Hotchocolattee

French vocabulary

La pharmacie - pharmacy

l'analgésique (m) - painkiller

l'antiacide (m) - antacid

l'anti-inflammatoire (m) - anti-inflamatory

les cachets antiaupathiques (m) - travel sickness pills

le calcium - calcium

la crème - cream

la date d'expiration - expiration date

les déodorants (m) - deodorants

la diarrhée - diarrhea

l'écran solaire (m) - sunscreen

les effets secondaires (m) - side-effects

le fer - iron

le gel - gel

la gélule - capsule

les gouttes (f) - drops

l'herboristerie (f) - herbal remedies

l'hygiène féminine (f) - feminine hygene

l'inhalateur (m) - inhaler

l'insuline (f) - insulin

le laxatif - laxative

la lingette humide - wet wipe

le magnésium - magnesium

le médicament - medicine

le médicament multivitamine - multivitamins

le médicament pour la toux - cough medicine

la médication - medication

le mouchoir en papier- tissue

l'officine (f) - dispensary

la pastille pour la gorge - throat lozenge

le pharmacien/la pharmacienne - pharmacist

la pilule - pill

la pommade - ointment

la posologie - dosage

la poudre - powder

le produit anti-insecte - insect repellant

le protège-slip - panty liner

le sédatif - sedative

le seringue - syringe

la serviette hygiénique - sanitary napkin

le sirop - syrup

les soins dentaires (m) - dental care

les soins pour la peau (m) - skincare

le somnifère - sleeping pill

le spray - spray

le suppositoire - suppository

le tampon - tampon

les vitamines (f) - vitamines

jetable - disposable

soluble - soluble

hey jill! do u happen to have any soulmate klance au recs?? if not that’s ok, just wondering <33

yes i do!!! however i’m too tired to organize it all cute like i usually do so imma just copy and paste it directly from my notes asdlkjf

i can’t help but want: i’ve probably recced this before but i just reread it and it’s as good as i remembered. keith and lance are stranded on different planets and they communicate the whole time and it’s cute :’))) https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957831 

something blue: AMAZING fic where keith and lance pretend to be married for lance’s family. IT’S SO GOOD MY ENTIRE HEEAARRTTT  https://archiveofourown.org/works/15190772/chapters/35230898 

one heart missing: keith and lance are roommates and keith is in love with lance it’s so good asldjfkl https://archiveofourown.org/works/14466192/chapters/33421017

i just wanna be (with you): keith becomes lance’s roommate in college and they start crushin on each other :’))) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328386 

@k-baby: keith runs an nsfw blog and doesn’t respond to any comments. until lance 👀 (there’s one chapter left but where it leaves off rn is happy and stuff!) https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881654/chapters/39647790 

suspended momentum: post s8 fic where they all become teachers as the garrison :’) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046407/chapters/40079402 

across all realities: an ongoing fic where kosmo gets sick and accidentally starts transporting keith into different realities  https://archiveofourown.org/works/17119595/chapters/40262417 

if i look in your eyes, i’ll want you to hold me: keith and lance are fwb and keith accidentally catches feelings. this fic is awesome and made me laugh out loud several times, so bonus points for that!!!  https://archiveofourown.org/works/15485631/chapters/35948790 

las palabras de amor: keith comes back to town after years of avoiding it, and lance keeps hearing this mysterious and beautiful singing from one of his neighbor’s.  https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946560/chapters/29591322

read all about it: this fic is gonna be AWESOME, i can already tell!!! the first chapter is 8k and the writing is fucking phenomenal. the premise is that keith is the star football player and lance is a reporter for the school newspaper. it’s senior year and lance has never managed to tell keith about his crush. but it’s /senior year/, after all, and when better to announce your feelings to the world in the school newspaper? https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454509/chapters/41099918  

get some: this is a series of snapshots of keith and lance’s friends with benefits relationship!!! it’s so good and so well written i loved it https://archiveofourown.org/series/874794 

speak for the stars: AWESOME post s6 fic where lance becomes black paladin and they all get stuck in this giant mind game planet where they’re convinced they’re living out their deepest desires  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309715 

something just like this: keith and lance both work at a summer camp and it’s cute as hell asdjkfl  https://archiveofourown.org/works/10716489/chapters/23742501

lunar woke: this fic is AWESOME. it’s werewolf!lance and coyote!keith !!!!!! lance is a pack leader and keith is his next door neighbor and ajdlkadsf i can’t wait for the next chapter https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534609/chapters/41314550

p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Neue'}p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; min-height: 14.0px}span.s1 {color: #dca10d}span.s2 {font: 12.0px '.Apple Color Emoji UI'}

somnophilia: uuuh yeah it’s exactly what u think. it starts off seeming like non-con??? but actually keith and lance are dating and lance has already made it clear that he’s into it so https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748503 

source

Fanfic Rec List Pt. 3 (And still not done... )

Oh take me back to the start by @mimosaeyes

Each chapter is a stand alone one shot “Meet cute” AU and they are all just delightful! That initial moment of spark is such a huge part of what I love about stories so to have them all right at my fingertips like this is great when I want a nice pick me up! Many of the stories are Love Square but there are a few other pairings as well which I was also really excited about!

War of Attrition by AceGreyManx (don’t know tumblr url)

So this is a little one shot that I discovered… honestly I don’t know how, I think I was doing the thing where I just pick a random number between 1 and however many pages of fic there are for my fandom on AO3, go to that page and pick whichever story catches my attention on that page.

Anyways It’s very straightforward Ladynoir but we actually get to see Chat come out and step up to the plate when it comes to declaring his feelings for Ladybug and it is wonderful. You start off with this nice fluffy thing and end with a St. Crispin’s Day speech of Romantic confessions. Clocking in at less than 3k words there is no excuse not to read this one ^_~

Black Cats and Curtain Calls by @bullysquadess

This is probably the most self-indulgent of my fic recs and by an author who certainly doesn’t need my help being recognized. However as a musical theater nerd myself and someone who lived for both Highschool and Community theater productions when I was young I can’t NOT give a shout out to this beautiful universe. It really does a great job of capturing what the world of amature theater is like and the romance is cute and engaging, earning it a spot among my favorite fics.

Look at Me / Seeing Me by @raeryn  (or @adriennagreste on tumblr as well)

Two one shots telling the same story from each person’s POV.

;I just love this story- I must have read it a dozen times- because it isn’t focused on the reveal, it is focused on how the characters deal with it. It isn’t an instant change over to a happy couple, these are two kids who are trying to figure each other out and actually build a deeper relationship/friendship with the person they like and care for and it is such a refreshing thing to see.

Fermeture by Karmahope (not sure what tumblr url)

Ugh… this story just takes my heart and squeezes it like grapes only to put it back together again. It’s a delightful sort of melancholy angst focused on the idea that you don’t realize how much something is a part of your life until it is gone. A wonderful “post victory” oneshot

Consolation Prize by @mesozoic (I think the tumblr is the same as the AO3)

Oh my goodness I laughed SO hard while reading this. Between the fantastically hysterical awkwardness and the extremely unique styling (the author starts you in the middle of a conversation and it slowly gets revealed over the course of each chapter what happened, which makes the reveal of how they GOT there just delightful) this story is just such a fun change from what I expect in fanfiction. Its also nice to see these crazy messed up teenagers being just that.

Something in the Night by @konekat https://konekat.tumblr.com/

Another one that falls a little heavier on the angsty scale than I usually go for my favorites, this manages to keep my interest and handle a troupe I am usually personally not very big on- Chat and Ladybug being separated for years and Chat being bitter because of it- and make me engaged and excited for. They do a good job of skirting the line between putting the characters in a darker place without feeling like they are more OC than character (which is always my biggest concern with stories of this type) The writing itself is lovely which helps a lot, and they aren’t afraid to explore the characters flaws in a way that is very real and relatable. (Also for my NSFW fans the “missing scene” chapter (Burning in the Night) is definitely worth your time as well… hot… ::fans self::)

Back to Us by Darkreyna16  @insanitysscribblings on tumblr

As long as we are talking about the friends to strangers to enemies back to friends to lovers sagas I might as well round it out with the last one on my list (the first two being Something in the Night and Sealed Away)

Gonna warn you- this fic is a BEAST. There is a lot of content and a lot going on. However the story don’t get overly bogged down even with it’s complexity, and there are some wonderfully unique ideas and questions that get addressed in this story. This also has some of my favorite utilization of some of the minor/background characters. (Ivan! OMG BLESS!!!)  It’s nice to see a world where the classmates have also grown and developed alongside our core heroes.

For the COMPLETE Fic Rec List I have put a link on my main page! Just look at the top and click the button that says FIC REC LIST. 

All the works I have listed in parts 1-3 are up there and all subsequent fic rec updates will be going there as well! 

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | riley poole x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - having a girlfriend who can decode secret messages comes in handy when you're a treasure hunter; and having a clingy, needy treasure hunter boyfriend can be annoying when you're trying to decode something, but you find a way to compromise.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 4.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - SMUT (18+ only, and honestly who under 18 is watching this 20 year old movie about the declaration of independence? regardless, minors go away), established relationship, free use kink, touch of dumbification kink, FLIP PHONES (oh the noughties nostalgia), a totally unnecessary plot because everyone deserves a dose of colonial american history with their filth, riley and reader being nerdlove goals

(honestly can't believe I actually wrote this but now that I did I'm like hold up... is this my new obsession??)

When Ben answered the door obviously not ready, and obviously surprised by Riley’s presence, it didn’t take a genius to put together that he’d forgotten about tonight— which Riley had sort of seen coming, with how many times this one thing had been put off or rescheduled at the last minute.  One of the downsides of being a treasure hunter?  Your coworkers tend to be somewhat… unreliable.

“Riley— what are you doing here?” Ben wondered.

“Warm greeting as always…” Riley sighed before answering the question: “I'm here to pick you up.”

Ben gave Riley an even more confused look.

“For dinner,” Riley added flatly.  “At Talerico’s.  To meet my—”

“To meet your new girlfriend, oh god,” Ben realized, “was that tonight?”

“No, it's tomorrow, I'm just picking you up twenty-four hours in advance,” Riley replied snarkily.

“I'm sorry, Riley,” Ben sighed, “I really— I do wanna meet her, Abigail did too— but I completely forgot— can we move this to another night?”

“Ben, we've moved this so many times that she's not even a new girlfriend anymore,” Riley sighed.

“I know, I know, but we can't tonight— Abigail just went out,” Ben justified.

“Where'd the missus go?”

“The library, she's trying to help me with something.”

“A clue?  It's another clue, isn't it,” Riley realized, not trying very hard to hide his excitement.

“I was going to call you tomorrow,” Ben explained.  “Come in, I’ll show you.”

After walking into Ben’s house and upstairs to the study, Riley wrinkled his brow when Ben handed him the coded message.  “Well, that’s just a whole bunch of letters,” Riley noticed.

“Astute as always, Riley,” Ben frowned.  “We found them in a journal that belonged to James Madison.”

“Why would James Madison write down a bunch of random letters in his journal?”

“No— each letter was underlined in a different entry.  And, at the back, we found this,” Ben continued, showing Riley a scanned parchment.

“GABE FADECCE,” Riley read aloud, changing his mind a few times about the pronunciation.  “It’s a name, right?”

“It must be,” Ben shrugged, “but we’ve been searching online for any evidence of a Fadecce family or a Gabriel that worked for or with Madison, and we haven’t found anyone.  That’s what Elizabeth went to the library for.”

“It sounds Italian, could he be Italian?” Riley wondered as Ben set down the images with a sigh.

“I don’t know— possibly, but we’re at a dead end at this point,” Ben replied.  “I’m sure we’d have a lot more to work with if we could decipher those letters from the journal entries, but we were up all night trying to figure it out—”

“Not what I’d be up all night doing with my girlfriend, but okay,” Riley interjected.

“And I haven’t gotten anywhere with it,” Ben concluded.

“Wait— you can't solve it?” Riley challenged with a smug grin.  “The Ben Gates can't solve a clue?”

“It's not that I can't, it's just that a code like this requires a lot of time,” Ben explained.  “I'm a historian, not a cryptographer.”

“We need a codebreaker,” Riley nodded thoughtfully, “somebody who can decode something this complex, and knows enough about the Founding Fathers to have some context for the message...”  He tapped on his chin like he was really thinking about it, before proudly smiling and tilting his head in faux-realization.  “Hey, how about a former intelligence agent who specialized in decryption, with a master's in world history and beautiful eyes that you can get lost in for hours?”

Ben raised an eyebrow at Riley.  “Yes, that would be great— give or take the eyes thing— but where are you gonna find one of those?”

“At Talerico’s,” Riley announced, “waiting at a table for four.”

“Your girlfriend is a cryptographer?” Ben realized with wide eyes.

“I told you you'd like her,” Riley beamed.

~

Riley was engrossed in his game, furiously clicking the mouse and clacking at the keyboard before mumbling a curse of defeat and pulling the headset off; sighing, he turned around and looked over the back of the couch at you.

He'd only started playing the game because you weren't giving him attention, so it made sense that as soon as he died, he'd go back to bugging you.  “Hey,” he greeted plainly, smiling yet clearly fighting the urge to pout.

You were laying on your stomach on the bed, half-dressed, looking at the pages Ben had given you and scribbling notes on a pad.  “Hey,” you returned flatly after a pause, adjusting your reading glasses before taking a few more notes.

“You look cute doing that,” he hummed.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking.”

You frowned a little in concentration but didn't look away from your papers.  “I like to think I'm always thinking…”

“No wonder you're so cute all the time then,” he cooed, leaning in closer and resting his chin in his hands.

He waited for a moment for you to keep the conversation going, but sighed when you simply continued working on the cipher without paying him any mind.

Getting off the couch with a sigh, he hopped onto the bed and laid beside you, making the mattress bounce a few times.  He kept looking at you for a little while, eventually reaching out and rubbing your back for a moment, before sliding himself even closer to you and planting a kiss on your shoulder.

Even with ninety-five percent of your attention on the puzzle in front of you, you could still tell what sort of mood Riley was getting himself into.  “Well, there is one thing that makes you stop thinking…” he recalled in a purr, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and giving you a teasing trail of kisses there.

You sighed a little and shrugged him away.  “Riley, I need to focus.”

“Baaabe,” he pouted.  “I can't help it, you're just so— how am I supposed to resist you like this?”

“I'm literally just laying here,” you noticed.

“You know what you do to me in those bifocals, sweetheart.”

You snorted and finally looked back at him, admiring the puppy dog eyes he was giving you— they almost always worked on you, and he knew it.  Sighing in relent, you looked back at the pages in front of you.  “I need to get this done, I promised your friend I would finish it in twenty-four hours,” you explained, “but you can go ahead.”

“Go ahead?” he repeated, confused.

“You can just use me, while I work,” you offered flippantly, hardly noticing the way his face turned red.

“R-right… I can just, um… use you.  That's— okay, sure,” he coughed nervously.

“Just be quick,” you insisted.

“Yeah, that's a challenge,” he scoffed, shuffling on the bed to straddle your legs and run his hands over your back.  “I, uh, like when you wear my shirts,” he informed you, as if feeling his erection press against your ass wasn’t enough of a clue.

“Just get on with it, please?” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah— sorry…” he mumbled, moving his hands down to your panties which he traced slowly.  “These are cute,” he noticed aloud anyways, and you sighed a bit to yourself as you realized how futile it was to try to keep him from talking.  You were just going to have to tune him out to get this done.

His fingers shakily hooked into the elastic and pulled your panties down, a low hum echoing in his chest as he looked at you.  Grabbing handfuls of your ass and kneading them gently, he mumbled something to himself that you weren’t really paying attention to— until he got your attention suddenly with a quick slap.  “Hey!” you yelped, jumping slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed through a grin, “couldn’t help myself.  I-I won’t distract you anymore, okay?  Just, you know, keep working…”

You did just that, of course, re-ordering the papers in your hand to look at the scanned back page again.

He went on mumbling to himself as he shoved his sweatpants down to his thighs to free his cock: “juuuust keep working,” he breathed.

He spit into his hand quickly and smeared it on himself, before nudging in between your legs and pressing himself to your opening.

Admittedly, you did react slightly when he pushed inside you— a wince from the stretch of it, especially without much preparation— but you managed to keep quiet and focus on your work again.  “God, so tight,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your hips slightly as he slid deeper.  “You're too good to me, baby…”

He pushed as deep as he could go, which was honestly a bit further than you expected at this angle, and leaned over you slightly as he started to move.

“You feel so good,” he praised through a heavy breath, not taking very long to savor the moment before picking up speed.  You knew if you reacted too strongly to what he was doing, he'd notice instantly and start trying to pull you away from your work; so, you did your best to focus on the problem, even if you found yourself gripping the pages a bit tighter.

Even if your attention was straight ahead, you almost wished you could see him now— but then again, you had a pretty good idea of what you would see if you looked back: his mouth parted slightly with sighs of pleasure, a subtle pink flush across his face, his eyes going a little glassy as they drifted over you.  In fact, you could sometimes feel his gaze on you, especially at those times that his fingers traced your back and hips.

Realizing something suddenly about the cipher in front of you, you put your pen between your teeth and pulled the cap off, biting down on it slightly to hold it in place so you could keep writing on the paper your other hand held.  “Fuck, you're so hot,” Riley groaned, starting to thrust a bit more urgently.  Resisting the urge to smile to yourself too much, you kept taking your notes and didn't especially pay attention to him behind you, even when his occasional whimpers started to grow louder.

For the most part, you were able to keep your focus.  It wasn’t that Riley was especially easy to ignore— certainly not with him going just a bit faster with every thrust— but you were finally on a roll with this puzzle; maybe you would’ve already solved it if it weren’t for your boyfriend, even if he was a welcome distraction.

He panted with each movement, holding on tighter to your hips.  “Fuck,” he whispered, leaning down after a moment to rest his forehead on your shoulder.  Normally, you would have to stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, but you were too engrossed in your work; and it was a good thing, too, because if you’d done that he almost certainly would’ve grabbed the papers and tossed them away, impatiently demanding for you finish that later and let him finish now.

Instead, it seemed like the pace and intensity of both your decryption and his movements grew together: your writing was hurried while his thrusts were faster and harder suddenly, until you could hear skin hitting skin, his groans muffled slightly as they came out through his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, taking your pen away from the paper abruptly and looking at your work.

“Yeah, you like that?” he encouraged in a rough voice.

“Oh my god, I solved it,” you announced, hardly noticing how he'd misunderstood your exclamation.

That seemed to break him out of his focus for a moment, and he stopped moving as he leaned down over you, resting his chin on your shoulder to read the page you were holding.  “At the place of eighty-five pleas, remove the Crucifiction keys,” he read aloud from the paper— once he managed to navigate your disorganized notes.

“It's a polyalphabetic substitution cipher,” you explained excitedly.  “Once I realized the key word was his wife’s name it was relatively simple— aside from having to reverse engineer some Vignere tables—”

“But what does it mean?” he wondered.  “What even is a Crucifiction key?  Please don’t tell me Ben’s gonna rob some nuns.”

“This was Madison’s journal,” you recalled, “and he co-wrote the Federalist papers with Alexander Hamilton and John Jay— eighty-five pleas— but Hamilton wrote the majority in his home.  I think we need to go to his estate, and see if they still have any of the instruments he owned.”

“Instruments?” 

“The Crucifiction keys, that threw me off too,” you admitted, “but Hamilton was a pretty accomplished pianist— but he would’ve played the colonial precursor to the piano, the fortepiano, which was created by an Italian inventor named Cristofori.  Cristo as in Christ, obviously, and fori meaning ‘holes’.  The Crucifiction!  The keys are piano keys!”

“But who’s Gabe Fadecce?” he pressed.

“It’s not a name,” you answered, “it’s a song.  G, A, B, E, F…” you hummed each note as best you could recall.  “If we start at the first key in the bass and take out the first G, A, and so on up the scales, I’m guessing there will be another clue beneath them, or on the back or something.”

“You're amazing,” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek proudly.

“I'll call Ben,” you decided, reaching to pick up your phone from nearby on the bed and flip it open; you hadn't even opened your contacts yet before Riley wrapped his hand around yours and— gently— pulled it away and closed it.

“I'll call Ben,” he offered, “later.”

You turned to look at him, and he smiled at you, though there was something softer and darker about his gaze as it fell slowly to your lips.

“You and I have unfinished business first,” he continued softly before kissing you with more patience than you expected from him after all that…

When he pulled away, you reached up to take off your glasses, but he clicked his tongue as he stopped your hand from moving any further.

“No no no, leave those on,” he encouraged.  You grinned before he kissed you again, his weight sinking into your back as he slipped an arm around your shoulders.  You moaned softly into the kiss when he started moving again; it was a relaxed pace, but with him draped over you like this, he seemed to go so much deeper.

When he pulled away, you found yourself leaning towards him for more— but he just smirked at you and propped himself upright again, starting to move faster behind you.

“Look back at me,” he requested in a softer voice, and when you turned to look over your shoulder at him behind you, you found him biting his lip at the sight.  “Oh god,” he choked on a groan, meeting your gaze before shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.  “Fuck, is it weird that you ignoring me kinda turned me on?”

You laughed a little, and shook your head.  “No, that's fine… I can go back to it, if you want—”

“No, please— I still like you better like this,” he insisted.  “I like how responsive you are.”

He ran his hand up your back and you shivered, rocking your hips up slightly as he ran his fingers over your hair before taking a hold of your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathed, something beautifully dark to his voice, “like that.”

He began to fuck you hard— not fast, but intense and deep and just the right amount of impatient— and you didn't even try to hold back the loud whine of pleasure that jumped from your chest.  “Fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god, yes…”

“Uh huh?” he encouraged, watching with half-lidded eyes at the way you moved under him, your body naturally starting to rock back towards his.  “Tell me how that feels.”

“Good,” you panted.

“But not good enough to distract you from your work, huh?” he challenged.

“Well, to be fair, nothing feels better than cracking a code,” you giggled.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, putting his hands on either side of you on the bed so he could lean down and kiss your neck, only to bite it a second later— not too hard, but a little harder than just playful.  You felt him smile when you yelped softly.  “You’re trying to piss me off, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged a little bit.

He sat back up and pulled out of you unexpectedly, but thankfully explained himself before you would’ve likely let out a pathetic whine that he would’ve held against you.  “Turn over,” he instructed, “and take that shirt off.”

You flipped onto your back with a smile; “I thought you liked how I look in your shirts,” you reminded him as he helped you pull it over your head and toss it aside.

“Yeah, but I like how you look without them even more,” he explained, running his hands along your sides before surprising you as he suddenly bent down to swirl his tongue around a hardening nipple.

“Fuck,” you gasped, grabbing onto his hair as he moved to the other, first with his eyes shut and then opening them to look up at you as your back arched.

“You’re so pretty,” he praised as his lips traveled to your neck; he yanked you closer by your hips, making you laugh slightly with surprise as you slid across the bed, though it turned into a moan when he thrust into you again in one go.

This time, he didn’t hold back at all: rough, needy, hungry.  You moaned louder than you planned to, grabbing onto his shoulders through his t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he panted out through a thin laugh, “but I can’t slow down now— not after you drove me crazy like that.  God, baby, you’re so fucking wet—”

You choked on the back of your own throat; you couldn’t help it, you just loved the way he said that.

“— this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, 

“You like when I use you, huh?” he taunted, and you bit your lip before nodding.  “That’s pretty kinky, you know.  Is that all you wanna be?  A fucktoy?”

“Oh god,” you groaned, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulder, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“Want me to just fuck you whenever I feel like it, whatever you’re doing?” he continued.

“Yes,” you admitted in a hiss, head dropping back onto the bed.

“You're really trying to spoil me,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your neck in between words.  “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart— I might end up fucking you five times a day.  At least.”

You moaned lowly, feeling your muscles seize up on him briefly, making him laugh in the most condescending-yet-sexy way.

“Oh, fuck— you want that!” he realized, and his voice dropped to a low growl again as he thrusted even faster, teeth teasing your pulse.  “You can never get enough, can you?”

Not that you ever really thought your response to that was going to be especially coherent… but the way you cried out totally gave yourself away; how had he made you so desperate so fast?!

“Oh, poor baby,” he offered pityingly, only to fuck you even faster until you whined pathetically.  “You don’t wanna think, huh?  Just wanna be my hole.”

“Y-yeah,” you gasped, “fuck…”

“You’re too fucking perfect, you know that?” he praised.  “The only thing sexier than fucking you while you use that gorgeous brain of yours, is fucking you until you can’t.”

Your moan was sort of trapped in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it down; you wished you had the wherewithal to hold it back better, but you weren’t really used to him talking like this.  Normally he would just go on tangents of praise and begging (as needed), and even though it wasn’t your first glimpse of his more dominant side, this all felt a bit different.  Even the way he was looking at you seemed different— a sort of pride in his eyes, pride in his own ability to turn you into a wet and whimpering mess.

“So fucking good,” he cooed, “you’re so good, baby— my good, dumb little fucktoy.”

“G-god,” you choked, holding on tighter to the sheets under you, trying to hold yourself together.

“You’d better come fast, ‘cause I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he warned with a sigh— which would be a much more credible threat if he’d ever left you hanging.  But no, those times Riley’s stamina hadn’t taken you all the way, he was more than happy to put his mouth on you and let it do the rest of the work.

This time, though, all he needed was a thumb drawing rough circles on your clit to help you along.  You hadn’t even noticed how sensitive it had become, not until your back arched and a needy whine jumped from your chest.  “Oh fuck, Riley, I’m close,” you yelped.

“Yeah?” he whined— actually, he repeated it a few times as he watched you get closer to your peak, but it was all falling on deaf ears as your moans got louder and louder.

“Yes!” you cried out, shaking under him; even with his weight pressing you down into the bed, it began to feel like you were floating somehow.  It was one of those orgasms that left you a little numb, with little jolts of raw pleasure that were almost too much— but your only defense was holding tighter onto him, inside and out.

“O-oh god,” he choked weakly, the movement of his thumb slowing but his hips going faster than ever.  “Fuck, fuck!”

He stopped all at once, burying himself in one last stroke as deep as he could reach, moaning lowly against the crook of your neck as he went mostly limp atop you.

After catching your breath for a few moments, you hummed softly in contentment and he carefully lifted himself up just to fall back down beside you on the bed.  He looked at you with heavy eyes but a huge smile; “You wear me out, you know that?” he breathed, reaching up to move some hair stuck to your face.

“You distract me from my work, you know that?” you countered.

“Hey, you got it done,” he defended.  “We’ll let Ben know as soon as I… you know, remember how to exist.  And use cell phones.”

“And maybe after a shower…” you suggested.  As soon as you saw the sparkle in Riley’s eye you added: “Separately.  I’ll pass out before we can make it to dinner tonight if we just end up fucking again.”

“I mean, they’ve been putting off dinner for months— why can’t we blow them off for once?” he suggested with a smirk, moving closer to you on the bed.

“I thought I’d worn you out,” you remembered with a breathless laugh, and he wrapped an arm around you to pull you into him.

“You did,” he sighed against your neck, “I’m just… easily re-inspired.”

~

It was a good thing this place was mostly empty, since this was technically somewhat sensitive information, but you figured anyone who overheard wouldn’t know enough about the conversation to glean anything too significant.  You found yourself rubbing your hands together under the table anxious as you watched Ben across from you, holding your work, and waited for his response.

“This is incredible,” Ben smiled as he read your decryption, making both you and Riley smile back with pride.  “A polyalphabetic substitution cipher, I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, any idiot would’ve known that,” Riley joked flatly.

“Where’d you find this girl?” Ben asked him, and you glanced at your boyfriend to find a little flush on his cheeks.

“You know, the technical answer is that we met at a panel lecture proposing that certain ‘random’—” he accentuated the word with a sarcastic tone and air-quotes— “radio frequencies detected by military technology might be messages from extraterrestrials—”

Ben rolled his eyes even at the passing mention of one of Riley’s more absurd conspiracy theories.

“But,” Riley continued, “I have a theory that she was actually created in a lab, specifically for me, by a team of scientists with the inexplicable goal of making me happy.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggled nervously, shoving Riley on the shoulder but failing to stop him from giving you a kiss on your heated cheek.

“That line working on you really is a testament to the fact that you’re made for each other,” Ben offered, and you decided to ignore the backhanded element of the compliment because of your sense that there was something very genuine about it.

“Look who’s here,” Riley pointed towards the front door of the restaurant, over Ben’s shoulder, causing the latter to turn in his seat and look back.  “Abigail, over here!”

She waved when she saw you, quickly approaching the table and taking her seat as she apologized for being tardy; “This is Dr. Abigail Chase,” Ben introduced her with a proud smile.

“Oh, don’t be so formal,” she gently scolded him (maybe everything she said sounded that nice with her accent, though), but she beamed as she grabbed your extended hand to shake it.  “It’s so nice to meet you, finally— I’ve heard so much from Riley.  He’s been bragging about you so much these past few months, I feel like I already know you!”

“Apparently he met her attending some panel about secret alien messages from space,” Ben told her with a smile and a yeah, I know, it’s crazy look in his eyes.

“Attending?” Riley repeated with a scoff.  “We were both speakers!”

Abigail was a little better at hiding any judgmental instinct; “How perfect,” she announced sweetly.

“She’s a real whiz with decryption though— look at this,” Ben instructed, handing the (condensed) page of your notes over to Abigail, who took it and tilted her head as she read to herself.  

“Wow,” she sighed, “you made quick work of it: Hamilton’s fortepiano?  That must be in a museum somewhere.”

“It’s still in his home in New York,” you replied quickly, “we already looked into it.”

“Did you help her at all with the solve?” Ben asked Riley suddenly, who turned to you with a slightly mischievous look in his eyes.  

“Uh,” he stalled before clearing his throat nervously, but never looking away from you— “y-yeah, I helped… in my own way.”

jamesmydeer’s masterlist

characters i write for

james fleamont potter

just go

sad hc

secret admirer

birthday hc

fight hc

remus john lupin

as much as I do

gee, i think you’re swell

sirius orion black

royal! reader hc

ten galleons

random hc

no sleep till new year

royal raffoler

sick hc

regulus arcturus black

secret relationship hc

james sirius potter

passing notes

all

seeing you walk down the aisle hc

jealous hc

first kiss hc

sunflower from spiderverse, but you’re miles morales painting a mural under a subway station.

Billy and the mindflayer

Doctor Strange - Baby Blues & Tattoos

A/N & WC - This is the enemies-to-lovers, co-workers, 'there was only one bed' fic. As soon as I thought of it, I knew it had to be a Dr Strange thing, and I loved writing it. Also, Ben's wink in the below GIF makes my knees go weak. 8.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, too much bickering, mentions of scars, mentions of a daddy kink, smut: oral (f rec), unprotected sex, brief orgasm denial, 'Doctor' kink, tattoo kink, hickey kink, belly bulge kink. 18+.

Summary - After a tiring mission, the last thing you want to do is have to crash at a hotel, especially with the cockiest man alive. Will things change with the fact there's only one bed on such a sleepless night?

YOUR DAY HAS BEEN EXHAUSTING, there’s no denying it, and the only thing to possibly make it worse?

“C’mon, there’s a place not far away,” Stephen snaps at you, cajoling.

“Why can’t we just portal back?” you ask, uncaring of your tone, how brisk you are.

“Because we can’t. Shut up.”

And you do. He’s been grating on your nerves for this whole mission. It wasn’t like it was a bad one, you were away barely for twenty four hours, but this is Stephen. He gets exhausting after five Goddamn minutes.

Bags slung over your shoulders, you follow him down the street. This, sadly, is the type of place you don’t use your powers, save for impending doom. And you have to grant it to Stephen, he knows what he’s doing, and he’s admirable with it. The way he carries his title, so graciously aids those who need him, all with a stoic resolve. He’s a good sorcerer, that’s an irrefutable fact, and you wouldn’t be this far without him.

Still, doesn’t mean you have to like the pretentious bastard in any way.

Dusk is long gone, night time in full bloom, stars scattering around the sky like tiny sprinkles, smudges of light to guide you through the night, only a thin crescent moon available to you in the far distance. The enveloping navy of the night sky meets the dark hues of Stephen’s mundane clothes, sheltering him from view ever so slightly, walking a few paces in front of you.

It doesn’t take long for a relatively small building to come into view, small for a hotel, no bigger than the body of Bleecker Street, an orange glow bleeding out the entrance.

His shoulders rigid, his posture as straight as a rod, he stalks through the front doors and up to the clerk, slightly more human clothes back on in place of his mission attire.

“‘Scuse me, please can I book a room for tonight?” he says, each word articulated to its fullest.

“How many people, Sir?”

He casts a glance towards you, rolls those pretty blue eyes of his, and looks back. “Two.”

“What kind of room would you like, sir?”

“One with two beds, I don’t care about the cost.”

The boyish clerk nervously clears his throat and shuffles the papers on the desk before clicking around on his computer a fair amount. When he looks at you with that typically awkward glance hospitality workers give when they can’t give you what you want, you know exactly what’s coming.

“Sorry sir, we only have rooms with one bed available. I can get you one with a couch if that’s better?”

Stephen grinds his ridiculously defined jaw so aggressively, you can almost hear the bones crunching, grating together.

“You’re small, you take the couch,” he hisses, the comment directed at you before gulping down a breath, straightening his resolve, and meeting the clerk’s gaze. “That’ll do.” he says, his manner more brusque than usual.

You roll your eyes, biting back a snarky comment at his forcing you onto the sofa for the night, and stay positively quiet and zoned out as he organises the rest, handing over his card, and in turn, receiving your room keys.

He marches you down the corridor, shouldering more than his fair share of the bags, while still keeping a gloved hand on the small of your back to steer you in the right direction. He never takes his gloves off. Ever. Even in all your months at the Sanctum, whether he’s fresh out the shower or fully dressed for work, he has never once removed those gloves with you in the vicinity. Strange, like him.

He deftly swipes the key card, his arm looping around your body to do so, and pushes the door open, allowing you in first.

The room is nothing special, just your standard hotel room. White sheets grace the double bed, the main feature of the room, with a soft grey footer to match the draping curtains, comparatively light when beside the ever darkening night. Stephen’s elbow hits the light switch, a white globe light shade casting a fluttery white glow everywhere, bouncing off the tea tray atop the dark wood desk that invades and clunks up half the room. The wardrobe is just behind the door, and doesn’t actually seem to have a front to it, but there’s an ironing board you won’t use—but Stephen probably will—and some coat hangers. The walls are mostly a very pale grey, modern, but a feature appears behind the headboard, the main attraction point of the room, a bright orange that pairs nicely, if not shockingly with the sofa: a poxy thing, barely a two seater. You wouldn’t even get your torso on there comfortably. It’s a decent room, not to your taste but nice enough, and clean, your main query.

“I’ll take the first shower,” he says.

Shifting past you, he nudges your shoulder, heat temporarily shooting between your bodies, and he flings the bags carelessly onto the bed, shrugging off his jacket before shouldering past you and chucking open the bathroom door. You’re still just standing there, even after you hear the door lock shut, Stephen huff a little to himself in the mirror (that much you can imagine, he does it all the time), the clink of a belt and the water start running. You already know this is going to be a long, long night, and it hasn’t even begun.

While he’s out of the way, you begin unpacking, simply lying out your night clothes and any necessities you brought with you just in case, straightening the pillows. Then he walks out, a plain white towel hung low around his hips, his Adonis belt glistening with droplets of water all around. His body is defined, incredibly chiselled—no surprise there—but from what you can see, he’s scarred too, his tan skin worn and cut in places it shouldn’t be. Still, his hands are covered in a towel that he’s rubbing through his charcoal hair, even when he brings it down, you’re not even allowed to catch a glimpse of his bare fingers, the cloth shielding them.

“It’s free.”

“I can see that, thanks Mr Obvious.”

He offers you a saccharine smile, “That’s Dr Obvious to you, rookie.”

“Myehhh,” you mimic, rolling your eyes as you brush past him, but really, his bulk of muscle does more damage to you than him, leaving your arm throbbing, only able to clutch it and open your mouth in a silent cry of pain once the door is shut and locked behind you.

As you undress, you’re sure you hear his soft chuckles as he goes about his inane bedtime rituals. One of your own rituals is listening to music in the shower, the one thing you know drives Strange insane, so you do exactly that, putting your current favourite song on repeat as you shower.

The bathroom is nice, too, just white. All porcelain white: floor, walls, sink, with only the mirror and showerhead a glistening silver. Why does nowhere have the same character as the Sanctum? If this is the rest of the world you’ve been avoiding a while, you’re not sure if you like it.

Coming out the bathroom, you wrap your white towel taut around your body and tuck the corner in, the lump pressing into your supple skin, releasing your hair from the shower cap. Almost unwittingly you begin humming the song—instinct, you guess, an earworm, a good song with infectious lyrics and a strong tune. You’ll be over it in a week.

“Do you?” Stephen suddenly asks, appearing from around the wall.

You gasp in surprise, your reverie snapped. He’s right there next to you, his hair coiffed but still slightly damp, wearing his usual half-baggy blue pyjamas. His blue eyes snag on something, a peek of black partially obscured by the towel, but he can't be sure.

“What?”

His exasperated sigh fills your brain with naught but aggravation. How can one person be so anxious and annoying?

“That song you were playing, it’s called Daddy Issues. Do you have them?”

A soft chuckle leaves your lips, tossing your hair around, running your fingers through the locks. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“No.”

You don’t even bother to deadpan him for more than a split second before you’re pushing past him, your shoulder bumping his bicep again, and you’re shifting over to the desk area, where you lay out your moisturiser and hairbrush.

“Well, statistically, more than fifty percent of people do—"

“Just be quiet Stephen. Get ready for bed.”

He bares his teeth, but obliges, and within half an hour, you’re nervously slouched on opposite sides of the bed, the top light off, curtains drawn, only the bedside lamps on to offer your bodies some shadow.

“I’m not taking the couch,” you warn, “it’s bloody tiny.”

“I don’t expect you to, and this bed is bigger than I anticipated, so I suppose we can share if you stick to your side.”

You grumble, making strange whining noises to piss him off momentarily, “What do you propose, a pillow wall?”

“Yes, actually,” he says, “that sounds rather practical.”

“Why? It’s not like I’m gonna try and cuddle you or hold your hand or anything. You’re not my type anyway, God.”

“Almost, but not quite.” he snarks.

“Could you be any more conceited, Strange?”

“Yes. But, just lie down, I’m tired and can’t be arsed to hear your whining all night. No touching.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, asshat.”

You draw back your side of the duvet and slide beneath, curling your toes at the cold weight of it, your back to Stephen’s. There’s so much space between the two of you it’s bordering on ridiculous, you could fit half the other wizards in with you at this rate. You're small, but with how close he is to his edge, he has to be falling off. He’s abnormally tall, his feet are probably dangling off the end, too.

“Is this about your hands?” you whisper, barely heard over the deafening silence crashing around in both of your ears, “or your scars? If so I— I don’t mind, I’m not in any position to judge.”

“Shut. Up.” he enunciates.

“Dude, it’s okay.”

“It’s also none of your fucking business.”

Oh he’s seething. He’s fucking hilarious when he’s mad. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare and his face goes as red as Goddamn tomato, his lips quirk to suffocate a grimace and hands close to fists he can barely control and his voice always stutters when his desperately regulated breath hitches. That’s exactly what’s happening now, you can feel the shift of the bed next to you, hear every tiny movement.

“I’m not trying to pry, just curious.”

“Well, you are prying. You know what happened to me, you know who I was and who I am, surely you have some idea what I must… look like.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, an inflection of compassion in your tone, “and I don’t give a shit. I hate you no less.”

He allows a breathy chuckle out, one of the lightest sounds you’ve ever heard from him, nothing derisive in it, no spite or teasing, just a small laugh. “Hate me all you want. I know I’m right.”

“About what?”

“You don’t want to see me.”

It’s so quiet a request that it's barely a whisper, simply a wistful hope, a prayer, a silent plea. His last word cracks, breaks, and his currently slightly less annoying voice trails away, broken. Even now, the least you can do is respect his privacy on it despite the fact it's the last thing you want to do.

You find the only words you can muster, curling further inwards on yourself. “Night, Stephen. Thanks for this.” you bid.

“Night, Y/N.”

And you still into a horrible, dense silence, the darkness of the room overwhelming your senses. If you sleep a wink like this, you’ll be lucky.

—

You find yourself to be regrettably correct, since after what feels like a lifetime (and appears to only have been an hour, and even then, just barely) you feel the whole weight of the bed shift, followed by muffled cursing. You’re cold, incredibly uncomfortable, and the pillow is too cold, but you daren’t move it, lest you disturb the wrath of Stephen.

Fuck it, you tell yourself. You won’t lie on the ridge of a hard mattress all night just because he’s a whiny brat who never cuts you a break. Fidgeting and jolting, tossing and turning, you eventually turn over full bodily, and completely by accident, your hand falls onto more flesh, warm and callused, Stephen. Instantaneously, he recoils, his body slithering away from you, even across the masses of space. Your own breath catches, brows furrowing, shock, perhaps?

“Stephen?” you husk, your voice full of surprise. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You reach over and flick your bedside lamp on, fluffing your pillow and turning to him.

“No. Why did you do that?”

“Why did I do what, roll over in bed and accidentally brush your hands?”

“Yes.” he says, teeth gritted.

“Don’t be such a twat, what’s the big deal anyway?” you ask, a throwaway comment, but the way he gulps, his blue eyes so full of anxiety, you know well enough what it is. “Strange, I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Only, you know it does. His hands are balled up in his shirt and embedded into his body, covered by the duvet despite the convulsive movements. He’s asking for it. In one swift move, the duvet is folded back, and you’re grabbing his hands roughly by the wrists and tugging them away from him. Sitting up a little more, moving your body and crossing your legs, you yank his hands into your lap. Gnarled red scars run down each finger and down the back of both hands, puckering from stitches mars them too, and beneath the skin, when you tenderly run the pads of your fingers over his scars, the cuts, you feel metal. Screws, bolts, whatever else. Maybe even metal rods are in there, holding his bones together.

Sure, they’re not pretty, no scars are, but they aren’t as repulsive as he makes them out to be. They’re endearing, unique, and show he’s a Goddamn fighter. Maybe you’d be more inclined to work with him if he hadn’t been trying to hide from you so much.

Suddenly, he jolts away from you, away from the tender rub of your fingers on his skin, his face contorted in a perpetual wince. There’s an expectant pause, like he’s waiting for you to say something, but for once, you’re lost for words.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” he says, wholly tugging away from you.

“Why, Stephen? Why are you being so pretentious and callous? Can’t we share a bed without it being fuckin’ weird?” you demand, hitting a fist against the pillow childishly.

“No.”

He shifts his pyjama bottoms awkwardly when he catches another peek of your skin—your upper arm this time, a swirl of ink—and clambers out of bed, snatching a spare sheet from the wardrobe that he takes over to the sofa with him. No way is he gonna fit, but if he’s going to be that obtuse, you’re gonna let him.

—

Another hour has gone by, and having tried just about every possible position known to man on both sides of the bed, every pillow on both the head and foot of the bed, you’re still unable to sleep, simply staring at the dull white ceiling, your fingers linked and resting over your steadily rising chest. You’d think that sorcery has some perks, perhaps a spell to help you sleep, but no. There are some herbs that can go in drinks to knock you out, but naturally, they’re all at the Sanctum. You’re fucking knackered, and usually sleep so well, why is tonight any different? Does it have anything to do with the gnawing in the pit of your stomach? The anxiety of Stephen being so far away—or perhaps it's just having him in the room. Somehow, you don't know which is worse.

“Stephen,” you tentatively call out, your sound swallowed by the reverberating night. “Are you awake?”

“Yes. Why?” he replies in his typical abrupt nature.

“Just wondered. I’m cold, can you come sit?”

“No.”

This time you don’t even bother to turn on the light, but merely point your finger at the wall shade and light begins to glow around you, allowing you to peer at Stephen over there. It’s a pitiful sight, really, and one he willingly inflicted on himself, but with his long legs dangling off the edge and his head at a funny angle on the arm, the sheet barely covering half of him, you know this isn’t fair. Still, doesn’t stop you from having a hearty chuckle to yourself.

“You’re so fucking uncomfortable over there and don’t try to deny it. Get your ass into bed with me. Now.”

He’s not used to you being bossy, no one is. As he so constantly reminds you, you’re just a rookie, you don’t bark orders, and only occasionally lend a snarky comment. He likes those best, no matter how much he tries to feign it.

“Can you tolerate me enough to just lie in bed with me?” you tease, hearing his footsteps padding on the carpeted floor.

“To say I ‘tolerate you’ is a vast overstatement.”

“Thanks, Doc.” you reply sardonically, rolling your eyes—playfully this time—and smiling at the fact.

He does as you say, though, and shuffles into bed beside you, actually bothering to get properly comfortable this time, settling into a relatively normal position on his back, his head turned to the side, his cheekbones glowing from definition in the shine from your light. You could cut yourself on those, sweet Mercy.

Once he’s nuzzling into his pillow, you begin to do your own fidgeting around, finding your own comfort with a heavy, warm weight beside you, one of relative solace. You don’t mean to, but you’re stretching, and just trying to find a good position, when your hand accidentally grazes…

No way, this is incredible, better than anything you could have dreamt up. You think you might even bite a hole in your tongue from biting hard enough to keep your incredulous laugh under control.

“Is this why you didn’t wanna sleep in the bed? Because you’ve got a boner?” you ask, slyly.

“Don’t talk about it.” he growls in warning.

“Why? Secret stash of porn up there in that eidetic brain of yours?”

“Could you be more oblivious?” he says under his breath.

Turning onto his side, he pushes you away, prying your arm from him.

“Myeh could you beeee more oblivious, Y/N?” you mimic, purposely whining in that tone you know he hates.

You were trying to banter, so if he wants to be a tosser about it, so fucking be it. At least he’s offering you his bodily warmth so you don’t feel so alone in such an unfamiliar place.

“It’s fine if you do have a boner. For all I care, go sort it out. Human nature, buddy.” you quip, turning on your own side, almost half way into the bed, his body within touching distance, breathing distance. “I am curious, though, why didn’t you just say so? Or wear baggier pants? Men, you’re all the same, so fuckin’ annoying. Contrary doesn’t even begin—“

You don’t have a chance to finish your arsey statement before he’s right there, his hot breath fanning your face hovering above you, his forearms on either side of your head, trapping you in.

“You think you know everything, huh? I bet you’d really love to know what got me so riled up.” he growls, his face lowering to your neck, the juncture of your shoulder, his lips barely brushing the skin there before he’s taking a deep inhale; animalistic, almost.

There’s no denying that his actions send heat flooding to your core. Frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if a wet patch appeared in the sheet beneath you right about now. Who knew his voice could be so low? So sensual? Christ...

“You’re so fucking insolent. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a bratty bitch then I might’ve fucked you quiet two hours ago. You wanna know what made me hard? You, dancing around in your skimpy underwear and pyjamas. Every day I see you around the Sanctum, and even when you’re dressed in every layer of robe under the sun I can’t keep my eyes off you. You should see how damn hard I struggle to keep my hands to myself, even these Goddamn lumps.”

His fists clench next to your head, shifting your head on the pillow. His eyes burn sapphire. You’re not one for ‘skimpy’ clothes, but you have to admit that being the only woman in a house full of completely disinterested men has made you want to try and test the boundaries just a little, leading to your slightly smaller pyjamas and other minuscule changes in your wardrobe.

Still, his admission sends your mind into a lust-filled frenzy, your only coherent thought being to just submit to him, to kiss him, to finally know what he tastes like. For all these months he’s been watching you, his criticisms have been his manner of flirting, his hiding his own shield. As sweet as that is, there’s something very hard urgently poking at your thigh, something you should probably see to...

“Fucking hell, Stephen, just kiss me.”

After so much waiting, he really doesn’t need to be told twice, pouncing onto you, his lips meeting yours furiously, a desperate clash of tongues. Never in your life has someone kissed you this way before, with so much passion and life and unadulterated want. It makes you wonder just how long he’s wanted to do this for.

It doesn’t take long for his hands to stray, his palms skimming down your burning flesh, goose bumps rising in his wake.

“Off.” he ghosts, tugging at your pyjamas.

You begin to peel your shirt off, but Stephen grabs it by the neck and removes it before you can get any further.

“No bra?”

“Maybe I wanted to tease you too.” you breathe, and only once you say it do you realise the truth of it.

Perhaps all this time you have been subconsciously been trying to tease him, rile him up. You’re in for it now, that much is easily detectable by the ragged breaths he begins to take, his grip on your waist increasing as his lips make a downward trail. First, he kisses gently at your neck, only growing more fervent when he reaches your pulse point where he sucks, hard, but only for a moment as he moves further down, biting your right clavicle while pinching your left breast, then switching, and grazing his lips over the swells of your boobs. You’re barely able to control yourself or your moans, desperately holding your tongue, silencing yourself and the obscenities bound to spill. Next, he goes just below your sternum, the sensitive skin there reacting to his tender assault. Until now, he’s had his thinned eyes focussed on you, silently working his way down your body.

“I can’t wait to put bruises all over that pretty, unblemished skin…” he murmurs, vibrations shooting through you like a meteor shower. You don’t realise why he’s training off until his baby blues aren’t locked on your eyes anymore. “Is that a tattoo?”

Not the time, but your cheeks begin to burn red, drawing a blush onto your skin.

“I asked you a question, is that a tattoo?” He’s more solemn this time, commanding your full attention so naturally. Unable to control your voice, you offer him a nod, your eyes wide. “When did you get this? Oh, my God.”

“B— before I came to the Sanctum. I have more, if you like them.”

“Fuck,” he blasphemes, running a hand over his face. Is he… flustered? “Where? Show me.”

Who would’ve guessed he has a thing for tattoos? It’s not like you’re covered, just the odd few: one on your hip, one in between your ribs, one on your back. You’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the few at the tops of your arms yet. You adjust your positioning and show him what he wants: he’s damn near salivating, his fingers toying with his beard as he grows impossibly harder against your leg.

“Do you have a thing for tattoos? Do you like girls with ink all over their skin?”

“Stop,” he whines, imploring, “don’t, I’ll finish too fast if you keep on.”

You cup his cheeks, turning his face towards you, and begin to pepper kisses over his long neck, grazing your teeth where he seems to be the most sensitive, chuckling into your actions.

He kisses you hotly, briefly, and resumes his prior attack. Biting and sucking, drawing the supple skin of your hip bones between his teeth, he has you clamping your screams behind your hand, writhing around beneath his hold.

“These walls are pretty thick, which means you and I can be as loud as we want.” he whispers, and continues his actions, prying your hand away with one of his, and not flinching when you begin to hold it. Tight.

“You know, you’re gonna look so much better when I mark you up, every inch of you. Already look like mine.”

You dare a glance down, and half your stomach is covered in bites already, and he’s right, it looks damn good.

“I know, please.”

He moves gradually lower, tugging on the waist of your trousers. That seems to be when the reality hits him, drawing away from you, his breathing laboured, his beard tickling your hip bones.

“We shouldn’t,” he stammers, casting his gaze away.

You find yourself gulping nervously, “I know.”

His blue orbs wantonly flit from your eyes to your lips, searching for reassurance that’s been there all along. It doesn’t last long, you knew it wouldn’t, because his lips are colliding with yours after little more than a tense moment of eye contact. Your hands grip onto his arms, corded with muscle, tensing as they hold him up. He’s so reliant on his arms, his hands trembling with the slightest movement when it’s not sorcery related. Tonight, you want to show him that he doesn’t have to struggle, but merely has to enjoy it.

Mouths fastened together, your chest presses to his as his tongue glazes along your bottom lip, then your top, delving into your mouth. His muscle is skilled, dancing with yours, but not in a tender waltz, more a hazed tango of burning passion, like he has to taste all of you before he can be content in life. In return, you can’t kiss him deeply enough either, hold him tightly enough, clinging to him with your whole being.

He tears his lips away from you, leaving a strange void in your chest once he lifts away, an emptiness where his deft mouth was licking into yours just moments before. You’re certainly not disappointed when he presses a single kiss to your navel and hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, peeling them off, sliding them down your legs along with your panties.

“You look good all soaking wet.” he purrs, his eyes glued to the glistening slick coating your heat.

You revel in the fact that he can barely tear his eyes away long enough to glance at you, but once he catches sight of your lust-clouded eyes, half-lidded, expectant only for him, he can’t look away, his blue eyes enraptured with the slight drop your jaw makes as his breath fans over you. Almost animalistically, he licks his lips, then yours, tracing the shape of your vulva with the tip of his lithe muscle. Already you’re keening as he languidly works his mouth on your core. He presses a tantalising kitten lick to your clit, causing your legs to instinctively clamp around his head, your thighs trapping his ears. He still doesn’t break eye contact. How he does this, you don’t know, and don’t particularly care to find out right about now, since his eyes are so mesmerising, the different flecks and shades of blue, contrasted with hues of golden green—

Oh Mary sweet Mother of God.

How does he do that? His moustache tickles your swollen pearl as he literally eats you out, no reservations, a full meal to him. His tongue in your cavern, it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever beheld, his doling out of sloppy kisses while you can but watch, grasping onto his hair, threading your fingers through his dark locks, tugging for some semblance of grounding, something to keep you tethered to this realm, because this level of pleasure is unmeasured.

“I think you’re going to ruin me. Am I right?” you gasp, your words cut off when he suckles on your most sensitive spot.

“For every other man?” he purrs, straight into your core. “Absolutely.”

The vibrations are simply heavenly, sending your spare hand flying to the pillow beside you, grasping to it with all you're worth, until your fingers begin to cramp, but not once does his assault on your sensitive heat ease, his eyes smiling at you as though you’re the most beautiful thing in the planet.

You’re close, though, so close, teetering just on the edge of something incredible, something mind blowing, something astronomical. You’re simpering as he nears you closer and closer, every lavish of his tongue within your cavern, every nudge of his nose to your overly sensitive clit…

And Stephen being Stephen, that’s when he decides to pull away, crawling back up your body until he’s laying beside you, the heat welcoming and warm, the heavy weight of his arm slung around your bare waist, his breath fanning over your neck. He begins to lazily brush kisses over your neck, but it’s not enough. Frustrated would be a behemoth understatement.

“Goddamn it, Y/N,” he hums heartily, “you get under my skin like no one else.”

“Yeah?” you retort, not pondering the consequences in your haze of denial and desire, “you quite literally were just under mine, and you didn’t let me cum. Asswipe.”

Heaving a sigh, he rolls away slightly, stopping his sweet show of affections in favour of sulking

“If you’d shut up for one damn second and not insult me, I’d tell you why.”

“Why then, huh?” you square up to him.

The last thing you expect is to be kissed, his scarred hand weaving its way into your hair, pushing your head closer to his. You can feel the heat emanating from his cheeks, from his chest. Who knew heaven would be as hot as hell?

“Because I want the first time I make you come to be around my cock, darling. Okay?” he growls.

Wow. That’s one argument you can get behind, but two can play at his game, so you flutter your lashes and play coy, your most innocent doe-eyes joining your pretty, swollen lips that curl up into the sweetest smile you can manage.

“Okay, Doctor.”

“Fuck me,” he groans, barely audible.

In one movement, you have him pinned beneath you, hands on either side of his head while he’s listless between your legs, cerulean irises fixated on your every perceptible move.

“Only if you ask nicely, Doctor.”

His eyes fly shut, lids squeezed together, his head tossed back into the pillow. That’s when you get to work on his shirt. You grasp the hem with nimble fingers, slowly tugging it up the tanned skin of his torso. He occasionally walks around with just a towel on, like today, but you barely glimpse him before he’s disappearing, and even then he’s moving deftly, muscles contracting and water droplets glistening on the panes of his chest, so you're not entirely sure what you’ll find. You tug it up to his collar bones, and he does the rest, since you can’t help but run your hands all over him. Every inch of flesh you can reach. His body quite frankly ripples, his muscles incredible, and his scars matter no more or no less than ever, because he’s just Stephen and you’re just you, and this is just a moment you’ve caught yourselves in. His skin is burning, begging to be ravished the way he did yours, but you daren’t mess up such a masterpiece.

In an intoxicating kiss, you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling gently as you tug on it, your smirk unwavering yet your eyes as round as saucers.

“You’re heaven.” you whisper.

“You taste like it.”

The blush that dusts your cheeks is undeniable, sprinkling raging droplets of fire that reach the tips of your ears.

You sigh breezily, moving up his hips a little further, thinking aloud at your position, his body all yours, your bare heat hovering his clothed member, rock hard against your bum. “I’ve yearned for this for so long.”

“What, to shag me?”

“No, to finally have you quiet and under my control.”

“I’ve always been under your control,” he tells you earnestly, raising a hand to brush errant locks of hair away from your face, his rough fingers touching your cheek. You nestle into his grip. “Say the word, I’m yours.”

“The magic word?”

“Mhm.”

“Agamotto?” you question bashfully, curling your hair behind your ear.

He splutters a laugh, jolts his body up to meet yours, and kisses you, a searing embrace, his tongue working it’s way back into his mouth. You can still taste yourself on him. Beneath you, however, his length is twitching, begging to be touched.

You stand on your knees, and crawl back down his body, settling yourself on his beefy lower thighs that clench so delectably, setting friction onto your own throbbing core. You unravel the string at the waist, and fumble to get the soft cotton trousers off him, but seem to forget that, well, you’re hindering your own access. He nudges his legs and pelvis up, shucking the material over his bum. The action grazes over your slit in such a way that makes your breath hitch, the mix of the material of his pyjamas, the hair on his leg, and his tensing muscles creating the perfect cocktail of arousal within you, clouding your cognitive processes. He kicks them off, and draws you further up his legs, his member standing proud, brushing against your navel.

Something strange and new stirs deep within you at the sight, a primal need awakened. Sex has never been… this way for you before, this pleasurable, this fun. And as much as you hate to admit it, that’s because of Stephen and his God-like appendage that you’re not even sure will fit.

“Baby, you’re drooling,” he coos in a condescending tone, something that makes you impossibly wetter, “you gonna ride me?”

“Want your hands on me, though,” you softly admit, wrapping your hands over his, moving them to the dip of your waist. Instantly, they take a bruising settle there, but the pinch is so delectable.

Grasping him in your hands is quite the feat, but nonetheless you try, spitting on your palms to give yourself ample slick as you jerk him a couple of times, watching intently how the skin pulls around his member, your brows furrowed at such a simple yet such a beautiful sight. As much as you hate to cede it, he has a fucking incredible dick. He’s allowed to be as cocky as he is.

“If you keep on…”

You know he means for it to be a threat but he sounds so blissed out, his voice gruff and hitting you right at the pit of your belly. He has a point, though, with your fingertips gingerly running up the vein on the underside, your nails grazing tantalisingly over his balls. His slit is already leaking, a bead of pearly-white precum there. He won’t last. Eh, maybe he doesn’t have to be so cocky if such a featherlight touch can drive him to the edge.

His eyes draw yours in and keep their focus as you rise onto your knees and fidget a little closer, your knees scratching on the white sheets. Your brain grows foggy, like the night outside as you tease the head of his dick against your wetness before you gradually lower yourself down.

Birds crow outside, owls cresting their night time lullaby as he enters you, the most delightful harmony. Flickers of twinkling stars can be seen in your periphery through the slit in the plain curtains.

You hiss, but the slight pain of him stretching you simply spurs you further onto him, desperate to engulf him all. Your bum hits his thighs, and that’s when you realise, your breathing shallowed, that he’s balls deep within you.

This is actually happening.

“Fuck,” he mutters letting out the most aching groan yet, throwing his head back into the pillow once more and letting his dark hair flop of its own accord, his hands tangling their way into your hair to pull you down to him.

Your actions start slowly, a small rocking to your hips as you get used to his sheer size filling you to the brim, even the slightest movement causing your walks to tense around the ridges of his dick, rubbing within you so detectably. His breathing increases with every rock, his eager pants and soft pleas filling the air as you begin to speed up, silenced by your lips.

His moans increase once you start to raise yourself up, only to grind back down with purpose. You’re sure your own moans and whimpers are deafening, too. Stephen simply doesn’t know what to do, where to look. His lips attack your neck, moaning into it as he starts to drive himself further and further into your pussy, his hips bucking to meet your movements.

“Stephen,” you squeak as he grazes something special, followed by a shout of, “Fuck!” though that’s more to the stimulation to the precious spot on your neck he seems to be so wantonly attacking, bruising you.

“Tell me—” he orders, pausing to pant between kisses and his frantic movements beneath you, seeking the best position, “what you like.”

“This— fuck just keep doing that!”

His hands on your waist keep guiding your movements, the rotations of your hips, the rise and fall of your body unencumbered, unbound, free to drive him to insanity with your sensuality in this moment.

“Think you can handle that much?” he taunts.

“Just fuck me, Stephen, no restraints, just you.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.”

“I don’t care. I need you.” you grit out, whining at the slight still.

You thank whatever deity there is that it’s only very brief before his pace begins to pick up again, your body so malleable despite your being on top. And frankly, you can’t stop the screams that erupt from somewhere deep in your throat, followed by a steady stream of whimpers, your hands curling into his pecs to keep you upright.

“If you keep making those sounds, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“I don’t care what you want, I’m in charge.”

“Myeh I’m in charge, I’m Doctor Strange, ooooo look at me.” you mimic, challenging him, and his movements stall.

“You’d better watch your fucking mouth.” he spits.

The cock of your head is simply devilish, defiant in every way possible, power surging within your veins as you say, “Or what?”

Regret is instantaneous. You’re not sure why you thought that, if you were on top you’d have the power, because you certainly don't. His hands grasp your hips bruisingly hard, lifting you up before literally impaling you on his dick. His pace soon after is punishing, controlling your every movement so you can barely breathe or see straight, just a rag doll for him to throw about. He reaches new depths you’ve never even found yourself before, all while keeping his tip grazing your g-spot on every stroke, his pelvis meeting your clit on every hit. Your jaw hangs open, and you can’t even help it, merely gripping onto Stephen you’re not sure where for dear life. That’s the ‘or what’.

He’s quite literally ravishing you in a way no one has before. You’re fucking mewling before you can help it. His sudden surge of dominant energy causes you to moan headily, putty within his control. With each upward thrust of his, your hips roll in ways you never knew they could before, offering you new depths of pleasure, rolling more arousal from your core.

‘Rough’ was never a word you’d have used to describe the astute, precautious Dr Stephen Strange before, but with the sheer strings of profanity leaving his perfect, plump lips as he takes you wholly, it’s certainly up there with adjectives to describe the supreme sorcerer.

“Fucking hell you’re so good,” he praises, “shit— squeezing me so well.”

“Stephen…” you plead. You can’t care that you’re begging, not with the wash of pleasure trickling down your spine, a building climax within the pit of your stomach, ready to split at any second.

You lean forwards daringly, connecting your lips in a clash of teeth and tongues, a tango of passion, desire, sheer unadulterated need

“Want your hands on me,” you moan, whine, beg. Your words come out in broken fragments in between slathering kisses, your body bouncing.

“No you don’t. I promise you don’t.” he refutes, cut off by a deep groan.

He doesn’t stop pounding into you, your one hand moving to cling around the back of his neck, your other with your nails digging into his flesh, grazing over his nipples; anything to keep you half steady.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. I like your hands.”

“I don’t— fucking hell.”

“And I don’t care. Please touch me, just run your fingers over me, palm at my tits, anything, I don’t care. I just need your hands on me.” Tears begin to well in your eyes before you can help it, a feeble squeak when his thick tip drives into that spongy spot deep within that has your toes curling, his vein squeezed by the slight ridges within you. “Please.”

He sighs, cut off by a growl, holding his hands out before him, removing them from their hold on your waist. “These things?”

“Yes!” you shout in response, both to the stimulation on your clit from his pelvis and his rhetorical question. “Those ‘things’ that wield so much power. Such ability for pleasure. Doctor.”

That seems to be what does it, a gasping groan leaving him, taking incentive. His scarred finger begins to brush up your stomach, the dip of your hips, pinching your tattoos. His palms splay over your boobs kneading the flesh, eyes as wide as saucers, mesmerised by the way they bounce in his hand, your peaked buds caught under the rough pads of his thumbs. He runs his hands across your whole body, your back, shoulders, arms, savouring every inch of flesh he can reach as your back arches with waves of pleasure above him, thrusting your chest further out as your head lulls backwards and your mouth falls open in a silent ‘o’. When he seems satisfied enough, they travel to your ass, squeezing your cheeks, his hold bruising.

He’s enthralled by every movement you make, his blue eyes staring at you, fixed so intently, the intensity sparking something to life in your belly. You draw your lip between your teeth before leaning down to kiss him, his mouth devouring yours hotly, his lips almost burning on yours, chapped skin massaging yours. While he has you there, his grip on your ass increases, and he begins to go harsher.

“Baby,” you hiss before you can help it.

Skin slaps against skin, you’re just there for him, feeling every jolt of his body so thoroughly beneath you. He swallows your moans, and you swallow his, before detaching and moving your lips to his jaw instead, kissing along the sharp bone gently. He’s fucking you so hard, so meaningfully, you’re going to be aching for days.

“Look at me,” he demands, “look.”

You do, but you’re in such a haze that you only manage to actually see into the crystal orbs once he grasps your skin between his scarred fingers, one of which you press your lips to, swirling the tip of your tongue around the digit.

“No, no darling, I need my hand for this.”

Doe-eyed, you let his finger go with a pop, but follow his hand where it goes, trailing down to your lower stomach. His fingers tentatively press over a blossoming bulge there, one that grows every time you sink down onto him, and then his palm presses down, causing you to scream a little, a pleasurable sort of pain.

“You feel that?” you nod. “That’s where I am, so deep inside you.”

The stream of expletives you moan is utterly unholy, in need of censorship. Never before have you imagined this, anyone being so deep inside they’re bulging against your belly…

“Nobody does it like you do.” you whine, bouncing up and down on him at an inhuman speed, nearing climax more and more, still holding back despite it all, despite the pressure building right where his tip grazes.

“I taste you on my tongue. Still,” he confesses, licking into your mouth filthily so you can taste it too.

“Stephen, I’m gonna—” you can’t finish your sentence, as you’re finishing in other ways, the pressure on your g-spot and the brush on your clit and the intense penetration too much for you to handle amongst his piercing blue stare.

You can’t hold the inevitable tide back anymore, clamping and clenching around him, causing him to emit a guttural, feral moan, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder, his cry resonating through your entire being. It’s a pleasurable ache, but a mark you’ll struggle to hide. This spurs you on further, your entire body pulsing, limbless. You’re whimpering amidst your screams of pleasure, cries so pornographic they startle you. That’s when the world slows, and you feel his thumb pressing harshly into your clit, his other hand pinching your nipple, tweaking it fervently.

The hot white wash of euphoria sends you to heaven and shooting through the stars in a split second elongated by the prolonged, unceasing pressure in your bundle of nerves, keeping you in uncontrollable bliss for you’re not sure how long. Your entire body is electrified, stars dancing on your skin like droplets of Elysian sun, shocking your nerves into a tingling sensation, heavy limbs filled with ecstasy filled blood. The world around you faded long ago, replaced by his beautiful hands and his kiss intoxicating you, explosions of delightful rapture filling your earthly being. In all fairness, you wouldn’t be surprised if, when you opened your eyes, you were in your astral form, on absolute cloud nine, or in another realm entirely. Maybe you’re simply in paradise, your sorcery skills having transported you there of their own volition.

Somewhere in your elation, Stephen comes too, filling you up entirely, warm stickiness painting your inner walls and beginning to trickle out, down your thighs and onto his, melding the two of you together further. Was his orgasm as incredible as yours? Like a hundred put together? Stars plucked from the sky and morphed into a single climax just for the pair of you? Because if he shared it, there’s no way you’re not doing this again, that much you can bank on.

It takes a while for you to come around enough to flutter your eyes open, only to find your chest almost pressed fully against Stephen’s, his arms around you entirely, your harsh breathing in sync. A veil of sweat gleans on your skin, gathering between your breasts, moving up and down hastily with your ragged breaths. He’s covered in a similar sheen, his abs and forehead, the ripples of his biceps as you hold him, feebly pushing yourself half upright.

The last thing you expect while basking in the afterglow, desperate to just catch your breath is for him to lick a blood stripe from the tattoo at the side of your ribs, around the underside off your one boob, and to then suckle tiredly on the rune nestled between your tits, but apparently...

“What’s that for?”

“Love your tattoos. So sexy.”

That’s something you’re never gonna let him forget, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s also going to beg for you to get more. You find yourself giggling, the sweet bubbling of it in your throat. It comes out as an airy sound, endearing Stephen.

“What?”

“Oh my God, you’re so much better than the last person I was with.” you sigh, flopping down next to him.

“And you, bloody hell.”

“We should do this again.”

“We definitely should.”

His hand flies out to rest on your stomach, linking your fingers with his, watching you conspicuously from the corner of his eye.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, concern betrayed in his tone and the crinkle of his nose.

“Yeah, just might be a bit sore.”

He shrugs his shoulders softly, and you chuckle, “You told me to give it all I’ve got. I think I’m rather spent now, though.”

“So spent. God, is this what overstimulation feels like? How can something be so nice and so achy all at once?”

“That’s how my cock feels, Y/N. You milked me for all I’m worth.”

“Don’t be so crude!”

“I’ll be what I like, baby, and right now I’m going to be bossy. Go to the restroom, I’ll be waiting when you come out.” A mischievous grin creeps its way onto his face, watching you struggle as he sneers, “try to walk in a straight line, sweetheart.”

You offer him your middle finger as you stagger to your feet, clutching onto every piece of furniture along the way. It’s strange to be so naked around him, nothing to shield you from his stare that follows you, right from the bed until you disappear into the bathroom. While there, you glance at your dishevelled state in the mirror. Small hickeys litter your skin, hand prints lying lightly, but the most noticeable things are the signs of affection around your tattoos. Bite marks, finger prints, blossoming bruises. He’s an absolute scamp. You take the opportunity to run a brush through your hair and tap some balm onto your lips.

Your steps are a little more shy on the scratchy, grey carpet as you step out again, taking strides as wide as you can before all but throwing yourself onto your side of the bed.

“Here,” he says, smiling at you in that sweet, closed-mouth way he does, the apples of his cheeks glowing.

In his outstretched hand is his pyjama shirt, creased from your clutching to it. You take it, the soft material limp in your hands, but it simply radiates ‘Stephen.’ You tug it on over your head, unfazed when it hits your mid thigh.

“Looks good on you. Come here.”

You don’t mind his commands for once, and happily shuffle in beside him, instantly curling into his side. Heat radiates from his body, and only when you sling your one leg over his thigh do you realise he’s put his pyjamas back on, the bottoms at least. His arm winds around your shoulder, and perhaps in a feat of confidence, he starts to brush his forefinger up and down the skin of your arm, rising goose bumps in its wake. You could just stay this way forever.

A strange thought brews in the back of your mind, and you almost can’t help but to blurt it out, “Did you want me to call you 'Daddy?' Is that why you asked about the song earlier?”

A subdued nature overtakes him, his voice becoming shy as he murmurs, “Maybe. I like ‘Doctor’ too.”

You roll closer to him, wrapping an arm around his torso.

“Maybe next time,” you tease courageously, kissing his neck softly. “I can’t wait to be on my knees for you later.”

“Tomorrow, baby, I’m tired enough to sleep at last.”

It really is an ‘at last’ type situation, and definitely more than three hours since you arrived at this place with the intention of crashing straight away. Well, it was your intention. His? You’re not entirely sure, an inkling nagging at the back of your mind. Not that you particularly care after the mind blowing shag, but...

“We could’ve portalled back, couldn’t we?” Nervously, he nods. “So this was a ploy to get me to shag you?” He nods again, blue eyes glittering, and you simply scoff at him, holding him closer under the duvet. “Cheeky little shit, Doctor.”

His low laugh rumbles through your whole being, sending more heat flooding through you. “But then again, maybe it’s best if we don’t go home. What’ll they say about us?”

“They’ll congratulate me for finally growing the balls to fuck you.” he deadpans, and you kiss his jawline once more, snorting a little laugh.

You reach out to switch the light off and instantly embed yourself in his comfort again, revelling in your synced breathing and the gentle rise of his chest against your cheek, the stolen whispers and the gentle way he kisses your hairline, so sweet in contrast to his earlier dominance.

Sleep is, rightfully, dragging you both under, your eyelids heavy at last. All you feel is him, the steady thrum of his heart, the tender run of his scarred fingers up and down your arm and spine, sparks shooting through you. Your sleepy state, however, also lowers your already dangerously thin inhibitions, and that’s why you can’t stop yourself saying—before you succumb—your most peculiar thought from the whole night, his half lidded startling baby blues trained on the barely perceptible movement of your lips.

“Hey, recon we could have sex in our astral forms?”

Marichat Rec Lists: FLUFF

“So did you hear the one where a smooth cat and a cute baker walked into a fandom…” Here’s the first out of the multiple ship rec lists–starting with fandom favorite: Marichat! (Disclaimer: Due to the nature of these ships, some of these are not solely marichat) (Disclaimer pt.II: These fics are not solely fluff fests, thought I hope they include enough fluff to satisfy your cravings!)  

Feel free to suggest ones I may have left off ||  Ship Rec Lists || masterpost

* = unfinished

+ = mature/explicit rating

||italics = my notes

update 2/15/18: double je added to multichapter

Multichapter (word count next to completed fics)

Sunlight, Firelight, Starlight by adjit   (7,508)

* Lucky strike by Inkkerfuffle

The Consequences of Midnight Makeouts by Faequeen40   (11,580)

Quiet Ice, Silent Nights by Thelastpilot   (38,748)

Wherever I Go by senpop   (26,050)

Confession Rehearsal by Zaphirite   (11,628)

Suffer for a Secret by DarknessChill   (24,944 )

+It’s Always Been You by Starlenia   (43,692)

Make Me Like You by PrincessKitty1   (11,490) || drabble collection

+Both of You by Maerynn   (125,895)

*+ Humor Me by vanguardinitiate  

Dripping with good looks by TheHuntersCave   (4,335)

chat noooo by imthepunchlord   (9,560)

To heal a broken heart by Totally_lucky   (61,103)

*The kitten, his princess and cookies by just_kiss_already_darlings   (59,242)

Until I lose count by Baneismydragon   (35,389)

Little Princess by imthepunchlord   (9,508)

* Boutique by TheJulyCentury

You Are My Mission by ML   (5,932)

Ne Me Quitte Pas by imatrisarahtops   (43,357)

Stray Chat by Pozolegirl   (59,463)

Finding Home by Ran    (34,962)

In Sickness and In Health by kali_asleep   (30,013)

*#BonAnniversairePrincess by Lady_Lombax

Marinette, the Teenage (Sassy) Witch by fufflepie   (24,541)

* Have Your Cake (And Eat It Too) by LooseScrewsLefty, takethembystorm

* Caged by Their_Destinys_Writer

+double je by darkavenue   (22,508)

Christmas Miracles by wanderinglilly    (3,861)

Oneshots

Astoria by oracleOutlook   (2,586)

It was an Accident by Their_Destinys_Writer   (3,366)

Where We Love by Baneismydragon   (4,571)

+ Five times Adrien resisted and that one time he couldn’t by HiddenEye   (4,272)

Five Steps by eLJay   (2,000)

+ Dance in the Dark by MisterDoctorProfessorPatrick    (5,710)

+ Had To Be You by mercy_angel_09    (5,449)