Another prompt ficlet! @skyromaniac-05 requested “Rick thirsting over Harley” and this was the result. Given the nature of the prompt, this one’s a spicy one so feel free to skip if that’s not your thing.

Rick has to suppress a groan at the sight that greets him when he walks into the kitchen. Harley, wearing one of his t-shirts (the yellow one with the bunny on it that she seems to be obsessed with) and making coffee. The shirt hits about mid-thigh and he knows for a fact that she’s not wearing shorts underneath. She stands on tiptoe to reach something from the cupboard and the shirt rides up—giving him a glimpse of the black boyshorts she’s wearing.

It’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

She squeaks when he comes up behind her and snakes his arms around her waist. His lips go to her exposed shoulder and he teases, “Been wondering where that shirt went.”

Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun—leaving her neck on display. He starts pressing lingering kisses along the length of her throat. She tilts her head to the side to give him easier access. “What’re you doing up so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she gasps, as he nips at a particularly sensitive spot.

“Nightmare?” he asks, immediately turning serious. He doesn’t usually sleep through them but there’s a first time for everything.

“No,” she replies as she leans into his embrace. “Just woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“They’re getting better.”

“Yep.” She turns around in his arms and smiles up at him.

He decides to change the subject. “Seriously, where was this thing?” he asks in reference to the shirt she’s wearing.

She giggles. “I may or may not have stolen it from your laundry pile last month.”

“So you’re just gonna keep stealing my shirts?”

“Yep!”

“You know, keep stealing them and I won’t have anything left to wear.”

She grins mischievously and trails her hands up his bare chest to drape around his neck. “All part of my master plan.”

“Is that so?” He pulls her closer.

“Uh-huh,” she says—rolling up on her toes to be closer to his height.

He gasps when he feels her lips on his throat and his grip tightens on her hips. He can feel her smirk. She continues pressing heated kisses along his neck and jawline. His pulse hammers and blood rushes south. She finally gets to his ear and whispers, “Fuck me, Colonel.”

And he snaps.

He hoists her up onto the counter and drags her to the edge. “Yes, ma'am,” he growls, before crashing his lips into hers.

The coffee ends up getting cold.

———

Rick smiles and takes another sip of his beer as he watches Harley having the time of her life on the dancefloor. She’s on her third margarita and has already informed four other patrons that she’s “got a PhD, motherfucker!”

He’s content to sit back and enjoy the view. And he can’t help but think the view he has right now is nothing short of amazing.

Harley’s wearing a pink crop top and those denim shorts she’d hand painted stripes on—leaving her whole back and long legs exposed.

She takes a break from dancing to come say hi to him. “Hiya baby!”

He chuckles. “How drunk are you?”

She huffs. “I’m pleasantly tipsy, if you must know.”

He can tell she’s a little past pleasantly tipsy, but not sloppy drunk.

She grabs the hoodie he’d discarded earlier and throws it around her shoulders before climbing into his lap. His hands go to the bare skin of her lower back automatically and he bites back a groan. He’ll be honest, this is the last place he wants to be right now, with her looking like that.

“Havin’ fun?” she asks.

“Harls, I’m this close to dragging you to the back alley,” he rasps in her ear, before pressing a sneaky kiss to her neck.

“Home?” she gasps.

“Home,” he agrees, before practically dragging her out the door.

His lips are on her the second they get home. She kisses back enthusiastically—jumping up and wrapping her long legs around his waist. His hands go to her ass.

He presses her back against the nearest wall as his kisses move downward.

They don’t even make it to the bedroom.

——

Harley finishes applying her bright red lipstick and then takes a step back to look at herself in the bathroom mirror. She’s wearing a red satin A-line dress with a plunging neckline and open back. She looks hot. It’s the kind of dress that’s gonna have Rick drooling over her all fucking night. Curled hair and black heels complete the look.

She walks out to the living room to see one of the sexiest things she’s ever seen. Rick Flag. In a suit.

He looks uncomfortable as he fiddles with his shirt cuffs and the tie around his neck and his hair is still damp from the shower he just took. Her type may be “covered in blood” but god damn does he clean up nicely.

He looks up to see her and she smirks as she watches his gaze trail from her face downward. His eyes linger somewhere around her cleavage.

“What do ya think?” she asks, knowing full well what he’s thinking.

He comes close and snakes his arms around her waist—hands resting on her exposed lower back. He leans down and whispers in her ear, “I’m half tempted to just forget about dinner and find out how good this dress looks on the floor.”

She bites her lip and suppresses a moan. She reaches up and loosens the tie around his neck and pulls him down to her height so she can whisper back, “And if I’d known how well ya clean up I would’ve insisted on a fancy dinner months ago.”

Truthfully, all she can think about is getting him out of that suit. She’s not one to turn down a fancy dinner though. They’re celebrating her birthday after all.

She unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt and snakes her hand inside to caress his chest. He inhales sharply at her touch. She moves the fabric aside to gain access to the skin of his neck—where she drops a lingering kiss. His hands tighten around her back. When she pulls back she sees that she’s left behind a lipstick print and she smirks. A little gift for him to discover later when he takes his tie off.

Dinner ends up being more amazing than she could ever imagine. She’s never been taken out to a fancy dinner before for any occasion, let alone her birthday. It makes her feel special, and she can’t say she’s felt like that very often in her life.

Really, the only thing hindering the date is the fact that both of them are so horny they can’t wait to leave. She has to refrain from dragging him to the restroom no less than four times while they’re waiting for their food.

The drive home is agony. Rick has his hand on her thigh the whole time and the closer they get to home, the higher his hand inches up her dress. He’s so close yet so far from where she needs him the most. She lets out a soft moan when he strokes her through her panties. It quickly turns into a whine when he withdraws his hand as quickly as it appeared. She glances at him and can see him smirking. Smug bastard.

She grabs his tie and pulls him into a sloppy kiss the second they’re through the door of their apartment. Without breaking the kiss or releasing her grip on his tie, she leads him to the bedroom.

They both agree the red dress looks much better on the floor.

————–

Rick is busy in the produce section of the grocery store when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees it’s a text from Harley. He opens it, expecting a meme that makes absolutely no sense to him, but the image he’s confronted with is better—muchbetter—than that.

It’s a picture of Harley, lying on her back with her head at the foot of the bed, hair cascading over the side. Her legs are bent in front of her and raised slightly and one hand is in her hair. She’s staring directly at the camera. She’s wearing a red corset with black polka dots that makes her chest look amazing and black boyshorts. Curled hair, red heels, and her favorite shade of red lipstick complete the picture.

He looks closer and realizes that, yes, she’s clutching his dog tags in her other hand. He curses under his breath and seriously contemplates just abandoning the cart and rushing home instead. Unfortunately, they desperately need groceries.

He gets another picture as he’s standing in line at the checkout.

She’s lying on her stomach this time, propped up on her elbows. Her legs are crossed behind her and she has his dog tags twined between her fingers. She’s blowing the camera a kiss with her other hand, and winking.

He suppresses a groan and wills the line to move faster. Instead, it seems to take forever.

The third picture comes when he’s putting the groceries in the trunk.

She’s on her knees this time—back arched and hands in her hair.

He goes twenty over the speed limit on the way home.

The groceries get abandoned by the front door and he stalks towards the bedroom. Harley is lounging on the bed, scrolling through her phone, but immediately tosses it aside when she hears him come in.

She shoots him a wicked grin. “Did ya get the pictures?”

He drops to his knees. “Oh I got them.”

He grabs her by the ankles and drags her to the edge of the bed, tossing her legs over his shoulders.

“What did ya think?” she asks breathlessly.

He trails kisses up the inside of her thigh. “I think it’s time for some payback.”

He peels her panties down her legs and trails his kisses higher—purposely avoiding the area she wants him the most. She’s practically shaking in anticipation by the time his lips touch her wet heat.

The ice cream is half melted by the time he’s done with her.

Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own

Franstober 2021: Day 11 — Soft (The Red String of Love) is now released on AO3.

Why would fate bind soon to be soulmates? Perhaps what they know as the Red String of Fate, isn’t the Red String of Fate, after all. I present to you.

The red string of fatelove.

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Franstober 2021: Day 12 — Seed (A Tree Full Of Love) is now released on AO3.

Franstober Prompts by @uhhbananafrappe

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I’m one day late!

Franstober 2021: Day Ten — Chase is now released on AO3.

Franstober Prompts by @uhhbananafrappe
Horrortale by sour-apple-studios and request by @minina-7431

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Franstober 2021: Day Nine — Experiment is now released on AO3. I’m having a bad time with Wattpad for now. That’ll take a while to fix.

A preview of Sticks, Stones & Bones.

Franstober Prompts by @uhhbananafrappe

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Franstober 2021 - Day Eight: Blind

Franstober 2021: Day Eight — Blind is now released on AO3 and Wattpad.

How were they both so blind to each other’s feelings?

Franstober Prompts by @uhhbananafrappe

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Franstober 2021 - Day Seven: Ride

Franstober 2021: Day Seven — Ride is now released on both AO3 and Wattpad.

Franstober Prompts by @uhhbananafrappe

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Franstober 2021 - Day 5 & 6: Private and Public

Franstober 2021: Day Five and Six — Private and Public is now released on AO3 and Wattpad.

Oh, and to further creativity. You can drop some of your ideas for some dates (in my ask box) and I’ll see if I can try to at least incorporate or make them.

Franstober Prompts by @uhhbananafrappe

Update on Franstober Day Five.

If any of you are wondering when I’m posting Franstober for today. It won’t be coming out today.

Day Five (Private)and Day Six (Public) will be released as a two-parter and, so I will need another day to work it out, but trust me I will be publishing the two parts tomorrow.

Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own

Franstober 2021 - Day Four: Tired

Franstober 2021: Day Four — Tired is now released on AO3 and Wattpad.

Thanks again to @uhhbananafrappe and credits to @stacycpr for letting me make an unofficial sequel to her prompt. Read the first part first, then the second.

Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own

Franstober 2021 - Day Three: Secret

Franstober 2021: Day Three — Secret is now published to AO3 and Wattpad.

This is pretty angsty, but ends with a happy ending! And it’s much longer. Sorry for the wait!

Happy reading!

Thanks again to @uhhbananafrappefor the prompts.

Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own

Franstober 2021: Day Two — Bonds is now released on AO3.

I’ve made something I can say I’m really proud of. If you thought that the last one was good as some kind of twist of fate, well, this is better.

Credits to @uhhbananafrappe for both the inspiration of this prompt and Franstober itself.

Someday it will stare back - UnproblematicMe - Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett [Archive of Our Own]

Written for a round of “Guess the Author” with the prompt “Edge”

Hearing is disbelieving - UnproblematicMe - Good Omens (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Summary: “After his fight with Aziraphale, Crowley wants to sleep his anger off. But his concern for Aziraphale gets him out of bed sooner than planned. What will Crowley see - and hear - when he checks on his angel?”

For the Writer’s Server’s Weekly Prompt

“For this week, write a story that involves a character eavesdropping on someone else!”

Prompt Fic

Tending their wounds while scolding them only to realize they weren’t listening and was falling for you instead

Roronoa Zoro X Reader

You had just finished cleaning your room. Floor had been swept, sheets had been changed, shelves is arranged and the table is tidy.

After spending almost the entire day cleaning your room, you were finally ready to leave.

But unfortunately someone decided to come in.

A gruff looking moss head came in. He had blood stain on his shirt and took the spot oN yOUr nEwLY cHAnGeD sHeEtS. Blood of course got on your sheets which made you want to rip the hair out of the man.

“He–”

“Motherfucker!!!! I just fucking changed that!!!!!!!” You screamed at him.

Zoro looked down at the sheets and scratched his nape seeing the blood all over it.

“I’m sorry.”

With a glare, “You know you should take a shower instead of barging into other people’s rooms.”

“Yeah but I have a feeling I’ll bleed to death if I shower with my wound open.”

You soften for a second but returned to your angry state. “Then get your stupid ass to Chopper’s clinic and get yourself patched up!”

“He’ll scold me. Could you do it instead?”

Crossing your arms you raise a brow at the man, “And why would he scold you?” You asked ignoring his plea.

“3 visits in one day for the same wound.” He sighed and lied down. “You really should start patching me up so I’d stop bleeding here.”

You grumbled and angrily went to where your first aid was. (Chopper had placed first aid kits in every room.)

“Don’t you usually parade shirtless why the hell are you wearing one now? Get rid of it so I could see your stupid wound.”

“Last time I went in a room shirtless Sanji tried to beat me.” He explained as he removed his shirt.

His wound was large that it ran from his left lower quadrant almost touching his stitches from Mihawk. You could see the remains of the previous threads that most likely Chopper had sewn.

His wound had gotten worse. You remember the sight of what his wound looked like when he was fighting the swordsman from Thriller Bark. It wasn’t this bad.

“You and your excessive training! Look at how disgusting this looks like for fuck sake! The moment you were able to fucking move this is what you do!”

You began cleaning his wound.

“I mean, honestly you were in a literal coma and the first thing you do is drink your stupid alcohol and train! You’re going to die if you keep this up!”

You sterilized your thread and needle, something that Chopper thought you.

“I mean obviously you’ll die if you continue training at this state, but will you die if you don’t?”

You began sewing his wound.

“I will tell Chopper about this and I know he’ll make sure you never get to train again until you’re healed. Which is what you fucking need by the way! You and your stubborn ass. Tsk.”

Satisfied with the sewing you cut the thread and put them away.

“Stand the fuck up so I could wrap the bandage.”

He stood up wordlessly and raised his arms.

“You know what? You probably thought making me patch you up would mean you get to keep training, well guess what you won’t. By gods will I let you. I will cut you a new wound the moment you reopen this stitch.”

You secure the bandage and done.

“Now if I see you even touch your stupid sword I will throw that away. I better not see you anywhere but the clinic, dinning room and your room. Understood?” With a frown you decided to lift your head to meet the silent mosshead’s eyes.

Although you did want to see him eye to eye, this certainly wasn’t what you wanted. With his hands raised as if he was surrendering, he looked down in you with a soft smile and eyes full of adoration. Your heart skipped a beat.

“What the hell are you looking at?” You blushed. “If you think those stupid heart eyes would pardon you. Think again.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.” He finally talked. “Mor like, you’re the most incredible and the best person to exist.”

A blushed formed on your face and you pushed him away and turned you back.

“What the hell are you getting at?! Just go already I still need to change the sheets! You also need to clean up and I need to check in with Chopper to make sure you-”

“Don’t worry too much.” Placing a hand on your head, you thought he was going to ruffle your hair so you turned to stop him.

But his plan was to turn your head around to face him, which he now did and leaned closer. You instinctively shut your eyes.

No you weren’t expecting a kiss. It was more of an ‘oh my God if I don’t close my eyes it’ll probably hurt whatever the hell he plans on doing.’ or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

Instead you felt his forehead against yours. “I wouldn’t want to worry you too much. I’ll do what you say.”

He pulled away and went to grab his bloody shirt to put it on, then went towards the door.

Regaining your composure, you definitely didn’t want him to have the last words. “Y-Yeah! You better not worry me again and do what I say!”

A chuckle came from his before he opened the door, “You know, you really are incredible. You’re making me adore you more than I’m supposed to.”

“Get out!”

He left the room with a smirk after seeing you flushed face.

Your heart was hammering against your chest. You settled on the thought that he damaged his head after the Thriller Bark arc.

Take Me Back To Oneshot Aisle

Shit it was hight key ooc and it’s just pure bs

This was pure fucking shit and I hate it and love it. I hope you didn’t hate it as much as I do.

-kookie-doughs

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay

Paring: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler
Rating: G
Word count: 550
Tags: Fluff, A bit of Angst

Read on AO3

Written for the @doctorroseprompts​ weekly drabble: Hold

I hope you’ll enjoy it!

There would come a time, holding would stop being enough. And there would come a time, holding would start getting too much.

It had started with innocent hand-holding - if he wanted to be perfectly honest with himself, which he didn’t, he would have had to admit even hand-holding had never been quite innocent. The first time their fingers had twined, the first time he had felt the affection under her skin and the comfort that came with a simple brush of her thumb. That was the first time he had felt it. The guilt. The guilt to feel his stomach swoop and his hearts stutter, the guilt to see their hands so tightly tangled he had been unable to properly feel and see where his started, where hers ended. Not as separate body parts, but as a whole. And when her fingers detached from his, he always felt like part of him was ripped away. But he could deal with it. He knew their hands would find their way back to each other, sooner or later.

And then, the hugs had started, and whatever pretense of innocence he could muster with hand-holding became a mere fantasy. When he held her close, when he felt her chest against his, her heart hidden under the layers of clothes and skin and bones, he felt alive. It was her heartbeat he was feeling, but somehow, the notion that they were two separate bodies didn’t make sense. No, he was alive because her heart was beating. And that was precisely why holding her tight, hugging her close, melting deep in her body was growing dangerous. Because when she stepped back, he always felt like he was dying a little. But he could deal with it. He knew their bodies would eventually find each other again, and she would breathe new life into it.

Because he knew how hugging felt, hand-holding was never enough. Not enough contact, not enough heat, not enough feelings. He needed the hugs.

And then, they had kissed. Many times, many different ways, many places. But the constant with those kisses was the way they held. Sometimes it was just a gentle palm on a cheek, sometimes it was a crushing embrace, both amazing, both terrifying. But they always held each other close. And that was when the hugs began to feel like they weren’t enough. He needed more. What more meant, he didn’t know.

Until they found themselves tangled between the sheets and he realized what his body and his mind needed. More, as in her naked body against him, and her beautiful mind wrapped around his. He realized simple holding wasn’t enough any longer. He also realized holding had been too much, way too much, ever since they had held hands for the first time. He had given in. He had given up. And when she’d be gone from his life forever, he knew he would remember the comfort of her fingers around him, the life of her heart against his, the love of her mind through his. He would remember, and blame himself. It was too much.

But in that moment, as she kissed him, hugged him, clasped her fingers around his, he decided he didn’t care much. She wasn’t gone, yet. It wasn’t too much, yet. Barely just enough. No, not even enough.

Paring: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler
Chapter: 2/2
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 2700
Tags: Temporary Disabalities, Borderline PWP, Fluff, Light Bondage, Very NSFW

Read on AO3

Second and last part of this story, for the @doctorroseprompts​ Hurt/Comfort!

Mind the tags, it really is NSFW!

Without a warning, he shuffled away and broke every kind of contact with her body. He remembered she had mentioned that fantasy she had, once. Not really a fantasy, merely a modest adventure she wanted to try and that they’d never embarked on - not for lack of opportunity, rather for lack of sufficient restraint on both their part. They just never resisted each other long enough to think about engaging into even a modicum of something different from either angry shagging against a wall. And when they took it slower, when they made love in front of the fireplace in the library or in their bed, they just never resisted the temptation to stare into each other’s eyes so they could share the words their moans forbade them to speak. But now. Now, he could.

Rose tensed when she heard him move away from the bed, then heard  light ruffle of clothes, then felt the mattress dip slightly on her left side. She knew where he wanted to go with this, and while part of her was still a bit miffed at his carelessness, she couldn’t help the thrilled shiver that ran down her spine. She was almost tempted to reach out for him, to touch him, to fill the gap her blindness had carved in the wall of her perceptions, but then the tip of his tongue dragged along the shell of her ear and she gave up on the idea. He sucked her lobe in his mouth, and he was gone again.

The only thing she could do was to guess where he would touch her next. She had never felt so much erotic tension before. His finger drew a line on the patch of skin showing between the hem of her tee-shirt and her belt, and he was gone again. He pressed a kiss in the crook of her elbow, and he was gone again. He bit her lip, and he was gone again. He didn’t reappear for a full minute. The silence was only broken by her heavy breath, and his - he probably didn’t realize how hard he was breathing, almot ragged already, almost too deep and too loud. A minute was all it took for her body to steadily tense, muscles pulled taut, teeth grinding, gooseflesh spreading like wildfire over her skin everywhere she thought his hands were hovering. Everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

More sounds, more movements she could imagine happening around her without really knowing what he was doing. And suddenly, his large hand picked up both her wrists, pulled them up above her head, and the cold silk of his was tied around them, locking them around the headboard. He kissed both her palms, caressed her forearms, and he was gone again. Not for long. Just long enough for her heartbeat to turn erratic and a fire to burn its way down her loins. She had never been more powerless than in that moment. She couldn’t see, couldn’t touch. She could speak, but he wouldn’t hear. She couldn’t hear, but he wouldn’t speak. He could read her lips, but he could just as well pretend he wasn’t and she’d have no way of knowing. It was oddly… Satisfying. To let him possess to the last shred of control. To let him decide what to do. Liberating, in a way.

His spikes of hair tickled the underside of her jaw, and a groan was ripped from her throat when his mouth wrapped around her nipple over the layers of clothes. Not a direct contact, but enough to feel the moist heat of his tongue, enough for pleasure to spark and shoot down to fuel the heat of her arousal. When the fabric grew damp, he switched to the other, his thumb replacing his mouth to keep its attention awake. Her chest rose from the bed to seek more contact, a sigh of pleasure breaking free, but he wasn’t pleased by her eagerness. He bit her soft flesh in reprisal, and he was gone again. Really gone, the mattress taking back its original shape, his weight vanished, his heat replaced by a wisp of cold air. She still heard him, walk about the room, another quiet ruffle of clothes, a low rumble followed by a sharp metallic click. She wasn’t sure she liked this sound.

Soon, maybe too soon, she sensed him straddling her hips, and if she wasn’t mistaking what she was feeling against her skin above the line of her jeans, the ruffle she had heard was the one of his boxers falling to the carpet. Her hands unconsciously pulled on their bind, the desire to touch, to make sure with her own fingers, to feel, turning into a consuming need. If there was one sound he was still capable of, it was tutting. And he did. Just before he slipped a hand under her tee-shirt, splayed fingers on her stomach, and the awkward clicking sound reached her ears again. The fabric was pulled high, a swish of breeze rolling up her skin to the underside of her breast, and the same sound was heard. Scissors. Cutting through her tee-shirt, the back of his hand resting protectively under the blades should she be tempted to push her chest up. But now she knew. She nestled deeper into the cover and remained perfectly still, hoping he would get the message. He did. His hand disappeared and she could almost see his lips drawing into a grin. Her abdomen rippled slightly, the cold blade finally meeting her skin, and she had been right. She loved it. The cold against the hot, the hard against the soft, the not-quite danger against the weak, the sharp sound against the silence. The mere minute it took for the garment to curtain out on her sides, the sleeves having suffered the same fate, and expose the bra still covering her breast managed to fan her arousal better than a whole ten minutes of their usual foreplay. And then, with three meticulous snap of his scissors, he cut the two straps and the middle of the lacy piece. She felt like a flower whose petals were slowly picked off.

He raked his nails over her sternum, down, down, swiping off the tatters of the bra that joined the remnants of her tee-shirt. Her breath hitched in her throat when he bent forward to capture a nipple between his teeth again, caught the other between his knuckles, and teased them with his tongue, his lips, his breath, until they stood almost painfully erect atop her mouds of pale flesh. By the time he decided that was enough, she was almost ashamed by the wetness that had gathered in her knickers. Thankfully, he silently agreed to remedy the situation.

She released a breath, heavy, shaky, his hands drawing snakes down her stomach until they reached the buckle of her belt and deftly undid it. The two buttons followed, then the fly, and he shuffled down her legs all while pulling at the garment, along with her knickers. She heard the way he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, heard the deep inhale he took and almost heard his tongue run over his lips.

“Oh, God, fuck.”

She knew it was useless, but given how he suddenly wrapped his hands behind her knees and pushed them up, spread them out, she couldn’t help that curse. She didn’t think he had ever exposed her like that. She didn’t mind, if the throb between her legs and the renewed wetness she felt trickling down her opening were any clues. No, what she minded was the complete lack of stimulation. He did nothing, for a long moment. Almost too long. She grew too impatient, her nerves turning to scorching ashes, and she rolled her hips. She cursed again, loud and desperate, when what she believed to be the tip of his cock slid between her folds and bumped against her clit - and God, if it was, it seemed he was enjoying the ride, too. She felt his weight shift - he probably shuffled back on his knees so she wouldn’t try to seek for contact again - and she could only wait. His breath caressed her skin, first, somewhere on the inside of her left thigh. She felt the same on her right. Then a poke of his tongue on the left again, that he repeated on the right. Then his tongue ran along the dip between her folds and the juncture of her leg, and it did the same to the right. She knew he could tease, and she usually loved it, but the sensations were so much more powerful and consuming in that moment that she was starting to hate it. Her breath probably betrayed her, or the quiver of her muscles, or maybe the almost pained frown on her features. He finally licked his way up from her opening to her clit, and that about did it. About. Oh, it didn’t take much more, because he knew her by heart. He knew what she wanted, and he knew what she needed. He plunged his index deep into her, and sucked her clit into his mouth, hard, the taut tip of his tongue circling the bud over the bud, once, his fingertip pressing against the rougher patch of her heat, twice. Her arousal peaked and the headboard cracked in protest, her hands pulling on the tie to anchor her body, arching away from the bed, only supported by her feet and her her shoulders.

He didn’t hear her shout his name, but he felt her inner muscles squeeze his finger in, saw her body thrash, tasted the juices that flowed from her when he withdrew his finger. He loved it, to see her surrender to him, bound to their bed, at his mercy. He loved it even more to know she trusted him enough to indulge in that kind of fantasy that had left him indifferent at first, but that he was seriously starting to consider doing again, very soon, very often. His cock twitched hard at the sight of her flushed body, the heavy rise and fall of her chest, her white knuckles firmly grasping his favourite tie. She was beautiful. He was disappointed he couldn’t voice his affection and his love, but he believed she knew anyway. So, he shifted up her body, up to her chest, careful not to crush her with his weight, and he slipped two of his fingers into her mouth after giving it a full kiss. He let her twirl her tongue around them for a moment, enjoying the rumble of her moan that echoed in his bones. And then, he used those fingers to draw a question mark on her warm and reddened sternum. He hoped she would understand. She nodded forcefully. She did.

In a sudden surge of possessive behaviour, strength heightened by his arousal, he pulled on the knot of the tie to help her higher up against the headboard. His lungs constricted painfully in his chest and his hand squeezed his leaking cock, once, twice, dragged its tip up her chin, and he filled her awaiting mouth with a quick thrust. He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of sound he would have made if he could use his voice. His fingers tangled into her hair, his thumb pressed against her temples, palms cinching her cheeks to push her jaw down as low as he could - though he made sure to watch for any sign of pain or too extreme discomfort, he refused to hurt her. Her tongue worked fast against his underside, her lips thick around his cock, her mouth hot and wet and tight. She suddenly moaned around him, loud, or so the rippling echoes that pulsed down to his balls had him think. A single moan, that sliced a dent in the already tight coil of his arousal snaking in his loins. It felt too good. He wouldn’t last. He thrust hard into her mouth, once more, twice more, and he hurried to slip his cock out of her mouth before what thin thread of his control was left would break. He fumbled around to find the pair of scissors he had discarded to the side, feverish hands cutting through the silk of his tie above the knot until she was set half-free.

He flipped her around, rolled an arm around her waist to huddle her up to her knees, and slammed his hips against her rear to bury himself to the hilt in her wet heat. His fingers found her clit to rub it in tight circles, the chopped rhythm and the despair of his thrusts making it quite clear he wouldn’t last much longer. She fell on her arms, curved her back, squeezed her muscles around him. He threw his head back, biting his lower lip hard in the vain hope to keep his orgasm at bay just a while longer, just long enough so she would come before him, but it was no use. He didn’t want to fight it, not when this was bound to be the best orgasm he had ever experienced. So he let it sweep him away. His hips jerked against her bum and his fingers scratched through the coarse hair at the apex of her sex, his breath coming out in choked puffs as his cock throbbed and pulsed its long and powerful release in her dripping wetness. It lasted, seconds, how many he didn’t know because he hadn’t enough brain left to count, but he knew it lasted.

He wanted nothing more than to let himself fall over her and try to survive the intensity of his release, but she hadn’t come. He needed her to come. He found the strength to withdraw his softening cock from her and replaced it with two fingers he hurried to pump, fast and hard, in and out, his quivering thumb brushing random pattern against her clit. Thankfully, she was close, and it didn’t take long before the small of her back arched up, before she pressed back against his fingers and came around them, and he had to sigh in relief at the feel of her own release.

He snatched the tatters of the tee-shirt before she could fall down on them, pressed a kiss to the swell of her bum, made a quick job of wiping the heavy combination of fluids dripping on the inside of her thighs. With his shaking hands, he managed fetch the scissors and cut through the knot of the tie to free her of her bindings.

He winced at the sight of the bruises spreading from her wrists to the base of her thumbs - nothing he couldn’t fix later, but still, he was scared he might have gone too hard on her. He apologized with a trail of soft kisses he sowed over each dark colour spreading over pale skin, fleeting caresses all over her body, butterfly kisses peppered on her face. He wanted nothing more than to have his voice back and tell her he was sorry. Nothing more than tell her how much he loved her.

Her blind eyes looked at him as she snuggled to his side, and a smile tugged on her lips. She cupped his face again, a gentle hold, and articulated a few words again.

“I know. I’m fine. I love you, too.”

He smiled, too, even though she couldn’t see him yet. He cupped her left breast in his palm, and pressed his lips hard against the back of his hand. He hoped she could feel it. He knew she did, when she mirrored his actions over his right heart.

“Slip it off,” she mouthed, just before she kissed his lips again and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

He toed the plaid at the foot of the bed and caught it to throw it over they bodies, entwined in a warm and comfortable embrace. He would sleep it off. And when they both woke up, he would make sure to apologize. Twice again.

Paring: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler
Chapter: ½
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 1200
Tags: Temporary Disabalities, Borderline PWP, Fluff

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Started this work for the Hurt/Comfort prompt, from @doctorroseprompts!
Second chapter should be uploaded very soon!

The panic he saw on her face made his stomach heave, and he rushed to her side to wrap a solid arm around her waist. Her eyes were wide open, trying to look everywhere at once without ever landing on anything, not even on him. A fleeting gaze, unfocused irises that had lost their lively whiskey colour and were now almost as pale as the white that surrounded them. She was blind. Momentarily, thank the Heavens, but she was blind. And he was deaf. And mute. Communication was bound to be a problem. A very big, very annoying problem. Especially since Rose was talking to him, or so her jaw and mouth proved, but he hadn’t been focused enough to read her words.

He winced when she clutched the lapels of his jacket and shook him forcefully, her panic turning to anger, tears falling from her eyes, mouth feverishly speaking words he couldn’t decipher. He hurried to press a finger across her lips to stop her, brought two of her fingers to his own lips, then to his ear, before he clasped her hands around his face and shook his head forcefully. He could only hope she would understand. I can’t hear. I can’t speak.

The way her shoulders sagged, almost imperceptibly, was enough to reassure him she had, but the anger and the terror written on her face did nothing to assuage his guilt. He knew this wouldn’t last for more than a few hours, but she didn’t. She was stuck in the dark, and he had no way to soothe her fears. The faster they’d get back to the Tardis, the sooner he’d be able to explain. Not that he expected her to forgive him for his awful blunder, but at least she’d know this wasn’t permanent. He could only hold her hand, like he always did when he wanted to comfort her, gentle and soft, hoping his calm and composure would induce her own.

He looked around for a while, taking in the forest of tall trees drawing a maze of narrow corridors, the spongy grass from which large roots sprouted, the many potholes and clods of wet earth. They had managed to dodge them on their way inside the forest, but he doubted Rose would be able to walk back safely on her own. He couldn’t risk a sprained ankle, or any other injury for that matter, so he did what he thought was best. He scooped her up in his arms and secured a tight hold behind her knees and shoulders. She seemed to understand, thankfully didn’t protest, and locked her hands behind his neck. The Tardis wasn’t very far, and he walked briskly through the rows of trees, huddling her close to his chest so he wouldn’t lose his balance or inadvertently let her legs knock on the trunks. Mere minutes later, he was kicking the door of his ship open and carefully set her down on a jumpseat before he went to a computer on the console. He flicked a switch on, reached for a keyboard and quickly typed a few words he deemed to be the most important.

“It’s temporary,” a metallic voice echoed in the console room - and he risked a glance at her to see her body visibly sag on the seat. “Sense paralysis. There was a plant I thought this planet didn’t have. Released spores that locked the senses we were using the most. I was talking and listening to your hum. You must have been staring at something. It will only last a couple of hours.”

He looked at her over his shoulder again, and a sketch of a smile ghosted over his lips when she lifted a thumb towards him.

“Sorry,” he typed on his machine - and she threw a dismissive hand at him, as if she didn’t really hold it against him. “We should sleep it off.”

He saw her nod and he went to her to gently take her hand and pull her back to her feet. He kept her close as they made their way to their bedroom, lest she’d trip over her own feet or walk into a wall - he knew just how hard it was to lose such an important sense and he noticed in the way she unconsciously leant against his side that she needed him. He helped sit her down on the side of the mattress, unlaced his shoes and toed them off along with his socks, shed his jacket and threw it on the desk chair, loosened his tie and slid it off his neck. He expected to already be in bed when he turned around, but she was angrily pulling at her own laces she always insisted should be tied into a double knot - she refused to risk stepping onto an undone shoelace should they have to run for their lives, which wasn’t necessarily a pointless thing. He quickly knelt before her and she jumped slightly when he wrapped his fingers around her feverish one, stopping her frantic attempts at untying laces that only made it worse.

He could imagine her annoyed sigh all too well, and he grinned as she let her body fall back on the mattress. He took his time to untie the laces of her hiking shoes, the right first, then the left, then tugged on her socks. She playfully nudged his shoulder with her toes and he laughed soundlessly before he planted a kiss on the sole of her foot and rose to crash next to her. He was pleasantly surprised when she rolled on her side to face him - approximately face him, her eyes only level with his mouth. She found out soon enough when she tried to kiss him and the bridge of her nose met the tip of his chin. He helped her shuffle up and smiled against her kiss, until she spoke against his lips, her voice echoing through his flesh and her hot breath rolling on his skin. Surely, she hadn’t forgotten he couldn’t hear her already. He pulled back a little, and she understood. Her fingers groped around his face to clasp his cheeks, and she made sure to articulate the word, syllable by syllable, and he read it on her lips.

“Apologize.”

He would have moaned deep in his throat if he had been able to. She drew him into a kiss - a snog- and grabbed a fistful of his hair at the back of his neck, tongue slipping into his mouth and teeth biting into his lip. Well, that certainly was an interesting alternative to sleeping it off. And who was he to refuse an apology she deserved, anyway?

Paring: John Smith/Rose Tyler
Rating: G
Word count: 1200
Tags: Soulmate AU

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Inspired by a post @timepetalscollective​ reblogged (I think?)

Soulmate AU, in which  you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you, and when they do, it gets its colours. 

It’s not much, but I liked the idea - I hope you’ll like it!

God, how much he hated public transport. More particularly that one morning commute, when he had to ride that one bus that was always so crowded he had to fight his way through a horde of sleepy, irritable and rude people just to find that one blessed spot on that one filthy pole that had just enough space left for one more hand. Awful.

His only solace in this Styx was the tacit agreement, the one rule, the implicit decree that made it bearable. Almost bearable. No eye contact whatsoever. No smile, no greetings, no words, no sounds - apart from the occasional curses and snores, that is. That was fine by him. He had read the signs plastered all over the bus so many times sometimes he’d even dream about them - yes, his dreams were rarely exciting. Still, better to stare at those words for so long they became void of any sense after two stops than accidentally meet someone’s accusing glare. No eye contact.

He also had devised a little game of his own, for when the signs became so boring his energy was sucked out of his system and he turned drowsy. A silly game, but a game he quite liked. He looked at the shoes. That was usually enough to occupy his mind for the rest of the commute, and it was safe. No risk whatsoever to offend anyone with a haphazardous look.

He pretended not to be annoyed by the mountain of muscles standing behind him and poking him in the back with what must have been the handle of an umbrella, and he tightened his hold on his pinstriped jacket - he had found out after two rides that a bus, at this hour, was closer to being an oven than an actual bus, some kind of crematorium everyone still willingly stepped inside, like a herd of clueless cows en route to the slaughterhouse. Anyway, the shoes.

Ah, he recognized these. A pair of brown leather shoes. Probably your average businessman in his forties, single, because what kind of married businessman doesn’t own a car, seriously. A pair of fluffy slippers that oozed an odd smell he didn’t want to shell. That must be the old, very old lady that gets into the bus four stops after him, the old lady who swings her cane into people’s shins until she’s found the right seat and claimed it as her seat. A pair of brand new trainers, the white of the laces immaculate, the plastic bare of any creases. Maybe a student on his way to uni - he would know that if the trainers followed him when he’d get off the bus. And…

Oh, these, he had never seen before. And they were just inches away from his, glued to the murky linoleum. Trainers, too, but worn and dirty. These trainers must have had a long life, already - not unlike the chucks he was currently wearing, the white rubber just as soiled as hers. Yes, hers, if the thin line of pink running around the sole was any clue. Those were tricky. She could either be a teenager or a full grown woman, no younger than fourteen, no older than thirty - shoe size and shoe style, they mattered. But he rather liked the idea that she was about his age, so he took that for granted and went on with his analysis. No eye contact , he should be safe to look just a bit higher than the shoes. Jeans. Very tight jeans around very toned legs and a very round… No, he should definitely lower his eyes again, now. Still, interesting. It was too rare an occurrence to find that kind of shoes not to daydream about the lady who was wearing them.

So, he pictured her. Twenty-five, soon to be twenty-six. Blonde, he liked blonde, maybe shoulder-length but tied into a messy bun, because he liked messy buns. Green eyes would be good, but he supposed a light brown could work, too. A round nose and full lips, the exact opposite of his pointy nose and lips so thin they vanished into the void whenever he smiled. Compensation, he thought. I need balance. He had never understood what was so beautiful about women who disappeared if they stood behind a bus pole at just the right angle - no, he wanted curves, he wanted matter , he wanted a woman that wouldn’t shatter into pieces when he held her hand. And those thighs, phew , those thighs definitely fit the bill. So did the rest of her body, he guessed, without knowing he would get to feeljust how curved and soft she was.

The bus came to a full stop with the deafening sound of screeching tires that made the windows tremble, and his whole body was propelled forward, right into the owner of the trainers. He held for dear life to his pole, so his body simply curved towards her - he believed he could make a good pole-dancer for a second - and his waist bumped into the small of her back. And he felt it.

The burn that spread just above the line of his waistband, where his shirt had escaped his trousers and ridden up his abdomen. Where his soulmark drew a thin, irregular path, like a paint path brushed by a shaky hand. His heart ploughed against his ribcage as he dared to look down, not at the shoes, but at the black mark he wore. A black mark that was now a rainbow of colours melting into each other, like a puddle of gasoline on a wet pavement. The same kind of rainbow he noticed on the small patch of skin peeking between her pale blue tee-shirt and a brown leather belt.

He breathed in deeply and, sod the rules, he looked up. Her back was still to him, even as the bus was spurred into motion again. A messy bun of blond strands. A slender neck. A spine moulded under the garment that pointed to a definitelyround… No, he would not look. He’d get to look until he got drunk on the sight later. Hopefully, not toolater.

He was just a bit upset that she didn’t turn around - surely she had also felt her mark flare to life at his contact - but then again, meeting their soulmate on a crowded bus wasn’t ideal. Maybe she was shy. Maybe she had also signed the implicit contract and didn’t want to nullify it.

That was why he bent forward, his head above her shoulder, so close their cheeks almost met, and he pretended to squint and read the sign he already knew by heart.

“I hate to break the rules, but…” he whispered, hoping only she would hear him above the general hubbub. “Hello.”

She didn’t answer straight away. Instead, she took a step back to press her back against his chest, and found his hand that was still holding his jacket. She curled her little finger around his and he felt the strain in her neck as she fought the urge to look at him.

“Next stop?” she breathed out - and, oh yes, he fell in love with that voice at the first syllable.

“Next stop,” he confirmed.

He broke another rule that day, when he stared into her light brown eyes mere moments before the door opened. He almost didn’t make it out.

Paring: Ten x Rose 
Rating: G
Word count: 1100
Tags: Fluff, First Kiss

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Written for @creativebec who asked for the following prompt: 
I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth

I actually strayed a bit from the actual prompt, but well, the idea is there, more or less! Kept the rating to a G, but if you wanted a higher rating I can definitely write another one!

I hope you’ll enjoy it, thank you for sending me the prompt! :)

Oh, she was properly furious. Not only had she him pinned against the wall for the eighth time since they had started travelling together, if his memory served him right, but it was the first time she was threatening to whack his head with her shoe. A pretty polished black heel - well, the heel was broken, only hanging at the end of a brave thread of glue. And its twin was lost, left behind in a dark street. Shame, he rather liked those shoes. Well, not the shoes themselves, but how they shaped the muscles of her toned legs. And how they made her tall enough to steal glances at her cleavage without her noticing. And how she walked, sashayed, when she was wearing them.

“You had to, didn’t you?” she seethed, pressing her forearm at the base of his neck.

“I can’t breathe,” he choked as his nails scraped the wall behind him.

“Serves you right, teaches you how to keep that gob of yours shut.”

Oh, she was properly furious. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to run away from a horde of angry guards, but it was the first time she’d crashed down on the wet pavement because of a stupid heel. Of course, he’d have to drag her in an alleyway of rough slabs, of course she’d have to get stuck, of course he’d have to keep pulling on her hand despite her protest, and of course she’d have to fall. They had escaped, that was good. Better than expected, given he was accused of an offense punishable by death.

Still, she was furious. It had been a perfect night. Some dancing, some drinking, lots of flirting, lots of teasing. The kind of night she believed could have change the status of their relationship from platonic friends to… More, whatever that word could mean to the Doctor. She was furious because her shoes were ruined, because her dress was ruined, because the perfect night. But mostly because they had been about to kiss, and the moment had been ruined, too. Well, kiss. Probably. She thought so. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time, because they’d been tiptoeing on that tight rope for ages. They’d been dancing for two songs, the tension had built, their looks had grown heavy and dark. He had smiled at her, not the kind of goofy grin she was used to, but a soft, tender smile that had pinned her in her shoes almost as hard as she was pinning him against that decrepit wall.

But then, he had gotten closer, he had entangled his hands from hers and splayed them on her hips. That was when things had gone to Hell.

“I thought that law was going to be passed at least a millenium in the future,” he wheezed - and only when his eyes got covered with a thin layer of tears did she released a bit of pressure.

“Haven’t you learnt to double-check yet?” she muttered angrily, giving him another hard shove.

Because, for whatever reason, this stupid planet considered touching hips in public a criminal offense. Trumpets had echoed in the whole ballroom and within seconds an army of little yellow men crowned with horns had been on their heels. He had tried to save them, claiming loud and clear they were just friends. It only had made the offense much worse - friends weren’t allowed to even touch, or so she had understood from the outraged murmurs.

They had had to run, again. She was used to it, because running was just a mandatory step in her daily life. Except, usually, she didn’t have to run in heels and a tight dress. They’d vene had to run faster than usual, because he had deemed necessary to snatch a chocolate eclair sprinkled with icing sugar on his way out and comment on its taste, thus losing precious seconds. Said eclair had left a think line of icing above his upper lip, and while she was furious, she had trouble looking at anything else but that lip she had been about to kiss mere minutes before.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as he moved his hands to her wrists, keeping the shoe away from his face, loosening the pressure on his throat. “In my defence, may I say you are partly to blame for this.”

“Oh, am I, now?” she mumbled, doing her best to stop looking at that icing she wanted to suck from his mouth. “I’m not the one who let my hands wander, thank you very much.”

“No, but my hands wouldn’t have wandered if you weren’t so… So…”

“Sowhat, Doctor?”

He felt his cheeks warm up as he remembered her face, her eyes, her smile, just when he had been about to capture her lips. She had been beautiful. She still was beautiful, even with her mad frown and the thunder in her eyes. Especially since she kept licking her lips all while staring at his.

“As if you don’t know,” he huffed, tearing his eyes away from the face that caused him so much trouble. “You just keep seducing me and teasing me like you want me, and tonight you made it particularly hard, okay? All laughy and smiley and sexy, and yes, I took you to that ball because I was hoping you’d finally let me touch your hips if the mood was right, and yes, I touched your hips because I thought it was, and no, I didn’t know touching your hips was punishable by death, but on second thought, I’ll probably die before I find the right mood and the right place to finally touch your hips anyway, so it doesn’t really matter, does it? And that’s presuming you’ll actually ever want me to…”

Before he could finish his thought, she shoved him again, hard. Not against the wall, but towards her, and her mouth crashed against his in a searing kiss. It was deep, hard, tongue clashing, teeth clacking, lips fighting. He supposed it couldn’t be otherwise after letting the tension build for so long. He rather liked it. No. He loved it. And his hands found their way to her hips again. Oh yes, he was finally touching her hips. She moulded her body against his, broke the kiss to mumble something about icing, assailed his mouth all over again and slipped her hands under his shirt. He groaned, low in his throat, she moaned, loud through her nose.

He couldn’t wait to go back to the Tardis to touch more than her hips.