterfly,” The hushed whisper floats between the languid presses of their lips.
“Lucien…” her arms automatically snake around his neck, pulling him closer to her. The tantalizing way she whispers his name sends heat rushing through Lucien’s body. “I’ve…missed you…too.”
Her admission makes him pause. Pulling away slightly, he peers into her beautiful eyes and swallows hard when he sees nothing but the reflection of himself. Her eyes had only him. Lucien tries to push down the prickly feelings he had been feeling throughout the entire night, but to no avail. He wanted to claim her, to make her his, so that she wouldn’t ever look at another man. “Butterfly…” he lets out a breath, the small puff of air hits her lips and she shivers. “Won’t you give yourself to me tonight?”
She gazes upwards at him, and Lucien knows he’s hopelessly and irrevocably fallen into her trap.
So much for the feeble attempt to stay away.
“Yes…” her voice is quiet, but Lucien hears it all the same. He tucks a finger under her chin and leans closer, their breaths mingling.
“Then would it be okay for me to have you however I like?” His words ghost over her lips and he could see her lips tremble from the sensation.
Her cheeks flush and Lucien’s eyes were dark. The unmistakable hunger swimming in his irises makes her swallow. “Have me…Lucien…”
With that invitation, Lucien surges forward, slotting his lips against hers. His tongue prods the seam of her lips, asking for permission. When he was granted, his tongue enters to taste her mouth as he slips a leg between her thighs, trapping her against the door. “Will you give all of you to me?” Lucien asks, fingers caressing her face.
She nods breathlessly, “Yes…I’m all yours...”
It was like a switch had flipped. Lucien grinds his leg against her as he presses a hungry kiss against her open mouth. She gasps at the friction and Lucien slips a hand under her blouse, teasing and tracing tantalizing circles on the heated skin. “That’s good to hear, kitten,” he growls against the shell of her ear before licking at her lobe, “Because you sure didn’t act that way earlier.” His lips trace blazing kisses along the span of her neck and his hand ducks under her skirt. “You’re already so wet,” he whispers silkily. “Naughty girl, don’t you know what I’m about to do to you?” He curls his finger into her as she arches against him with a whimper.
“Lu-Lucien,” she stammers as her knees buckle. She holds onto Lucien’s shoulders for dear life.
“Shh,” Lucien shushes her by laying the slick finger he had just buried inside her against her lips. “Look how drenched you are for me.” And only me, he adds silently as he dives back to attack her mouth, picking her up when he did so. He maneuvers them expertly into his bedroom, setting her down with care on the bed and undresses her reverently. Lucien shrugs off his turtleneck and takes a moment to admire the sight of her naked body, a stark contrast against the black sheets. “Look at you,” he sighs as he settles between her legs. “Look at how perfect you are.” Her entire body flushes the prettiest shade of pink and she averts her eyes. “Don’t hide from me,” Lucien chides as he kisses a trail up her thigh, across her stomach, between the valley of her breasts, up, up, and up until he comes to a stop in front of her lips. She sucks in a shaky breath and holds it as he watches her, violet eyes nearly black. “Do you trust me?” His question is electrifying, causing the blood in her veins to heat up. She nods slowly.
Much too trusting, Lucien thinks, if only she knew…
He pushes these thoughts away and presses a quick kiss against her lips before undoing his belt. Before she could ask what he’s doing, she feels warm leather wrap around her wrists. “Lucien…” Her hands are bound with his belt and he pulls her arms over her head.
“I’ll make you feel good, kitten,” he promises as he trails fiery kisses across her collarbone. “Like no one else ever did,” his words are muffled by her skin. He presses open-mouthed kisses on her chest, and she inhales. Lucien smiles as he slowly takes one of her breasts into his mouth, tongue running circles around the nipple. He makes a noise of approval when it receives sufficient stimulation. Lucien descends upon her other breast and she moans breathily. “You sound so nice,” he murmurs, voice muffled by her breast as he teases the sensitive skin, and it pebbles under his touch. He moves downward, tongue washing a lazy stripe across her belly and she shudders. “I’ve thought about this all night,” Lucien whispers when he reaches her inner thighs. “Actually I’ve thought about this for many nights. But particularly tonight,” he laps close to her heat and her breaths hitch. “I’ve thought about the way you would taste; how would you look when you’re in the throes of pleasure, pleasure that I have given you.” He doesn’t give her time to react to his words before he buries his head between her legs
“Lucien!” The sudden movement makes her jerk in surprise, but the belt prevents her from releasing her arms. Lucien holds her down as he pushes his tongue into her, and she moans helplessly.
“You taste absolutely divine, kitten,” his low voice is electrifying and sends sparks throughout her entire body. “Just like the way I imagined.”
She bucks into his mouth and he growls approvingly, fingers digging into her hips. His tongue delves faster, and her moans get steadily louder. “Lu-please, please.” She’s begging and Lucien doesn’t hesitate to suck at her swollen clit with relish.
Lucien works his tongue sinfully and she’s positively keening, “I need you to come into my mouth, kitten,” he says as her thighs begin to shake, squeezing his head. “Come on.”
He nips at her clit and all of a sudden, she’s coming hard, Lucien’s name spilling out in a broken cry from her lips. Lucien licks her quivering slit obscenely as she turns into a trembling mess.
“Beautiful,” Lucien breathes. He doesn’t give her time to relax before he’s sliding two tapered fingers into her wet folds, tongue lapping lazily at her sensitive nub.
“Lucien-ah!” She arches off the bed as he furiously pumps his fingers in and out of her. Her wrists strain against their bindings only to struggle helplessly with nowhere to go.
“I have to say, this is better than my imagination,” Lucien’s voice is deep, seductive, and lazy even.
“Lucien!” She whimpers and her walls clench on his fingers.
“You want to come?” Lucien tongues her clit, “Then come for me, beautiful girl.”
As if his command was a spell, Lucien watches, enraptured as she falls apart again, her fluttering walls clenching and unclenching his fingers. Her eyes rolling back in pleasure, her body arches only to fall back down onto the sheets. Lucien’s name is the only thing on her lips as she pants, dazed and quivering.
He quickly sheds his pants and crawls back to her, taking the incoherent girl in his arms. “You’re perfect,” he whispers before flipping her onto her stomach. “You’re perfect in every way.” He cages her in with his body and presses soft kisses along her shoulders. “Beautiful. I am forever awed by you,” He punctuates every word with a kiss.
She feels his throbbing length at her backside, and she whimpers, “Lu-Lucien…”
“Tell me you want me, kitten, tell me you want only me.” Lucien whispers into her as he hooks an arm under her stomach and holds her upright against him.
“I…want only you,” she gasps, hips unconsciously grinding against his cock and Lucien hisses.
“Good,” Lucien sounds pleased, “You don’t want to make me jealous again, kitten.”
That was the warning she receives before Lucien sheathes himself fully in her wet folds and she moans lowly, arching into Lucien’s chest.
“God…” Lucien bites back a curse as he begins to move, “You feel so good.”
She whimpers at the praise, hips struggling to keep pace with Lucien’s thrusts. “Lucien…Lucien…”
“Let it out, kitten,” Lucien growls into her ear as his other hand reaches between her legs, “Let me know who’s making you feel this good, who’s fucking you like this.” Every savage roll of his hips accompanies every word.
“Lucien!” She cries out, knowing that every thrust brings her closer to destruction.
“That’s right,” He hisses as he laps at her pressure point, “Only I can make you feel this good.”
The girl is sobbing and nodding deliriously as Lucien rams into her. “Yes-yes… only you… Lucien…” She’s chanting incoherently. “Please, please,” she doesn’t even know what she is begging for at this point.
Lucien pinches her swollen nub and suddenly the coil in her stomach springs free. She’s crying as she comes, her orgasm ripping through her body in pure pleasure. She falls against Lucien’s chest, the only thing keeping her upright was Lucien’s arm around her waist. “Beautiful,” Lucien whispers as he sits back, taking her with him. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now, undone because of me.” He leans back and spins the boneless girl to face him. “You’re absolutely perfect, beautiful butterfly,” He murmurs reverently. “You’re mine. Mine alone.”
She only nods as her chest heaves. “Y-yours…” she chokes out.
Lucien rearranges her legs, so she was straddling him and pulls her tied hands to rest on his shoulders. Without warning, he grabs her hips and slips his cock within her folds again. A sharp cry escapes from her as he brings her hips down on his.
“Lucien… please,” she’s moaning as he repeatedly thrusts upward into her, fucking hiccupping sobs from her.
“Come for me, kitten,” he growls as he holds her limp body against his chest. She’s too far gone to respond and shakes her head weakly as her body trembles from Lucien’s merciless onslaught. “You can do it,” he grits out, “Come for me. Only me.”
“Lu…” she chokes out, unable to form complete words. “Please,” The plea falls on deaf ears as Lucien relentlessly impales her on his cock. “I can’t…” Her words end with a broken sob.
“You can,” Lucien hisses as she clenches deliciously around his cock. “You’re doing so well, taking my cock like this…” He whispers praises as he continues to abuse her oversensitive bundle of nerves. “Won’t you come for me, butterfly? I want to feel you coming on my cock.” Lucien’s fond voice belies the filthy words.
“Lucien…Lucien…” she babbles his name in incomprehensible moans, head lolling to the side. Lucien follows her head and captures her gasping mouth in a heated kiss.
“Come for me, butterfly. Come. For. Me.”
And suddenly her body seizes before she trembles violently, the full force of her orgasm tipping her into Lucien’s chest as she twitches from the sheer pleasure coursing through her body. Lucien languidly fucks her through her orgasm as he presses kisses into her temple. Gasping, she struggles for breath, utterly boneless.
“You did such a good job,” Lucien groans into her hair as his hips slowly comes to a stop. He sits up and gently flips them so she’s on her back. Lucien removes the belt binding her wrists together. “You…are so beautiful…” he whispers as he leans down to press his lips everywhere he can reach. Lucien cups her face carefully, as if afraid she’d break, his thumbs swiping across her tearstained cheeks. “You are entirely perfect…So kind…So caring…You leave me in absolute awe.” The praises rain down like his kisses.
Shakily, she opens her eyes as Lucien’s words register themselves slowly in her dazed mind. He watches her, a look of unmistakable tenderness is on his face. “Lu…Lucien…” she pants as she reaches her freed wrists towards him. He leans in closer so she can wrap her arms around his neck.
“Do you know why I was away for all these weeks?” Lucien murmurs as she tries to kiss him sloppily. She mouths aimlessly at his chin, his neck and Lucien continues. “It was because I was scared and overwhelmed of my feelings for you…”
The hushed confession bade her pause, her eyes widening. “Lucien…” she whispers shakily and raises a hand to cup his face.
Lucien nuzzles into her touch, pressing soft kisses to her fingertips. “I’m…not a good man,” he says haltingly, and she opens her mouth to object, but Lucien shakes his head at her. “I’ve never pretended to be a good man in the first place…I didn’t have…good intentions….I don’t deserve you…”
“Stop,” she says, and Lucien closes his eyes, sighing. “Lucien. Stop.”
“You’re much too trusting,” Lucien murmurs and there is a touch of self-deprecation.
“Don’t say that again,” she implores, “You know how I feel about you. You know I made my choice.”
There is a light chuckle as Lucien opens his eyes again and she is floored by the infinite amount of love that pools in those violet irises. “You didn’t let me finish,” Lucien smiles, reaching up to caress her hair. “I may not be a good man, but what I feel for you…is absolutely sincere. That is something you can count on.” He says those words with finality, leaving no room for argument.
“Lucien…” she whispers and her eyes are teary again. He presses his forehead against hers, inhaling her scent.
“I’m sorry I got carried away…The thought of someone else having you…the thought of you looking at someone else…” Lucien’s voice drops off apologetically.
It’s her turn to shake her head as she embraces him tighter. “Lucien…I’m yours…I’m all yours…”
Lucien’s voice is hoarse with emotion as he speaks, pressing her into the mattress gently, “Then allow me to have you, to love you…”
“Absolutely,” She whispers against his lips and he begins to move, their fingers interlacing with each other as he sets a slow pace.
With every thrust he drives into her, she feels the amount of Lucien’s love for her. With every kiss he gasps against her lips, she knows that the kisses were cementing Lucien’s love, sealing his love deep within every inch of her, a secret branding that only the two of them know.
She comes first with Lucien’s name leaving her lips and she holds onto Lucien as he pants. His hips stutter to a stop as he gasps her name, spilling heat deep within her.
“I love you…I love you…” She murmurs when Lucien slumps forward into her, panting into her neck.
He shakily reaches for her as he rolls onto his back, taking a moment to catch his breath. And when he speaks, his voice is full of raw and pure emotion.
“I know I don’t deserve you…I’m not going to be any greedier and ask for forever, but…can I trouble you to stay with me at least a little longer?”
shake my heart and let love fall out| MLQC Victor | Kinktober: October 23rd
Prompts: Lingerie || Hate-fucking/Angry sex || Forced orgasm
Here’s entry number 6 for @alloveroliver’s Kinktober 2019!! Hope you like it.
Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice
Pairing: Reader/Victor
Rating: 18+ (nsfw)
Word count: 7500
Warnings: explicit sex and language, angst porn??, angry sex, overstimulation, hickeys, mild spanking, kinda forced orgasm, possessive Victor, marriage, idiotic decisions made for the sake of angst, the sense of flight is stronger than the fight, I have proven yet again that I'm incapable of writing angst
When I write, I like to play a little game: how many synonyms can I use? ha...hahaha...smut is in the second half! There’s a mood board too, my first one ever!
Will I ever stop getting carried away when it comes to writing for Victor? ...probably not
High heels clack down the long hall, the sound echoing off the marble floor.
The sight of a familiar broad back has your throat tightening, steel grey eyes that seemingly look beyond you making your heart race as you reach the top of the sprawling staircase. Victor’s face is beauty carved from the smoothest stone, and his gaze is cooler than December rains.
Your fingers twitch with the urge to cup his face, to coax out some form of emotion.
You know you look good, but that never seemed to stop him from complimenting you in the past. Your dress is soft, cream satin on your body, your hair curled to perfection. Your neck is bound by thin lines of glimmering gemstones, a gift you found waiting for you when you stepped out of the shower. To have him barely glance your way now – it hurts you more than you’d like to admit. But you can admit that you had it coming.
“I see you’ve decided to end your vacation,” he’d asked you, hours after your return, his tone frigid enough to freeze your breath in your lungs. The deep bags under his eyes struck you harder than his words. “Did you finally remember you’re married?”
You never forgot. You have been a coward, tormented by thoughts of confrontation and rejection. You ran away. It was a mistake, you know that now. A split-second decision you can't take back, resulting in a whole year away from the man you still love but don't know how to be with.
The wedding band on your finger still burns with the weight of your decision.
Your hand in the crook of his arm feels natural, the heat of his body comforting; you have to refrain from leaning into him As you descend the steps together, you can’t help but glance at the people waiting at the bottom. At the woman who had called you exactly two weeks ago, crying and pleading with you to come back. Aunt Grace smiles back at you, the look of worry in her eyes fading. You don’t know why she thinks you can fix anything, to be honest. All you do is run. You hadn’t expected anything less than the frosty welcome you got from your husband and it has only gotten worse since then.
“You both look lovely,” she says with a wobbly smile in place, as Victor’s father smiles like he thinks everything will be okay now. You can feel the guilt threatening to burst forth, with the knowledge of what you’re hiding. For now. “Have fun at the party!”
You met Victor in your last year of college, at a farmer's market of all places. It took one impromptu lesson in how to select fresh produce, one cooking class, and a heart-melting kiss under the stars for you to fall in love. You both got married right after you graduated – it was the perfect fairy tale romance. You had been utterly consumed by how much you loved him, to the point where you just...lost yourself, somewhere along the way. You wanted to be with the love of your life. You didn’t know who you were without him.
And then, a year into marriage – the fights started. It was normal, everyone said. Fighting makes you stronger. It didn’t seem that way, it only seemed to weaken you. You two were barely talking. Eventually, you only saw him about twice or thrice a week. He came home later and later, and you stopped waiting up for him. There were no apologies, just expensive gifts. His company was doing so well, deal after deal cementing him as the entrepreneur everyone wanted to do business with. Rumours of his supposed affairs were making rounds in the gossip rags and even though you didn’t really believe them, it fueled the ugly parts of you. The resentment, the jealousy, the insecurity. You were suffocating, under your unwillingness to step out of your little bubble.
But you still didn’t have the courage to confront him.
You don’t even want to think about what your sex life had devolved into.
And then you reconnected with your childhood friend Gavin. He knew you beyond what most people now knew you as- the wife of a successful man. It was refreshing, and it gave you the courage to be more adventurous. You knew he used to have a major crush on you, but it was just something to laugh about after all those years. But Victor had never liked him in the past, and he didn’t like him when he flew back into your life, the perfect distraction from your dull life. You started spending more time with him, handsome and kind Gavin, always there to lend you a shoulder, always there to accompany you wherever you wanted to go.
You think that was when you saw Victor at his ugliest, when you were out with Gavin at your favourite restaurant and he came home early for once, to watch Gavin walk you to the front door. Except, then he tried to kiss you. You rebuffed him as politely as you could, he apologized for overstepping and both of you were mortified. And then there was only dread when you walked in to see Victor. Accusations were hurled, each comment more biting than the previous, and things that could never be taken back were thrown out in the open.
Did you fuck him?
You hurt each other.
We were a mistake.
You made it very clear things were platonic between you and Gavin, but the naked pain on his face still haunts you. The wounds were raw and bleeding after that, and neither of you knew how to patch them up. You couldn't stand the sight of each other for a while. He shut you out, so you left. You took a break. You went to your father’s hometown, where he had established his production company. His protégé, Anna, welcomed you with open arms and encouraging words. You needed a break, you needed to rebuild. And Victor needed time to get things in order, but you secretly hoped he would figure out how to give enough time to your relationship.
There was no more word from Victor though, he just sent over the luggage you had packed but left behind, with a message from Goldman to let him know if you needed anything 'while you were away', and when you planned to go back. You left the more expensive gowns and jewellery he had bought you in your closet and thankfully, he respected it and the distance you chose to put between them.
Taking over your father’s company had been terrifying when you had only worked with them briefly in the past, but it felt right. It’s one of the best decisions you’ve ever made for yourself, and you could finally begin discovering you were without the man who completed you.
You still cried yourself to sleep more often than not, but that was something you kept to yourself. This was something you needed to do.
It was the first time you made a big decision without Victor’s steadiness to take comfort in. Releasing that you are capable of making decisions without him was thrilling, yet devastating. Because he wasn’t an option at the time. It was only a matter of time until you received the divorce papers or a demand from him to return.
Sometimes, you thought of just going back. You knew you could. But something stopped you. Just a little more time, you told yourself. Your company was growing by leaps and bounds. And before you knew it, a year had passed. You were so different from the woman Victor married, yet your feelings for him still ran deep. You kept a close eye on any news you could find on him – the media had a blast speculating about the lives of the young couple. You had managed to survive without him, despite the loneliness. You didn't want to be alone, you wanted him. But you just didn't know how to fit the new pieces of you with his and you didn't know if he even wanted you to.
But he never asked you to return or leave him, and here you are, walking arm-in-arm into the party to announce your return. People whisper excitedly, but most seem to have believed you had just been busy being a successful producer and running your company. Not entirely untrue, but you aren’t going to comment either way, and it seems like Victor agrees.
Not until you talk to him about your future, with or without him.
You accept two flutes of champagne with a dazzling smile, passing one over to Victor with familiar ease. Clinking the glasses together, your eyes meet over the glasses and flick away, your masks in place, ready to meet the world. You hesitate before you leave his side, brushing a hand across his forearm willfully, squeezing once before you’re off to socialize. You know he watches you go, held in place by the sway of your hips.
You greet old friends and new, longtime enemies and people who aren't too excited to have you back. You deflect catty remarks, accept envious compliments aimed at the new jewellery your husband has so lovingly gifted you, field questions about your work. Your smile is flawless regardless of who you speak with, your gaze never too far from Victor as you watch people fall all over themselves trying to impress him.
It’s hard to hold a smirk back at the sight – some things will never change.
Goldman pulls you aside to stare at you for a few seconds before telling you that you're despicable, a coward for doing what you did. “But, I’m so glad you’re home. It was getting...difficult.”
That’s the problem, something that really bothers you. Aunt Grace, Victor’s father, Goldman – everything they’ve said implies that Victor’s been in unending agony in your absence. You shouldn’t have given up, you knew that. But after the big fight, you had tried. Not often, but you tried to talk to him. Victor, he barely came home and you just...couldn’t do it anymore.
Victor seems to have forgotten you were ever in love. It doesn’t help.
Kiro greets you with a brilliant smile and then Victor’s eyes feel like hot coals on the back of your head. You should feel a little more shame at the vindictive satisfaction that curls in your heart.
“I heard your new album,” you tell Kiro excitedly. “You’ve outdone yourself yet again. You must make an appearance on our show!”
“Aw, thanks, ___! I’ve been keeping up with your adventures as a producer too.” Kiro’s smile is warm and knowing – you feel strangely touched. “I’m glad. You seem so different. In the very best way, of course.” He squeezes your hand in support and your eyes meet stormy greys narrowed in a glare.
Whatever. If he has a problem with people talking to you, he can try doing it himself.
Chik is the next to step up to you, with her pin straight hair and dramatic falsies, expression peeved as she curls her arm around yours, leading you to the long table with a mountain of appetizers. You eye each other warily, nibbling on what seems to be a fancy mozzarella stick. "It's nice to see you, Chik."
She glances around to ensure your privacy before she snorts. "Took you long enough. I'm all for extended vacations, but this was too long ___. " You glare in silence, and she meets your narrowed gaze with her own. "You're starting with the fried stuff. Must be pretty bad."
Your expression is enough to make her wince.
"Ah, well. He's still sickeningly in love with you, so I'm sure it won't be too bad. Just, I don't know, fuck his brains out till he forgets you were gone for a year."
"Chik!" you hiss, but you can't hold back a grin at the scandalized looks you both get from the old couple hovering nearby.
But her words throw you for a loop; your plans jumble up by the second and you feel less certain of yourself. You don’t see him watching you from across the room until you're desperate for a distraction, and then it cuts into your path smoothly, with the lethal grace of a panther.
Victor is excellent at feigning disinterest in what you're doing. But it’s when you’re talking to Professor Lucien that he finally seems to have had enough, cutting in stiffly. The Professor’s sultry gaze has produced far better results than you could’ve predicted. Fingers clench at your waist reflexively before stroking your side, a sign of his agitation. He could never resist the feel of satin on your skin, something you’ve taken advantage of far too many times to count.
“We should be getting home, it’s been a while since I had my lovely wife all to myself,” he says with a tight-lipped smile, his eyes brewing with the beginnings of a hurricane. Lucien inclines his head, drawing out a promise from you to catch up soon. At that, Victor’s fingers dig into your flesh, Lucien smirks wittingly and your heart flutters with expectation.
You leave the ballroom in silence, not looking at each other, almost strangers – almost, but for the strange, buzzing tension between you both. The long hallway is nearly deserted, but you spot lovers whispering to each other in a corner, giggling and touching and blushing. You’re distracted by the sight, the sting it brings, the memories it digs up, and so you’re caught off guard when Victor pulls you into a shadowed corner of your own.
It's like stepping into a muted space, one that is cut off from the rest of the world. You’re stuck between the wall and him as he presses closer, breathing in the fresh scent you like to wear, his expression mostly hidden in the dark. It is here that he loosens the reigns, just a little; his hands glide up your sides, just barely brushing the sides of your breasts and it’s enough to tug at your own tightly wound strings. His mouth skims along your jaw, your mouth, tempted and tempting, not quite a kiss – and he’s straining, you feel it when you touch his shoulders, his chest, the iron of his control tight in his muscle.
“___,” he breathes, your name a prayer and a curse in the way it falls from his mouth. His hand splays against the curve of your hip, his tongue traces the shell of your ear, and your breath catches on a moan. And then he rips himself away from you, leaving you bereft and gasping, struggling to process his actions and the depth of your craving.
The ride home is silent. You feel a bit drunk on his achingly familiar scent, the perfume you’ve always loved; your eyes are unable to keep from peeking at the sharp angles of his face. His suit jacket is draped over the top of his seat, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up to his thick forearms, his shirt straining across his broad chest. His knuckles are white from how tight his grip on the steering wheel is.
You get home, and you think it’s finally time to talk.
He opens the door for you, but in your haste to step out and talk to him, your heel gets wedged between the cobblestone lining the pathway. It breaks in half, the snap of it damning and you flail as you go down, your embarrassing dive on the walkway stopped by steady arms winding around your waist.
It's a terribly romantic moment, one where you're close enough to count his lashes, close enough to see the sudden spill of warm yearning in his eyes. He squeezes you closer for a second as if he can’t help it, before he, quite literally, sweeps you off your feet and walks to the entrance. Your face flushes deeper when you catch sight of the grin on his staff's faces. The walk through the door, with you in his arms – you can't help but remember the day of your wedding, when you made a similar entrance. This time, he pauses in the living room, gently placing you down on the couch and your heart swells with hope.
“Victor–“ He walks away before you can continue, without even a hint of acknowledgement, and you freeze at the sight of his back to you. It’s not the first time, but you’re left staring into nothing as you remember all the times he’d walked away when you tried to talk to him. It still stings and you’re unable to say a word.
You miss his glance back at you, the furrow of his brow. You slip off your heels and slink off to your room, something heavy settling in your stomach.
‘There’s no point.’
The divorce papers, empty of any signatures, sit in your bedside drawer.
Victor could never put aside his pride and talk to you. He’s left vulnerability behind in the past. You squeeze your eyes shut as more flashes of your wedding day pass through your mind, of soft eyes and softer smiles. Of twirling on the dance floor, high on your joy at marrying the man of your dreams.
It’s alright. You’ll have to resort to more drastic measures, but perhaps that’s what is needed. You don't know what he wants, all you can give him are options.
You look at your reflection, at your teary eyes and defeated expression. You wonder how, after all this time, you’re back here in the very same position. Focus. You need to get dressed for bed before you can give in to the urge to barge into Victor's bedroom and throttle him. The necklace is the first thing to come off, followed by the pins keeping your hair in place, and a wince when your scalp aches. You almost don't want to take the dress off, but it's too pretty to be ruined by sleep.
Your zipper is stuck, and it feels like the thread you were so determined to hang onto finally snaps. A surge of helplessness takes over, you're left with few options. Your despair mounts, and your fingers itch to break something. It’s not a good thing. You’ve already proven yourself capable of breaking your own heart.
You hurl the broken stiletto at the wall instead, letting it bear the brunt of your displeasure.
“I see you’re still unable to manage your emotions like an adult.” You whirl around and see Victor standing in the doorway, a glass of whiskey in hand paired perfectly with an eye roll. You observe him as he steps in and closes the door behind him; he's exchanged the sleek suit for an old grey sweatshirt and dark pants, both hugging his body in ways that seem unfair. Your old room, usually unreasonably spacious, feels small with him in it.
Your mouth dries up, and you feel the regret sharply in your throat, cutting you. “And you’d know all about that, of course.” He remains silent, and you’re so sick of his silence. “Oh wait, that would imply you actually have any.”
He simply rolls his eyes again. It’s still annoying and draws out indecent reactions from your body. You want to sink your teeth into his thighs and see if he still rolls his eyes like that. “I didn’t come here to trade insults, ___.”
Ignoring the jolt in your belly in response to him saying your name, you keep tugging at your zipper to no avail, staring at his reflection in the ornate mirror warily. The things you had left behind are still here, dusted and in place; the whisper of your name in a dark corner is still fresh – you don’t know what to feel.
“Then what do you want?” He sighs and walks over to you, placing the glass down on your vanity and slipping his other hand out of his pocket to help you. It cooperates with him right away, the traitorous thing, and you’re left melting at the feeling of his warm breath in your hair, the stroke of his knuckle on your skin.
“I...think we need to clear a few things up.”
“Thank you.” But his hands haven’t fallen away, and you can see his eyes glued to the bare expanse of your back, his finger tracing the edge of your bra. You’re wearing one of his favourite sets, you realise belatedly. The one you’d bought for one of his birthdays, with pebbled peaks clearly visible through the sheer material. The delicate one he’d refused to let you take off until he’d fucked you twice already, that he’d then unclasped and peeled off with such care you had giggled until he stuffed his fingers in your mouth.
‘I have to tell him. I have to tell him. I have to tell him.’
Your heart pounds in your ears as he slips the straps of your dress off your shoulders, one at a time, fingers stroking down your arms leaving goosebumps in their wake, letting the dress pool at your feet. His eyes lift to join yours in the mirror, his pupils dilating until his eyes are nearly black with desire at the sight of you, exposed and trembling with your own want. His fingers dance along the waistband of the material adorning your hips, that hides nothing. The calloused digits trace a teasing path along your spine, tangling with the hair at the nape of your neck.
You can’t quite breathe, torn between saying something and arching into his touch. True to form, you’re quick to step away, slipping over to the window to put some distance between the two of you. To escape whatever seems to be building between you two, the desire in his eyes that mirrors your own.
“Yes, I have some things I need to tell you.” You need to get this out before you end up doing something you...probably won’t regret.
Clearly, Victor has other ideas. He strikes fast, your wrist trapped within the confines of his hand before you can stop him. You try to back up and he lets you, but follows along, prowling after you with dark desire clear in his stare.
Outside, the sky is darkening with impending rain, and all you hear is the beating of your heart, all you sense is the longing for his warmth, his touch a balm on your starved skin.
“No more running away,” he says quietly. You’re still trying to free your wrist from his grip when his eyes fall to your wedding ring. “Did you ever take that off?”
You still, knowing the various questions hidden within those few words. And they all had one answer. “No. Of course not. But I...”
He doesn’t reply, just steps closer, pushing your wrists up until they’re pinned above your head, your back flush against the cold glass of the windows. His fingers come up to trace the soft curve of your mouth, smearing the lipstick with an electrifying intensity in his eyes. “Victor...”
“You made me wait for so long.” You try to reply but he doesn’t let you, slipping his index finger into your rapidly drying mouth. “You left, ___.” You left me is left unspoken, but you hear it clearly enough. His leg slides between your thighs, firm against your mound.
You whimper and his slips his middle finger through your lips. “I never knew you could be so resolute. I have to admit, I’m almost impressed.” He towers over you and you’re struck silent by how furious he looks now, the devastating rage in his eyes robbing you of words. Your tongue licks soothingly along his fingers reflexively, and you hear him suck in a breath. Then you’re gagging on his fingers with wet eyes, his lips warm against your temple. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I have you now. You’re not going anywhere again, not anytime soon.”
The words sound ominous, his expression slipping into something unhinged but you’re too distracted by the fingers pulling out of your mouth to slip down your body, shoving your panties aside to tease your wet slit. Your breath stutters and his lips brush yours, featherlight.
You breathe each other in, eyes fixed on the others. You lick your drying lips and then his other hand is around the back of your head, tugging at your hair as he releases your wrists. The sound he makes when you mewl at the sensation is guttural, painfully raw. Like a man possessed, he yanks your head back and then his mouth is on yours, kissing you like he’s desperate to love you and hurt you with this one action.
You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning, and your heart feels unbearably full. His lips are hard and bruising, tongue intertwining insistently with yours, moving with a ferocious hunger that threatens to steal the very breath from your lungs. You respond with the strength of a thousand fevered thoughts behind you, every bit of longing you’ve tried to suppress in your heart, every filthy dream you’ve had to try and forget.
He nips at your mouth, hands moving down your body with intent, tugging your panties down your thighs. “You won’t be needing these.” You step out of them without protest, quivering at the way Victor caresses your sides, your abdomen clenching when his hand slips between your legs again. “Stay quiet, I don’t want to hear a sound from you.”
His fingers push their way into your sex, and you yelp into his mouth. The sudden stretch is painful but there is pleasure etched in the pain, his fingers knowing how to curl and where to rub, to make you writhe. Your hips grind into his hand, but he pulls it away, leaving you moaning and chasing after his touch as he sticks the glistening fingers in his mouth.
“Tch. You just can’t listen, can you?” But you know he’s pleased with your inability to stay quiet when he touches you. Victor’s always easier to read when he gets riled up. Stripping you of all sense and control never failed to do so, and you’re satisfied to see it still holds. “And you’re so wet already.”
It feels like there has been no time away at all, in this moment. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted him this badly before, your need for him raging through your veins and threatening to drown you. Victor can’t seem to step away, his tongue tracing along the edge of the cloth hugging your breasts, his teeth tugging at your skin. He takes special pleasure in giving you a new necklace, this one made of bruises, crafted by his teeth.
His hands squeeze your plump rear, kneading the flesh as he works your mouth open again, tongue slipping in and out of your pliant mouth, intent on devouring you like a starved beast. His lips trace a wet path down your jaw to your neck, and you moan, hands slipping into his hair, down his back; his throat vibrates with a rumble when you leave scratches on pale skin. Your eyes slide in and out of focus and, like gravity bringing you back down, fall on your bedside drawer. You freeze at the reminder of what sits there and Victor does the same. His chest heaves as he pulls away, staring at you questioningly.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You can almost choke on the guilt you feel. Should you just forget about the papers and burn them later?
“And why not?” God, his voice. It was rough with need and so fucking deep, you could probably come just listening to it. But you can’t. Because you’re here for one reason only-to do what’s best for Victor. Well, what you thought was best for Victor. In the long run. It’s probably not great for his blood pressure.
“We need to talk.”
“We can talk later.” You want to cry at the way he half-bites his lip, caressing your hips meaningfully.
“No. Look, I...this is such a bad time to do this but you need to know something.” Victor raises a brow, nearly unable to keep his eyes from falling to your body. There’s not much that can keep him from fucking you right now. “I didn’t come back to be a burden. And to avoid doing that I...” You’re done holding him back. You’re doing the right thing. Right?
“What did you do?” he asks quietly, eyes suddenly even more intent on you. You take a deep breath. “I thought you came back because you were ready.”
‘Just rip the bandaid off.’
“I wanted to resolve things and I wanted to, I don’t know. To free you.”
Oh God, why did I say it like that?
There’s complete silence in the room now that you’re not panting like you’re in heat. The sky is rolling with thunder, flashing violently. It’s akin to the look in Victor’s eyes before he speaks, hands falling away from you.
“To free me?” he repeats, his fists clenching at his side. You bite back a whimper at the ice in his voice, but keep going. You’re half-certain you’ve got this completely wrong now because Victor did not touch you like a man who wants to be freed.
“Okay, that didn’t come out right. But, yes. It’s not fair to you. None of this is. I couldn't just, waltz back in. And you never said anything. I didn’t know what you wanted. So I, I got divorce papers drawn up before I came back. In case that’s what you wanted. I just...want you to be happy–“ Victor doesn't even let you finish, a vein threatening to burst on his forehead before he turns around and storms away, his fury coiled around him like a venomous snake. You slump against the glass, dread pooling in your stomach at this new blunder.
You should’ve just kept your mouth shut.
The room spins violently, and then your front is pressed up against the cool window – for a moment, you’re not sure what happened. The entire length of Victor’s body presses firmly against the back of yours, a sense of danger so very alluring settling in the air. You flinch when his palm strikes against the window, fear and anticipation coursing through you in equal measure. The aggression is rolling off of him in waves and then he’s crushing you to him.
“To free me?” he laughs, low and disbelieving at your ear. He struggles to speak through the outrage, you can feel it. He kisses your neck so softly, a tendril of fear curls around your spine; you feel like prey caught under the enraged lion’s paw. “You want me to be happy?” His words are a snarl and you do whimper now. “You think you know what’s best for everyone, don’t you? You think we shouldn’t be around each other, so you leave. You decide that wasn’t enough punishment so you come back, to tell me you want a fucking divorce?” His hand comes down on your ass hard, making you cry out before he presses you more firmly against the window, his throbbing cock pressing against the curve of your rear insistently. Your breath fogs up the glass. “Well, fuck that.”
Your heart seizes in your chest. “I didn’t-that’s not what I-I don't want-“
His hand is heavy on your back, pressing down and you’re unable to get any more words out when you realize what he intends to do.
“We do have important things to clear up. I see you’ve gotten more idiotic in your time away. Did you really delude yourself into believing I would want that? Or did you just want a reaction?” His voice edges on dark amusement now, as if you’ve done something extremely stupid. “You’ve got it. Is that what you wanted to hear? To see proof of your place in my heart? Silly girl.” He strokes your slick sex avidly. “It doesn’t matter where you go, this cunt will always be mine. You will always be mine.”
Relief mixes with shame at his words. You’d told yourself over and over that he would want nothing to do with you. But in the deepest parts of your mind, you could admit that this was also a provocation. Something that would make him react for sure, that would shatter the ice. That would make him so angry he would act with only honesty.
Well, here you are. Burning inside out, getting what you wanted. His honesty and his wrath.
You hear him unzip the fly of his pants, your entire being aching with the need to see him. But he doesn’t want you to. This is not two lovers reuniting, this is him punishing you for your idiocy, your cruelty. This is his response to your actions and your words. As if on cue, he finally speaks.
“You’re not to come until I tell you to. You’re going to be a good girl and let me use your pussy for as long as I want. And I’m going to fuck you until I think you’ve learned your lesson.” They’re simple statements. A command you’re expected to follow. You feel the tip of his cock hitting your ass and your walls quiver at the knowledge that he’s pumping himself in preparation. “Is that clear?”
“Y-yes sir,” you rasp. He lines himself up with your entrance, and you brace yourself. But nothing could prepare you for the way his thick cock pushes past your folds, hot and hard, in one swift movement. He doesn’t stop to ease you into it. It hurts, it burns, your brain short circuits. Your hand smacks the window in a bid for something to hold on to as a scream tears out your throat.
“Fuck,” he hisses, and as your eyes roll back at the feel of him hot and hard in you – you can relate. God, you’ve been dreaming of this for so long. Of being so full of him that you can feel him everywhere. He pulls out halfway and slams his hips into you so hard a vague part of you is surprised you didn’t go flying out the window even as tears pool in the corner of your eyes. Each thrust is punishing, aiming to drive a lesson home. “Fuck, I lo-I missed this. I’m never letting you go again.” He’s relentless as he fucks you against the window, his pace charged by the depraved cries crawling out your throat and the anger burning him inside out. Your hips will soon be mottled by bruises with how hard he’s gripping them. But the feeling of having his cock in you, pounding your pussy, filling it up after so long is too much to bear. “Mine. My wife. My cunt. This is mine.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Your cheeks are wet, and you feel him growl when your walls clamp down around him tight. He stops his thrusts right away and you cry out in earnest.
“Victor, no no no, please. Please, please please.” His palm comes down hard on your asscheek. He spanks you again and you whine, trembling with arousal and desperation.
“Shut up.” His tone is unforgiving but it’s said with a groan, his hand roaming the skin available to him fervently. He cups your breasts, his touch greedy, and pulls you up against him. His dick slips out of you and you whine out loud again at the loss but you’re immediately cut off by his teeth sinking into the side of your neck again. Victor studies the blossoming bruise with carnal satisfaction. “I said, shut up. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? So take it. Take it all - but only when I want you to.”
He turns you around again and, unbalanced, you fall into his arms, a hand on your jaw forcing you to meet his fervid gaze. Your makeup is a complete mess, your hair is in disarray, and you pant wantonly against his collarbone. You’re completely exposed save for your sheer bra, and Victor still has all his clothes on; there’s something deeply sensual about the kind of vulnerability you feel as your bare skin meets soft cloth. He looks like he wants to kiss you and strangle you simultaneously, his chest heaving and flushed pink.
He sweeps your loose curls away from your face. “Did you let anyone touch you in my absence?”
“No!”
“No? Not even once?” His hands are still squeezing every inch of flesh they can reach on your body. His touch is frenzied and ardent, amped up by your tongue flicking his nipple, grazing it with your teeth. “I find that hard to believe. Look at you, you’re such a little slut.” Only for you, you want to say. You know what he wants to hear.
“Not even once.” Your voice is hoarse and your throat feels raw. “I’m still–still yours. Your wife. Your slut.”
Victor tugs at your hair again, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Mine? You chose to refute that claim when you ran away.” His hands are on the back of your thighs, lifting you, still pressed against the window. Your legs wrap around his waist, your mouths close. “And now you want to do it again.”
“No. I’m sorry. I’ve always been yours.” Your words are a sincere whisper on his lips. “Always will be.”
He nuzzles the soft spot behind your ear. “Did you think about me?” he whispers, darkly.
“Every day. Every night.”
“Did you touch yourself?” Your fingers can’t compare to the lazy glide of his length along your slit.
“Yes. But it wasn’t enough,” you breathe. You have your reasons for leaving, for staying away and he will hear them. For now, his cock is entering you again and you’re helpless in his hands, unable to do anything but let him fuck you senseless. His pelvis grinds against you and you try to throw your thoughts elsewhere, anywhere, to keep from coming. “I’m – yours.” Your head falls back, your eyes glued to his face. His hair is wild and sweaty, his muscles flexed as he holds you up against the window.
“Don’t come.” His voice is rough and he knows you won’t be able to follow his demands. You can hear the anticipation hidden in his voice. You try, though. You sink your claws into the figurative cliff edge, holding on for life. He’s merciless, driving into you with the sole purpose of seeing you break. He wants to see you in pieces. “Don’t you dare fucking come.”
And break you do – by the quick drag of his skin on your swollen nub. You’re driven over the edge, the wave of mind-shattering pleasure sweeping over you and you barely hear yourself wail over the growl of thunder. Your walls grip him possessively, massaging his cock and pulling him in with you, robbing him of all control. He chokes out your name as his cum fills you in hot, throbbing spurts –you’re still convinced nothing feels better, your silky walls milking him avariciously. He groans into your hair, his shallow thrusts into your sensitive flesh making you sob.
“I told you not to come,” he murmurs.
You can’t bring yourself to regret it when he pushes you facedown onto the plush rug, half climbing over you, kissing you until you can feel him swell against your ass once more. Arching your back and, looking at him with a hooded gaze over your shoulder, you part your knees invitingly, obedient in a way you know drives him crazy.
You’re left incapable of even standing by the time he deposits you on the bed, primal satisfaction curling along his mouth. Your neck is littered with teeth and finger marks, matching your hips and thighs that still quake and have trails of drying semen courtesy of how many times he came inside you, like an animal reinforcing his claim on his territory. You enjoyed every minute of it, even the bit where he coerced orgasm after orgasm from you, determined to make you forget your own name, to make sure you associate pleasure with only his name. You’re sore from your throat to your toes, not entirely sure you’ll get out of bed tomorrow.
Victor helps you pull on a pair of panties, refusing to allow any ideas of cleaning up. “You’re going to keep all of it inside. It should help keep any more absurd thoughts at bay.” You just know he’s going to want to shower together.
Your husband looks spent, his clothes having come off some time into the second round, his bangs slicked back, eyes more sleepy and satiated than angry.
You want nothing more than to fall into blissful sleep, a feeling that’s encouraged by the way Victor pulls you into his arms, caging you against his trembling body. You pull the blanket over your bodies, both of you pausing to watch the rain for a moment. You swallow a few times to soften your throat, trying to think of something to say but he beats you to it.
“Where are the papers?” His question is asked quietly but it feels like ice shoved down your shirt. You pull out of his arms slowly, tears held back and knees shaking all over again, and you reach into your drawer to pull them out. He takes them from you, studying them silently as you try to regain the ability to breathe, and then looks up at you.
He tears them in half.
“I meant what I said.” He pauses and you wait with bated breath. The anger finally falls away, leaving pain in its wake. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut against the vulnerability. “I can’t let you go again.” You burst into tears and he rolls you both over to hover over you. “You need to understand something. It doesn’t matter how long you were away. It doesn’t matter where you were or are on this bloody planet – you’re mine.” He punctuates the words with a hard kiss. “And I’m yours. That will never change. We have to work on us. I won’t just...let you leave without even trying.” You cry and cry and he just kisses you softly, his own eyes wet with pain.
“I just want you. Just you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you blubber and he shushes you, sighing into your hair. “I love you. I love you. I don’t even want a stupid divorce. I thought you might. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Idiot. You weren’t.”
You’re half afraid you won’t get another chance like this, so you try to pull yourself together. “I guess I have a lot of explaining to do.” He hands you a glass of water, having switched to watching you. You know, somehow, that he’s cataloguing all the changes, all the ways you’ve grown. Without him. You had done the same while he was pretending to ignore your return, the longer bangs and tired eyes at odds with the memories you had of him.
“That’s putting it lightly,” he replies, wrapping you up in his shirt and stretching out on his back as he waits for you to start talking. And you talk. You tell him everything, every part of ‘your side of the story.’ The impulsive decisions, the terror, the growth. The hardest to admit to are the insecurities. He listens, with agony in his eyes and his mouth pursed.
But he listens.
“And none of this excuses what I did,” you tell him. “It doesn’t justify it but...”
“I get it.” His voice is gentle. “You needed space. But...the day you came back, you looked at me with so much caution, so much fear that I didn’t know how to react. So I just didn’t. And the anger kept building, you kept treating me like a stranger. I felt so...angry. ‘You’re my wife,’ I wanted to say. Does that mean nothing to you anymore?”
You let how a shuddering breath. “I feel like I’ve changed so much. I didn’t-I’m not who I was when I left.”
“Neither am I. I do wish you’d given me the chance to be there with you. But...at least something good came out of it. ___, you shouldn’t have run away and I...I should’ve tried harder to stop you. I took you for granted. I thought...there will be time for us later, building us an empire took priority. And then you just left, and you didn’t come back. I knew you needed time but then you just. Didn’t come back. I’m still so angry with you, you idiot girl.” He lets you hug him again, lets you cry into his shoulder. He kisses you again and again, with anger and with more love. “But ___, you should know how proud I am of you. I’ve seen your work. I’m so, so proud of you sweetheart. It’s changed you for the better. And the pain of your absence has changed me.”
Your arms tighten around him when he sinks into your embrace, his breath a shudder against your neck. “And I know I can’t live without you. So we’ll try harder. I refuse to entertain any other ideas. And you need to come up with less extreme methods for dealing with problems.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore,” you admit quietly. He scoffs at your words, pulling you even closer to soothe the sting.
“If I ever stop wanting you, you can safely assume it’s an imposter.” You giggle weakly, struggling with the insecurity and hope warring in your heart. “___, l will spend the rest of our lives showing you how I feel about you. Nothing can change that. Not distance, not time, not even your extremely moronic tendencies. So, I’ll try. I’ll listen.”
“And I won’t make any more stupid decisions. At least not without consulting you,” you promise him, laughing when he pinches your cheek. “No more running away. You're it for me, you always have been. I've done a terrible job of showing it, but...we've got time. I'll work hard.”
Nothing is fixed, but it’s a step in that direction. You’ve both got a lot of work to do. You’ve got a lot to make up for. But the way his body curls around you drives away most of your fear. And the soft kiss he presses to the band around your finger tells you that this time, he won’t stop you from trying.
Kinktober - Oct 18th (Uniforms): The Way We Were (MLQC Gavin - NSFW)
Description: Revisit the days of your youth with Gavin
Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Trigger warnings: uniforms, high school student role playing
Word Count: 2549 words (~ 13 mins of reminiscence and smut)
AO3: read here
Author’s Notes: My fourth entry for @alloveroliver’s Kinktober challenge! Coming in a day late as I’ve been sick with the flu 🤒 Please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊
All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex
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“Are you ready?”
“Just a moment. The shirt is…a bit tighter than I remembered.”
You chuckle. Of course it would be. Gavin is much bulkier than he was back in high school. But then again, he was the one who came up with the idea to dress up as students for Minor’s Halloween party, saying he kept his high school uniform and looking hopefully in your direction when he asked if you did too.
You, for one, were surprised he even agreed to go when Minor asked you to invite him at work, muttering something about how Gavin would never turn down the love of his life and immediately sprinting off when you asked him to elaborate.
“Don’t laugh. I couldn’t do up some of the buttons.”
Gavin finally emerges from his bedroom, and you found you couldn’t laugh even if you wanted to. Navy tie slung loose around his neck to trail between firm pecs, the white dress shirt of your alma mater’s uniform couldn’t button up beyond the centre of his insanely defined torso.
“Is it really that bad?”
Eyes shooting up from the sizeable bulge outlined by the tight fit of his trousers, you find the officer studying you, brows furrowed in an expression of self-consciousness that was so foreign on Gavin’s handsome face. His fists clench and unclench at his sides before he blurts out, “You know what, this is a bad idea. I’ll just go as a cop.”
“Wait, Gavin! The whole point of Halloween is to dress up as something you’re not! Besides, you…” You swallow, trying not to look like a complete pervert as you scanned him once more from head to toe, “…you look amazing. Like the Hulk, except…sexier. And not green.”
And he did. Gavin’s muscular thighs strained against the fabric of his grey pants, and you found yourself wondering how it would feel like to perch on his lap, skirt hiked up to your waist and panties pulled aside.
“The who?” His confused voice disperses your daydream.
“You don’t know who the Hulk is? Big guy the colour of peas? In those superhero comics and movies?”
“I don’t really pay attention to that stuff,” he says with a shake of his head. Then, nodding towards his bedroom door, he says, “It’s your turn to change.”
Smiles spread wide on your faces to have spoken at the same time, you and Gavin share expressions of bashful surprise, stealing furtive glances at each other.
He had slicked back his chestnut hair while you changed, looking much younger than his years and suddenly, you were reminded of the rough-and-tumble boy who always sported a scuff somewhere on his face. A face that took you way too long to realize how truly beautiful it was.
Fidgeting under the intensity of Gavin’s gaze, you bend to tug at your white socks before smoothing down the pleats of your navy skirt. By the time you adjust the satin bow at the collar of your blouse, you finally find your voice, “The skirt’s a bit shorter on me now, but honestly, I’m surprised it still fits…”
Only to have it trail off when you notice his eyes settling at the shortened hem, grazing bare skin at mid-thigh. Cheeks burning as your heart rate skyrockets, you feel your chest strain tight against the buttons of your blouse with each inhalation, the sight capturing the officer’s rapt attention.
Biting your lip, you reveal your final prop as you slide them up the bridge of your nose: a pair of round, lensless glasses. “I wear contacts now, but for the longest time, I had these horrible coke-bottle glasses. I’m not sure if you remember—“
“I do,” Gavin interrupts, staring at you so intently you quickly look away, but not before you notice the tips of his ears, tinged with pink. He stands from where he was sitting, slow steps closing the distance until the scar across his chest is clearly visible, saying, “I thought you looked cute in them.”
One hand rises, hesitating for a fraction of a second before a deep breath gives it the impetus to settle on top of your head, fingers gentle as Gavin strokes the length of your pigtails.
“I remember these too,” he smiles, voice thick with nostalgia and suddenly very close. So much so that when you lift your face, the warmth of his breath tickles your lips and all you can see is yourself reflected in dark pupils of amber eyes.
“Do you remember…the first time we met? The very first time?” Gavin ventures, hesitant, his fingers trembling slightly as he carefully slides the spectacles from your face. And caught up in the spell of the moment, you cannot find the words to speak.
“You had forgotten your umbrella. I saw you run across the street holding your book bag over your head, completely soaked. By the time I started towards you, you were already taking shelter under a gingko tree not far from the school gates, wiping the rain from your glasses.”
Gavin’s lips tug into a lopsided smile at the recollection. You wondered how they would taste. And as he studies the frames in his hands, he chooses his next words with the same amount of care he takes to fold the glasses flat at their hinges.
“You were so startled when I threw my jacket over your head and told you to make a run for it. Guess it was a bit sudden. I was also probably a bit gruff back then.”
He laughs, but it is hollow: bittersweet warmth tainted with self-deprecation, eliciting a wave of guilt from the pit of your stomach as you remembered the boy everyone feared in high school.
Gavin looks into your eyes, molten amber lit by an other-worldly brilliance as he says, “I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. And I still do. You’re perfect, really. Guess some things will never change—“
You never imagined his lips would feel so soft when you press your own to his, tongue sliding into his mouth when it parts from shock. So you close your eyes to relish the sensation, willing your kiss to wipe the slate of your memories clean of each and every misconception you ever held of his gentle heart.
“Let’s start over, Gavin. Right now. Pretend we’re teenagers again, meeting for the first time in school. Give me another chance to learn who you really are, free from the influence of gossip and rumours.”
He smiles, bright as the sun. But then just as quickly, his expression darkens with a shake of his head, a deep flush making its way up his face when he says, “No…we…I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because the things I want to do to you right now are not appropriate for a school setting.”
You raise your brows. “Tell that to Loveland High’s resident bad boy, Officer Gavin.”
At that, he smirks, the smouldering desire in his gaze as it swept over your body doing little to rectify the image of him as a wild and unruly youth.
But if you were honest, wild and unruly was exactly how you wanted him between your legs.
Gavin exhales, running a large hand through his hair. “I-I can’t believe this is happening. Can I really—”
You take his hand, laying a gentle kiss at the tips of his fingers before your tongue swirls along the length of the index, silencing him when you suck it into your mouth.
You had always wondered what lay beneath the cool exterior Gavin projected. Calm and capable in even the most startling of emergencies, it seemed like nothing could ever faze the officer. So when he suddenly yanked off his tie and pulled apart that ill-fitting dress shirt to send buttons flying, you barely had time to register shock before you were lifted into his strong arms — Gavin folding your legs around his waist as he effortlessly carried you into his room.
Bed dipping under the weight of your bodies, Gavin climbs on top. Wasting no time in running your hands over the solid thighs straddling you, your fingers wander up and around those narrow hips until they feel the solid curves of his backside, so muscular there was barely any give when you gathered flesh to squeeze.
“You have no idea…how long I’ve wanted this…wanted you…but, are you sure—”
Gavin speaks breathlessly between kisses laid on the underside of your jaw, meandering down the column of your neck. And with each desperate press of his mouth upon your skin, you have never been more sure of anything in your life.
So you silence him, thumb tracing the contours of his lips as you ask, “Did you ever fantasize about me…back when we were in school?”
You reach for the bow on your collar, satin sliding smooth as it slowly comes undone. The sight has Gavin transfixed, eyes shining with the excitement of a child unwrapping a gift — his throat bobbing when he nods, “I did.”
“Tell me.”
With trembling fingers, you unbutton your blouse, fixated on the expression on Gavin’s face as more of your skin comes into view: the way his eyes linger on the swell of your breasts, trace along your ribs…pause at the dip of your navel, where his tongue sweeps out to moisten that lower lip.
He inhales through grit teeth. Your nipples harden.
And when he speaks, his voice is low in a way that makes you throb, the moisture between your legs palpable as it dampens and pools, preparing to receive him.
“You…you’d be dressed just like this. Lit by the late afternoon sun. Sitting on the piano bench in the music room, your skirt riding up past your knees. So absorbed in your performance you don’t even notice when I enter the room. Or when I lock the door.”
Calloused fingertips drag light across your collarbones as they trace invisible patterns, the swathe of goosebumps following in their wake giving the officer an acute sense of satisfaction to know he was at its source. And with your breasts rising at the end of each shuddering inhalation, he twitches against the constraints of his trousers, blood rushing hot to his rapidly hardening cock.
“I’d stand behind you and just…look. Watch your hands as they move across the keys. Strong when they need to be, soft if the melody calls for it. But always, always so expressive. Beautiful.”
Your mouth falls open to feel him finger the lace trim of your bra, thighs pressing tighter together beneath the pin of his hips.
“Then…when I can’t hold back any longer, I would stand a bit closer. Until I can smell the scent of your shampoo. Finally see the tiny details of your earrings.”
Gavin nuzzles into your neck, and you can’t help but close your eyes at the sensation. And when his tongue swirls about your earlobe to guide it into his wet mouth, you finally let loose the moan you’d been holding back.
His next words come on the heels of an audible swallow, a secret whispered in your ear: “I’d touch you…”
Fine hairs stand on end when the ambient air hits your skin, Gavin pulling off your blouse to let it crumple to the floor beneath him. On reflex, your hands pull up to your chest, crossing at the wrists.
“…Lay my palms on your shoulders. Run my hands down your arms — lightly, so I don’t disturb your playing.”
Pressing a soft kiss to the back of each hand, Gavin uncrosses your arms to lay them at your sides.
“Then, I’d start to unbutton your blouse from behind, until it’s just loose enough…”
Fingers undo the front clasp of your bra.
“…for me to slip a hand down…”
The satin cups fall away.
“…and feel you.”
You gasp as Gavin cups the swell of your breasts, gathers your nipple between thumb and index to gently roll and pinch. And when he buries his face in the space between — tongue running from chest to neck to chin, tasting the salt of your skin — you cannot help but buck up to grind against him.
His hand roams beneath your skirt, stopping when it finds wet silk clinging to swollen flesh. Then, fingers tracing torturously slow up and down the line of your folds, he watches you bite your lip with fire in his eyes as he continues to spin his fantastic tale.
“You’d really notice me then. Stop to turn and look up at me. See me without any fear in your eyes. And when that happens…I kiss you.”
A thumb hooks to pull your panties aside, and at the exact moment his fingers slide to reach into your ready wetness, his tongue slips past your parted lips, kissing you so deeply you weren’t sure which mouth was primarily responsible for the fire in your veins.
“Ahh! Ga-Gavin! Oh…ah, god!”
You are surprised by the raspy quality of your voice when you finally tear away for a breath of much-needed air, but the continued movements of Gavin’s talented fingers stroking at just the right depth and frequency soon had you past the point of caring about how loud you were or how desperate you sounded.
In all honesty, however, the officer already knew how you felt even if not a single word was uttered: the way you dripped down his fingers and palm, arousal tracing the muscles of his forearms to make a mess of his sheets, already spoke volumes. And the body never lies.
His was no exception, as evidenced by the hardness of his erection springing forth when he disrobed, eyes on you all the while to catch every single tremor coursing still through your body — the result of a series of climaxes brought about in quick succession by hands, lips and tongue.
When he finally nestles between your legs — the head of his cock searing as it aligned with your entrance — he gathers you within a muscular embrace, his whispers soothing in your ear as he begins to push in earnest, hoping to ease your tension in accommodating a man of his size.
Then, flesh gives, yielding to Gavin’s cock as his hips build to a rhythm that quickly becomes punishing — the man losing himself in the slippery heat of your pussy.
And he knows that no fantasy, no matter how vivid, could ever compare to the ecstatic reality of having you in his arms. Of calling you his own.
“Minor is going to be so disappointed we missed his Halloween party.”
You smile as you stare up at the darkened ceiling of Gavin’s bedroom, savouring the touch of his hand on your inner thigh, fingertips dipping into the mixture of cum and arousal that had slowly trickled out of you. Stained the pleated skirt of your high school uniform.
Gavin chuckles. “I’ll just tell him my uniform didn’t fit…that we had trouble keeping our costumes on.”
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Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚
I’d like to have spent a lot more time on this, but I’m trying to catch back up, so its getting posted before bed. @toloveawarlord requested Theo + begging + bondage - I hope this quick fic fits the bill! <3
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"I want you to beg."
Theo’s eyes narrowed to two fierce slits, and as the drawn-rope silence stretched ever more taut, you thought he wouldn't answer.
Until finally he cut it, with a flinty tone and the creak of tested silk. "You know what it means if I do, right?"
You nodded, swallowing around a mouth suddenly dry with anticipation.
"Say it," he demanded, somehow imperious even though he was the one naked and trussed and stretched out beneath you. "What does it mean if I do? I want to know that you remember."
And remember you did, the recollections his words dredged up bringing a flush to your cheeks and another slick rush of desire between your thighs. "You return the favor tenfold."
"That's right." His voice was a dark, dark promise as he shifted, the motion accompanied by a warning groan of wood. An unsubtle reminder that he was only where he was because he was tolerating it. Gifting you this.
You sat back on his hips, framing the searing heat of his arousal in the vee of your lap. Letting the damp warmth of your center just kiss the underside of him. Taunting.
In the stillness, he sucked in a breath.
"Please then, Mistress." The words began honeyed, as sweet as you knew him to be capable of, before they took on an edge. Hard and dangerous, sharper than the cool glint of a blade in the dark. "Ride. On. My. Fucking. Cock."
Humming pensively, you leaned forward, letting the solid length of him glide through your folds as you did, glazing him with your wetness. “How about...no.” You punctuated with words with a flick of your tongue over his tiny beaded nipple, savoring the delicate shiver he tried to suppress.
A low warning growl trickled from him but you ignored it and bit down on the firm muscle of his chest, and his hips jerked beneath you. Left you half-drunk and reeling on the feeling of power, knowing he was at your mercy like this. Not the sort of power that come from conquest, exactly. You knew that was only an illusion.
Theo was too much of a force of nature to ever be truly contained.
But there was power in being allowed to hold the leash, even if only for a moment - maybe even more so when such a proud beast had willingly bent its head to the collar. Declarations of love in its indulgence.
“Open your mouth,” you demanded, as you sat up.
For a long minute you didn’t think he would comply, blue eyes searing yours like gaslit flames as he held you locked in a glare, before he finally did. Exposing the long fangs you had been sure you’d see, a visceral reminder of the twinned lusts that you knew simmered just below his tight-lidded surface. And you wanted - so badly you could almost taste it - to see him finally boil over.
Still keeping your eyes fixed on his, you ran a thumb down the length of one of those dangerous teeth, letting the wicked point catch on the pad. Until in a slow, deliberate lean you pressed, felt your own flesh part with a sweet sting beneath the keen tip as it sank in, blood immediately welling up around it.
A wave of heat washed over you, like a banked fire being stirred, and you both shuddered through a moan.
You smeared the wound over his tongue and felt him rattle beneath you, his mouth closing around the digit to suckle. Hard enough to hurt, as if to punish you for your audacity, and you watched the pupils of his eyes blow wide and black as he swallowed. Dark and deep enough for you to tumble into and never climb your way out of again, lost in him the way you had been from near the moment you'd met.
You tugged your thumb free of his mouth with a soft pop of sound and he tried to follow, drawing to an abrupt stop when he reached the end of the restraints that held him. A snarl twisted his features, teeth still stained pink with blood as he writhed beneath you. Bucking for a moment like some half-wild thing.
"Sit on my face." His growl was raw, painfully low, and closer to a plea than you knew he'd ever admit. "Verdomme...sit on me now. I need to taste you."
Bending over, your breasts framed his face as you drew your lips to his ear and breathed your impudent reply, like the soft flutter of a matador’s cape before the bull. “Make me.”
There was another, half-choked noise from him before his jaw clenched, the muscles there jumping as he ground down on the rest of the sound. And then the remnants of it were overpowered by an ominous creaking protest and the harsh tear of fiber.
Hands clamped on your hips in a punishing iron grip, wrenching you upward so sharply you couldn’t stifle your squeal of surprise, setting you scrabbling to grasp the headboard as you toppled forward. Before you’d even caught your balance Theo had his tongue shoved deep between your thighs, and your squeal frayed to a moan as you squirmed atop his chin, just that slight motion pressing his needle-sharp fangs against your core...but there was something breathtaking about riding that perilous edge.
He kept at it relentlessly, moving between drawing on your swollen clit and fucking you ever harder with his tongue, his fingers digging almost painfully harsh into your hips to hold you in place. Feeding on the wet heat of you like a man half-starved, his harsh smothered breaths washing over your mound ever faster. You only managed to wrench your gaze from the heady sight of his face in your lap when he rolled his eyes up to meet yours and held the contact mercilessly.
Somehow, that was the thing that had you flushing with near-embarrassment.
“Theo…” His name was the near-gasp of a prayer on your lips as pleasure roiled golden and warm through you. Pushing at the confines of your skin as if filling you from the inside out, close so close...mere drops away from overflowing. Deep inside of you, muscled fluttered like ripples on the surface of a cup, and just when it seemed about to spill -
He pulled away and half-tossed you onto the bed beside him with a bounce, leaving you crying out in dismay and frustration.
“What did I tell you?” He rose over you, one hand stroking leisurely at the proud jut of his cock as if to taunt you. “What happens now?”
Swallowing around a mouth gone dry, you reached for him and he obliged, but only let you draw him close enough to drag his lips over the tendon of your neck. His hips still devastatingly far away from yours and your aching, empty center. “Please, Theo…”
He lingered for another handful of heartbeats, and you could feel his mouth curve into an infuriating grin against your throat before he sat up and you saw it as well. “You can do better than that.” He dragged a single finger through your soaked folds and rolled forward, so that his arousal ghosted hot along the inside of your thigh. Frustratingly close to where you needed him, and yet still so very, very far. “Now...be a good hondje and beg for your treat.”
~~~~
If you want to see more of the kinktober or my other work, check the masterlist linked in my blog desc or the tag on my blog: #mrs_o’s_kinktoberfest
Kinktober: Day 26 || Sleepy Sex
Genre: NSFW +18, fluff
Word Count: 1,067
Author’s note: Hi my pretty darlings! Hoo boi, I’m late again BUT I thought I might indulge everyone (including me), to a little sultry picture as repentance. Can we all agree that we’d love to wake up to this view? Thank you. So this is one of the last few entries for Kinktober, time flies by so fast. Please enjoy and i will see you on the next one! 🎃
[The challenge] ~ @alloveroliver
The nightingale’s effervescent melody drew the soldier’s consciousness from slumber. Sunbeams flowed inside the room through the skylight, bathing his lover in a warm glow.
His violet eye narrowed affectionately at the sight of his “Mademoiselle” sleeping peacefully beside him, the bareness of her luscious body bearing the reminiscence of their nocturnal tryst. His lips turned up to a blissful arc, his hand reaching out to caress her velvet skin making a soft, sleepy murmur escape her lips. He chuckled.
“How can you always look so heavenly beautiful?”, he whispered as he basked at her elysian form. She responded with a soft giggle before her eyes fluttered open, the smile her lips formed mirrored in her loving gaze as she kissed him “good morning”.
“Bonjour, mon cœur” he cooed, whilst his hands snaking their way to the small of her back to pull her flush against him, her warmth spreading like wildfire on his skin. He peppered her face with featherlight kisses and beheld her sweet countenance with awe, akin to a man gazing at something sacred.
She hummed with bliss as she returned his soft caresses up and down the length of his chiselled torso, relishing on the shivers she coaxed from his muscles. She looked at him coyly as her hand travelled down to cup his hardened member, eliciting shuddering breaths and grunts.
“Good morning, my love..” she purred. The more she continue her gentle ministrations, the deeper his fingers dug.
Before he could utter a word his lips were occupied by hers, sweetly taking his breath away as her tongue traced the outline of his mouth. His hand came up to cup her breast, kneading it gently as he teased her fast hardening nipples. He trailed his way down with kisses, from her soft cheek, to the column of her pearl-white neck, her clavicle and then finally the swell of her chest, his breath ghosting over her pink peaks.
“Ahn, Jean..mhhmm-“ she writhed slightly against him, moaning his name as she clutched his hair to pull him closer still. A mellow chuckle rumbled in his throat, his hands capturing hers to pin them above her head and caging her beneath him before he continued to give attention to both of her sensitive breasts. Her legs encircled his waist, attempting to bring him closer to her pulsing core, already glistening with need, desperate for friction.
He could never even think of harming her or marring her beautiful skin, but the need to leave a small trace of him, a manifestation of his love for her was too overwhelming to shun. He nipped and sucked hard at her nape, the pressure her thighs around him increasing, conveying the pleasurable effect of his actions.
“Hhngh, Jean please…I-I want you..I want..mhm..m-more” she pleaded between her breathy mewls. How could he say no to this celestial creature, when she begs him with such a sweet pleas?
He pulled back, conquering her rosy lips and guiding his hand down to the apex of her core, teasing her bundle of nerves gently. She whimpered against his lips, her words swallowed before she could voice them as he kept coating his fingertips with her arousal. He plunged two digits inside to prepare her for his girth, causing more delicious entreaties to flee from her kiss-bitten lips.
“Are you ready, mon amour?” He whispered seductively in her ear, knowing all too well that his deep, baritone voice was enough to drive her to her wit’s end. Her chest heaved heavily already as he withdrew his fingers to coat his shaft with her essence, leaving her mewling in frustration. She looked at him through her thick lashes, her eyes glazed with need and longing, skin flushed pink from all his ministrations, the sight of her delicate figure utterly erotic.
“Yes..please..Jean, I beg of you..take me...” she breathed and he graced her with a loving smile.
“Comme vous le commandez, mademoiselle” he uttered and slowly pushed himself inside her, up to the hilt. He sighed and let go of her hands to wrap his around her waist, hoisting her up and sitting her on his lap. She laced her fingers in his hair as she began to ride him, their moans entwining with their heavy breaths, filling the room with a wanton harmony.
Her face twisted with pleasure as Jean lavished her skin with wet kisses, his fangs lightly grazing over her skin, careful not to break through. Like a faithful soldier, he would wait for her command, wait for her allowance to give in to the spectre lying within, craving for the taste of her blood.
He felt her walls were clenching harder around him, divulging the telltale sign of her imminent climax, her voice becoming raspier and high-pitched. He gritted his teeth as shivers overwhelmed his entire body, his bloodlust becoming harder and harder to ignore.
“Jean..”
Her sweet, melodious voice called to him, dragging him deeper into the trance she caught in, her smile gentle as she cupped his kiss to kiss him. She held him tighter against her, whispering breathily in his ear: “Everything I am..belongs to you…so take..all of me, my love”.
His breath hitched at of her words. He left a lingering kiss on her nape, his thrust becoming sloppier and rougher as he plunged his fangs in her neck, hungrily lapping at the crimson liquid that flowed from the wound. He hummed with delight as he satiated his hunger, his affection for her swelling inside his breast,
The light prickle gave it’s way to unfathomable pleasure, convulsions rolling like thunder through their bodies. They were sent in a state of rapture as their reciprocal climaxes washed over them like a summer storm.
He emptied himself inside her before they both collapsed on the mattress, spent and blissful from their union. Jean tightened her arms around her, afraid she would leave him if he let go. He kissed her hair lovingly, a smile of pure happiness tugging at his weary lips.
He professed his love for her in whispers, only for her to hear and only for her to know. For every dawn and dusk, every passing moment with her at his side was blessing, his second chance in life as this ungodly creature had become a blessing.
And all because of her.
