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darklydeliciousdesires · 3 months ago

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Light on the Darkside - Chapter Fourteen.

Huge love to my little audience for your continued reads, reviews and reblogs. You're so lovely <3

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,794

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

After a thirty-five-minute train journey from Nuneaton to Leamington Spa, followed by a half-hour bus ride, Ella found herself walking through the picturesque village of Moreton Morrell in the heart of the Warwickshire countryside.

It was the first time in weeks that she’d spent any time away from James, apart from a few job interviews she’d attended, plus their respective therapy sessions, all but moving in with him completely. He hadn’t officially asked her, but welcomed it greatly, more of her belongings arriving at the flat over the eight weeks they’d been reunited, both blissful in the fledgling stages of their relationship, now able to flourish in the real world.

That particular morning, she was on her way to visit another person she had met while at the same place she’d found her love, turning off Duffus Hill onto a small cul-de-sac, arriving at the second cottage along and rapping the heavy iron door knocker a couple of times.

“You’re here!”

Stepping in, she was pulled into a huge hug by Andrea, the young women thrilled to see one another again. “Aww, look at you! You look amazing, Ella!”

“Thanks! As do you. Wow, your hair!”

Andrea had added colour to her natural mane of fiery auburn, making the hue even more intense. “I was so glad to sit in a salon chair again and get it fixed!” Ella could identify. Walking into the abode, she was struck by how sumptuously cosy it was, the fire lit to keep the October chill at bay, a large, grandfather clock with its heavy pendulum swinging back and forth in the corner, and an album by Portishead playing softly.

“Tea?”

“Please, that’d be mint. I could murder a cup!” Ella confirmed, hanging up her coat on the rack and sliding her boots off. “It’s getting so cold out there. I think we’re in for a shitting horrible winter, innit.”

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “Now, who’s dulcet tones do what you’ve just said remind me of?” she pondered, Ella shielding her face with her hand momentarily, laughing. “How is he?”

“He’s really, really good,” she confirmed, Andrea moving into the beautiful little kitchen and clicking the kettle on. “He’s at therapy today over in Birmingham, still sees the same guy who was the head clinician at the unit he transferred to as a private patient.”

Andrea placed some teabags into the pot before pulling two large mugs from the cupboard. “That surprises me, I have to say. I always had James down as the type to walk away from it all and give the ole’ line of ‘suck my fucking dick’ to any further therapy once he was released. I’m glad he’s benefitting from it.”

How well she knew him. “I did too for a while, but being at the place in Edgbaston really changed his mind about it all. His therapist sounds lovely, really listens to him and guides him over what he needs to do. He didn’t respond well to Dr. Beaumont’s methods of like, pointing you in the general direction and letting you figure it out for yourself.”

Her eyes widened a fraction. “Hmm. She was very allusive like that, wasn’t she?” Noticing Ella pull her cigarettes out, she pointed at the back door, taking one from her with thanks. “She definitely wasn’t for everyone.”

For Andrea, though, she’d been wonderful in connecting the dots between a traumatic event and her subsequent sex addiction issues, the girls discussing it after smoking their cigarettes, moving to the big, comfortable leather Chesterfield in the lounge.

“I think the further I understand that it was less about sex and desire itself and more thriving on the attention from men and the excitement of sleeping around, the more it’s helped me reconcile the trauma that sparked it,” she explained, sipping her tea as she took a biscuit from the tin between them. It was lovely to witness Ella taking one without prompting, she noted. “I didn’t deal with it all, when it happened. Shoved it away. It was too painful.”

“Sweetie,” Ella cooed, reached to stroke her cheek affectionately. “Of course, it was. It was no age, losing your parents at twenty-one. That’s like, one of the worst things I can imagine.”

Indeed, the death of her mum and dad three years before had turned Andrea’s entire life upside down. Being an only child, it had been made even more difficult. Of course, she’d had family rallying around to help her, her uncles and aunties making sure she was okay regularly. Being alone in the cottage, though, she had soon come to realise that she truly wasn’t, sparking her promiscuous and often dangerous behaviour, leading to a breakdown and subsequent sectioning.

It was too much for any twenty-four-year-old woman to deal with, losing her parents to a fatal car crash, being catapulted into a life of sole financial comfort, since they were both very well off, but having nobody around all the time to either enjoy it with – or more pertinently – keep a watchful eye on her.

Life after treatment, she was now very glad to say, was much, much improved.

“So, how’s that sexy mate of James’s, then? Steve, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling with a little embarrassment. “I can’t believe I straddled the man and stuck my tongue down his throat. The shame!”

Ella snorted softly with a smirk. “Steve wouldn’t have cared at all, trust me. Quite the opposite!”

“Oh, I know. I could tell that by how he kissed me back,” she revealed, her cringe fading a little. “He was a very good kisser, so that makes the embarrassment that I couldn’t dial my compulsions back a little less mortifying!”

“As for how he is, he’s fine. Keeps asking for your number,” Ella revealed, watching Andrea rub a hand down her face. “Sorry, shouldn’t I have mentioned that?”

“No, you’re fine, sweet. It’s tricky because I fancy him, but yeah, that time I briefly met him he was nothing more than a compulsion trigger, so I don’t know. He’s a young, sexy as fuck guy. He likely won’t want to get wrapped up in my mess that I can’t really casually date somebody and enjoy carefree sex, lest triggering my issues. I sort of get the impression that’s what he’s about.”

Oh, how right she was. “Yeah, he’s a man whore, Ands. Big time. I mean like, he’s fucking lovely, such a laugh and totally cool, but he shags around a lot.” Hester, a girl called Jennie, another she didn’t know the name of, someone called Leonie, the man had his rotation in place.

“Bollocks,” she huffed, Ella spraying a mouthful of biscuit crumbs. “I guess I’ll settle for just looking at him and how bloody pretty he is when I finally come to see you up your way.”

All talk of the male species was left there, the friends instead catching up with one another’s lives on the outside. Andrea revealed she’d gotten herself a part-time job at the local pub, The Black Horse, although truly she didn’t need to work with a fully paid off mortgage and all she had in savings gathering a very liveable amount in interest.

Still, what she wouldn’t give for her parents returned to her instead. She still cursed that the drunk driver who’d collided head on with their car had survived, albeit in a vegetative state. Perhaps that was the more fitting punishment, though. While they talked, Ella also shared a few of her plans, too, like returning to college.

“I like, kind of think it makes me a fraud, though, wanting to strive for a career in helping others when I know I’m not one hundred percent recovered yet,” she began, sipping on a fresh cup of tea. She’d been tentatively considering it, perhaps studying for a psychology degree, wanting to specialise and help patients with eating disorders.

Sighing, she continued. “We went out for a curry not long after James and I reconnected, and it sent me into a spiral. It was pants, mate, sitting there crying outside because I couldn’t cope with eating in an unfamiliar place. Or choosing a food I wouldn’t normally have had.”

Andrea was thoughtful for a few moments before replying. “Did you ever think that the studies could actually help you more in your recovery? It might give you a greater insight, learning from the other side of the coin, as it were.”

She hadn’t, it had to be said. After arriving home that evening, she discussed it more with James while she cooked chicken, him supervising the rice as she was – by her own admission – bleedin' useless with it.

“Andrea is right,” he spoke, jumping up to sit on the counter. “You probably would get a new perspective over it. As for thinking that makes you a fraud and all of that, nah babe. Look at it this way, before your degree, you need to take your A levels first, so that’s two years. All being well, you’ll have finished that degree by twenty-eight, so that’s just over five years into your recovery, innit. You’ll be way more secure in yourself by then, won’t you?”

“Mm,” she hummed, sighing. “I hate that my illness took such a chunk of my life, time when I should have been making these decisions and studying. I would have been a year away from completion of a degree, if I hadn’t. I messed up big time.”

“Oi, less of that. That’s my girlfriend you’re badmouthing, dickhead,” he frowned, stretching his legs out to ensnare her, pulling her back into a full body hug. “If you hadn’t gotten ill, then you wouldn’t have decided that this was what you wanted to do, would you? Or met me. Obviously, I’m the more important of the two there.”

His joke had her laughing, squeezing him tight and kissing his chest. “Of course, baby.” Reaching for her cider, she took a swig, lifting her head to give him a little nibble beneath his jaw before moving back to the cooker. “How was therapy, then?”

“Yeah, pretty good, you know. We discussed my ongoing anger issues today. Michael made a good suggestion over what I could do to stop it, my desire to batter people who piss me off at the drop of a hat.”

He’d been doing very well there, up until a week ago while at a club with Ella and a few others. Now much more confident in her body, she had been up on a podium dancing, wearing only a small outfit of hotpants and a cropped top, attracting a lot of male attention. Looking was fine, but when some random bloke had taken it upon himself to climb the side of the podium and make a grab for her, well. He’d met a very irate James, dragging him down by his jeans, his fist meeting his face at speed.

“What did he suggest?” she asked, cracking fresh pepper over the chicken and turning each butterflied breast, moving to the chopping board to prep the vegetables to go into the wok.

“Kickboxing. He said it would give me both an outlet for rage, and discipline over when to exert that rage and all that. Think I’m gonna give it a go, innit.”

She widened her eyes. “War does not need to be any more deadly than he already is!” Her laughter filled the room, even more so at her boyfriend’s entertained smirk. “I think it’s a good idea, really. He seems to have a lot of those, Michael.”

“Yeah, he’s a top grade bloke. Really fucking sound. Always has an answer for all my stuff, too. So what else is new with Andrea, then?”

“Oh, the redheaded goddess!” Steve called from the armchair, beginning to grin. “Is she ready for me to give her one hell of a good seeing to yet?”

“Calm your dick down,” Ella warned, pointing at him with a spatula, “you’ll do her recovery no bleedin’ good.”

“We’re gonna have to put him in restraints when she comes up for your birthday, innit?” James spoke, pulling a fresh beer from the fridge.

Steve turned, his grin wide. “Nah, don’t you threaten me with a good time, Jim!”

Once dinner had been eaten, a film watched and Steve declaring he was ‘off to play with Leonie for the night’ before leaving the flat, it wasn’t long before they decided to have a good time of their own.

“Mmm, shit. I don’t even know how the hell you can move your tongue so quickly, but I... ahhh! I’m not complaining!” she moaned, feeling him smile against her as she straddled his head, James happily lying there with her riding his mouth.

It burned incandescent through her, like a hail of glimmers creeping slow, his hands clutching the rounds of her bum, moving every so often to lay a hard smack. She’d never had a man spank her before, but god, how she enjoyed it when James did. He wasn’t gentle with it. At all.

While his hands showed no mercy, his tongue slowed, dragging flat and slow through her folds, circling over her clit and repeating the action again. Her thighs shook from the potency of each lick, shuddered breaths leaving her mouth as she panted hard, her gaze falling to see him open his eyes and wink at her.

Wrapping her clit in a firm suck, the sensation rooted itself in her, sharp-toothed and edging on a little too much, her hips swaying against his mouth. The pleasure dug deep into her marrow as she cried out, the release snapping through her, Ella immediately moving to gratify him by sheathing his cock within her still fluttering walls.

He weighed heavy in the depths of her, the feeling of her soaking him only gratified further by the prickle of teeth crushing his nipple, her nails grazing like sensual daggers down his sides. She pulled heaven from the very depths of his hell every time he was inside her, not afraid to be as rough with him as he liked her to be, her hand grasping his neck, nails digging in as she kissed him with stormy lust.

She sucked his tongue, his mouth then gliding to rain soft bites over her neck, grasping her bum and fucking up into her powerfully, the tempo remaining slow burning like napalm. Sitting back up again, his cock pressed firmly as she rotated her hips, hitting her front wall, lightning rolling over her spine, clawing at the black and grey brandings of his upper arms as he reached to squeeze her breasts.

God, how she loved him, thrived on the thrill of having sex with him, James the sole reignition to her desires as soon as she’d started to feel better. The way he looked at her too, it made her feel incredible about herself, her body confidence restored. She couldn’t thank him enough for having such a part in returning that to her. There were wobbles on occasion, but they were becoming fewer and further between.

Watching as she fucked him, she’d never seen a sight as sexy, her tall, muscular, tattooed man with his storm grey eyes. He was so darkly alluring, so stunningly sexy, James’s thoughts over her extremely similar. He loved that she finally saw what he did in her, and enjoyed her body as much as he did for the most part.

The way she moved on top of him had him lost to the sublimity of it, no girl before her doing quite such a thorough job where he’d be content to remain on his back for the duration. It was hypnotic, a rhythmic spell of sexual energy unlike anything he’d ever experienced, her body rolling and undulating like she was made of liquid. Quite simply, he’d never been ridden like that in his whole life. She absolutely blew his mind, this beautiful young woman who he fallen so deeply in love with.

The pace became more urgent and frenzied, voracity replacing the slower, sumptuous enjoyment that had prevailed thus far, Ella grinding down on him eagerly as he moved beneath her with more purpose, both of them driving deeper moans from one another.

Each keen undulation caused him to feel sparks flickering his spine, while she had her own bliss pulsing softly, increasing more the faster she moved, fervidly chasing her release as she began to rub her clit, her other hand flexing at his chest, nails digging in.

A string of panted expletives left her mouth as she felt herself reach boiling point, bubbling over and taking him with her to a gloriously sweet finish, intensity throbbing hard and leaving them both a breathless, shuddering wreck.

With Ella now taking the contraceptive pill, there was no longer a need to move immediately to dispose of a condom, James pulling her down against his chest, stroking her back as he kissed her deeply. Floaty light little aftershocks skipped over her nerves as her release ebbed away slowly, feeling his cock twitching within the hug of her walls.

Sleepiness began to settle over her, Ella finally moving to her side of the bed and pulling the duvet and thick, faux fur blanket over them, blocking out the November chill from their bare flesh as he curled around her.

“Night, babe.” Dropping a kiss upon her shoulder, his arm tightened around her as his head sank into the pillows beneath it. “Love you.”

“Love you too, my sexy church burner.”

Yes, it still made him laugh.

The following morning, Ella rose first, pulling on one of James’s long-sleeved t shirts (this one depicting the logo for the band Venom, who she was becoming a little partial to) her big, slouchy socks as well as her pyjama bottoms, shivering a little as she waited for the heating to come on while making herself a tea.

Looking over into the lounge area, she noticed a familiar sight, a blanket swathed Snedders lying asleep on the sofa. He had his own key, so it wasn’t a surprise to sometimes find him there of a morning unexpectedly. She guessed there’d be a story to accompany his presence, probably involving his on/off girlfriend, the infamous Kerry. Ella didn’t like her at all, finding her to be very difficult to get along with.

Making her tea, she moved to the armchair, placing her mug down on the much neater coffee table. In lieu of being able to offer anything towards the rent (which James had dismissively snorted at the suggestion of anyway) she’d taken it upon herself to keep the dwelling tidier and cleaner, padding to the corner where the answering machine light flashed.

Turning the volume down low so as not to wake Snedders, she pressed play, being informed of three new messages.

“Hi sis! I need to meet you at half four this afternoon so don’t get there too early. My shifts, the way they’re moving them around, fucks sake! I know it’s only half an hour, but yeah. See you later!”

Jane, a welcome message.

“James, it’s only me. Dad and I would love to see you. Are you free to come to lunch at ours next Saturday? Let me know, love.”

Carole, perhaps not so welcome, depending on her mood. She’d sounded jovial enough, though.

“Hello, message for Ella Greenhall. This is Sharon calling from Bloomin’ Lovely about your interview. I’m pleased to say we’ve chosen you for the position, if you could call me back at the shop as soon as possible, that would be lovely. Tentatively, I’d like you to start next Monday. Looking forward to hearing from you soon!”

“Oh my god!” she squeaked, jumping up and down as quietly as she could, clasping her hands over her mouth. “I bleedin’ got it!!”

Out of all the jobs she’d recently been applying for, the position at the florist just off the high street there in Nuneaton was the one she’d coveted most, Sharon, the owner making her feel so welcome when she’d arrived, the atmosphere so warm and lovely. It was only a part-time position, but with her wanting to start at college again it was perfect for her, Ella able to work in the college hours around her new job.

When James got up around an hour later, her news brought him booming delight, much less concerned with waking up the sleeping heap of ginger dreadlocks on the sofa than she was.

“Babe, that’s top grade! I’m so fucking proud of you!” he exclaimed, swinging her around in his arms, a grunt coming from the sofa.

“Aw, ya got a job, Ells?” Snedders grumbled, emerging from within the swathe of the large blanket. “Nice one, little mate.”

“Cheers, Sneds,” she chimed, turning then to her boyfriend after he put her down once more. “Also, your mum left a message. Asked if you were free for lunch next Saturday.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, his jaw setting slightly. “Since that’s your birthday, I’m saying no. Even if it wasn’t, I’d still be saying no.”

“Well, we’re not doing anything until the evening, are we?”

He smirked, side eyeing her with raised eyebrows. “I had planned to bounce you on my dick for most of the afternoon.” Pausing, he began to laugh at the lascivious look she returned. “Hold on, did she say anything about you going, too?”

“Not specifically,” she shrugged, reaching for her cigarettes.

That was about right for Carole. She knew all about Ella, too, James already having introduced her to his dad, Alan thinking she was ‘absolutely bloody lovely, kidda’ as the man himself had worded it. “Then I definitely ain’t going.”

“Maybe she meant me too, but just didn’t say it?” she suggested, watching his lips tightening. Perhaps it was best to leave it there, she thought, knowing well now the clear signs of him becoming agitated. “Then again like, maybe she didn’t. You’re not obliged to call her back if you don’t want to, baby.”

He relaxed then, slipping an arm around her. “Good, because I’m not.”

As it turned out, though, the lack of return phone call led to Carole reaching out to her son again, James answering the phone to her a few hours later.

“Does that invite extend to Ella?” he asked, frowning.

“Of course, it does!” she exclaimed, busying herself with cleaning the kitchen while she jammed the cordless phone between her ear and shoulder. “I’d like to meet this girl your father has told me all about.”

Even though she was being polite and casual, agreeing to visiting still went against his better judgement. Come the following Saturday, he’d see in hindsight how correct his intuition had been, too.

#original fiction #original story #original stories #smutty stories #smutty fiction #romance fiction #romance stories

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denimbex1986 · 10 months ago

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'Cillian Murphy had just spent the day filming what felt like 30 scenes on “Oppenheimer” with the desert sand kicking up and blasting into his eyes when his co-star Robert Downey Jr. greeted him, trying to boost his spirits. And — this is how Downey remembers it, and when the legend becomes fact, print the legend — Murphy launched into a lament about how, when he had returned to his “18-dollar-a-night hotel room” the previous evening, he found his bags in the hallway and thought, “F—! I haven’t checked out yet. I have to sleep!”

“Every indignity that could befall someone who’s trying to do something .... It was like the tears of Job,” Downey related after a recent screening of the Christopher Nolan blockbuster. “Forget the call sheet and the job. It was everything else. It was the most Irish experience I’ve ever witnessed.”

Nearly two years later, Murphy and I are talking on a late-autumn day in L.A. He’s removing his coat and pulling his chair into the sun because, yes, he’s Irish, and part of the Irish experience is to soak up as much sun as possible when the opportunity presents itself. As to what Downey is ascribing to his native land, Murphy can do nothing but laugh.

“I don’t know if that means that Irish people are more predisposed to suffering,” Murphy says, smiling. “I think he’s being very sweet and saying we were like a troupe, moving at quite a pace. We were just staying at motels by the freeway and moving around. It was not glamorous. The way Chris works is that everything is equitable. No one has trailers or personal makeup. Everyone gets in a bus. It feels like independent filmmaking, but on a f—ing grand scale. And that’s the way I enjoy working.”

Murphy, 47, also enjoys not working, and he’s had a successful enough career in the two decades since his film breakthrough in Danny Boyle’s 2002 classic zombie film “28 Days Later” that he can describe such periods as being “happily unemployed.” That was where he was at a couple of years ago. He’d finished shooting the sixth (and final) season of the entertaining BBC crime drama “Peaky Blinders” and was in the midst of a glorious six months enjoying the company of his wife, Irish visual artist Yvonne McGuinness, and their two teenage sons. Then Nolan called out of the blue.

Actually, it wasn’t Nolan, but his wife and producing partner, Emma Thomas. It couldn’t be Nolan, because Nolan doesn’t have a phone, an eccentricity that’s either endearing or infuriating depending on the context. Thomas handed the phone to her husband, who told Murphy — in what the actor calls an “unbelievably understated British way” — “I’m making a film about Oppenheimer.” Pause. “I’d like you to play Oppenheimer.”

And just like that, Murphy was no longer happily unemployed. He was playing the title character in Nolan’s sprawling drama about the physicist known as the “father of the atomic bomb.”

“A big moment,” Murphy calls it, no stranger to restraint himself. Pause. “A biggie.”

In conversation, Murphy is pleasant and reflective when talking about his native country (he could and should write a book on the Ring of Kerry or at least narrate a self-guided tour) and the arts. I’d read that Nolan sent him photos of David Bowie wearing high-waisted, voluminous trousers from the singer’s Thin White Duke era as a visual reference for the gaunt silhouette he imagined for Oppenheimer, a man who possessed such a manic work ethic that he forgot to eat, subsisting on martinis and Chesterfield cigarettes. I pull up a photo of Bowie taken shortly before his death, wearing a sharp suit, black fedora and beaming smile.

“He looks a little alien, which is what we were going for with Oppenheimer, I think,” Murphy says. He holds onto my phone, looking at Bowie. “One of the greats. That last album [“Blackstar”] was f—ing extraordinary. What a gift to leave us with. Nobody else could have gone out like that.”

Murphy’s most striking feature — his piercing blue eyes — have been noted at length, for good reason. “Oppenheimer” co-star Matt Damon notes how he’d find himself distracted working with Murphy. “It’s a real problem when you’re doing scene work with Cillian [because] sometimes you find yourself just swimming in his eyes,” he told People.

Those eyes are what first attracted Nolan to him. The filmmaker was leafing through a newspaper while writing “Batman Begins” and came across a photo of Murphy from “28 Days Later.” He couldn’t shake the image of this actor with a shaved head and “crazy eyes” and made a note to meet with Murphy for Batman, a role that eventually went to Christian Bale.

They’ve now made six movies together, with Murphy playing the menacing Scarecrow in the “Dark Knight” trilogy, a petulant business heir in “Inception” and a character known simply — and quite accurately — as “Shivering Soldier” in “Dunkirk.” They share a mutual interest in conveying a character’s emotional conflict through close-ups that linger on an actor’s face and allow the audience to feel inner turmoil. In Oppenheimer’s case, it was the searing anguish of a man a bit late to realize and appreciate the consequences of what he’d created.

“To me, great screen acting is all about ‘show, don’t tell,’” Murphy says, “and being able to transmit emotion and energy just by force or presence or charisma.”

I ask him about influences in that regard, but Murphy demurs, saying that if he starts listing actors, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night, thinking, “F—, I left that person out.” He reiterates that his favorite movie moments aren’t big set pieces but watching actors in reflection, inactive, doing nothing, but revealing everything. “I find that compelling in the highest order,” he says.

Murphy had ample opportunity to do just that in “Oppenheimer,” portraying a character caught in a moral dilemma of his own making.

“I knew it would have to be a quiet, small performance, because the themes are f—ing huge,” Murphy says. “What’s happening inside his heart and his mind can’t be painted big, particularly when it’s captured on an Imax camera and it’s going to be shown on a f—ing 80-foot screen. I knew it would have to be delicate and tiny, most of it.”

Murphy doesn’t like to dwell on what he did once call the “monastic experience” of the film’s 57-day shoot or on the months it took to decompress afterward. Such talk would be a little too close to the “Irish experience” Downey had mentioned. But all of these efforts did make me think about something that Emily Blunt, who plays Oppenheimer’s wife, Kitty, in the film and worked with Murphy in “A Quiet Place Part II,” noted about him.

“She said that off set, you’re a hoot,” I tell him, fishing for an example or two. Murphy does not oblige, but he does express how his friendship with Blunt created a trust that informed their portrayal of lifelong partners.

“She’s also one of the funniest people, and I have a rule that I can’t work unless there’s a lightness around the set,” Murphy says. “There has to be some levity. A lot of the films I do are quite heavy and go to some dark, challenging places, and you have to be relaxed to do that. So I don’t walk around in a state of f—ing angst. I need to feel at ease. I can’t be in that dark place all the time. I don’t have the stamina for it.”

Murphy saw “Oppenheimer” at the film’s July world premiere in Paris. Two days later, he and the rest of the cast left the London premiere to show their support for the impending SAG-AFTRA strike. By the time he returned home to Dublin, his wife and sons had already seen “Barbie,” so Murphy went to the cinema by himself to complete the “Barbenheimer” experience.

How do you go incognito to the multiplex, I ask.

“I time going to movies very well now,” Murphy says. “With the ads and trailers, I always arrive a half hour late, slip in and then slip out.”

I grouse how that half hour feels like it’s getting longer by the year. Murphy agrees. And yet ...

“The greatest democratic collective art form is sitting in a darkened space with strangers,” he says. “To be part of a movie that people went to see multiple times and part of a great moment for cinema, that frenzy for those two films, was just lovely. I don’t know if we’ll ever see it again, but I’d like to hope so.”

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dr3mvaalmar · 1 year ago

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From Ritual to Realms Beyond | Kinktober Day 2

Pairing: Solomon x F! Reader

Prompt: Role-Play (nsfw, mdni)

Summary: Solomon and the reader find a mysterious page in one of his books. Taking inspiration, they decided to reenact it in a play of trust and intimacy.

Credit: @cafekitsune (divider), The Piano Lesson by Louis Tribout (art cover)

Warnings/Tags: missionary sex, blowjob (swallowing), emphasizing consent, Elizabethan dialogue (this is a warning lol)

Solomon’s room was a deep royal blue, the incandescence of the various candles providing a soothing atmosphere to the mysterious dorm. The time seemed to meld as one from ancient books, miscellaneous experiments, and modern technology strewn about in organized chaos. Lights seemed to flicker across the walls like tiny constellations. Chandeliers lined the ceiling, currently off to set a calm dimness—an ample, hardwood desk rest in the corner. Quills, beakers, and open tomes lay haphazardly on its elegant surface. The most important feature was the books that lined the wall, a plethora of genres that could occupy a person for a lifetime. A simple bed lay in the corner, sheets neatly tucked in and the light from the window illuminating the plush surface. In the center of the room was an opulent Chesterfield couch, two individuals entranced on a particular book on the coffee table before them.

“This chapter discusses river naiads. One, in particular, was the potamides that reside in rivers,” Solomon explained, flipping through the page and pointing to a particular excerpt. I gazed fondly at the text, relishing every word. “Some of these nymphs coveted young girls. It is said that these girls would have their freckles carefully removed by the nymphs themselves.”

“That’s cute,” I said with a giggle, watching as Solomon flipped the pages. “But I think freckles are lovely.”

Solomon hummed in response, a faint smile adorning his features. He paused on a page with an extensive image carefully stamped in pristine detail. I reached out, carefully feeling the aging page beneath my touch. I focused on Solomon, curious to hear more from him.

“Nymphs often would help—” Solomon began but paused as he flipped the page again. He turned it over a few times, his thoughts indecipherable.

“What is it?” I asked before he turned towards me, the corners of his lips curling. A mischievous twinkle shown in his eye. I knew something interesting was about to happen.

“Feel this page here, (Y/n),” Solomon said, guiding my hand to the page. I copied his actions from earlier but didn’t notice anything unusual. His expectant gaze told me it was apparent, but I was none the wiser. “Here, allow me to show you.”

Solomon’s hand drifted over the book as I felt the faint shimmer of magic permeate through the air. Lines crisscrossed over the page, revealing something between them.

“I noticed the page felt heavier than the others. There’s also a faint trail of magic,” Solomon explained, ever certain with his judgment. “There, voilà.”

The page peeled with no resistance, showing the clandestine text underneath. From an outsider's perspective, the magic concealed it perfectly. Another drawing was revealed, along with related text. I could feel my face grow hot.

“Well, that’s interesting,” I said, peering down at the nymph engaging intimately with a man. I peeked at Solomon, enjoying his taken-aback expression. Of all the things to hide, it’s medieval pornography.

“Interesting, indeed,” Solomon said, skimming through the text. “It’s a story about a ritual. A sorcerer meets a river nymph who is cursed never to leave the water. As the river dries up, she convinces a sorcerer to free her. The two of them perform a ritual to restore her depleting magical energy. The ritual strengthens her, helping her break free. I suppose the illustration shows the ritual itself.”

“The river nymph must’ve been so beautiful that the man risked himself to save her,” I murmured, imagining the tale in my head. River nymphs were known to be either a blessing or a curse. Often, it was best to avoid them altogether, no matter their desperation.

“Even the fairest of naiads could never compare to your ethereal beauty,” Solomon added. Heat rose to my face as I tried to muster up with a witty comeback. However, nothing came to mind.

“You embarrass me,” I grumbled, earning a chuckle from him, much to my chagrin.

“Well, I can only imagine what you would look like as a naiad,” Solomon said. “You would vex every man who laid eyes on you.” “Including you?” I retorted, a flirtatious cadence to my voice.

“Including me,” Solomon affirmed, his eyes gazing tenderly into mine. “Though, I might have to fight anyone who tries.”

This time, it was my turn to laugh as I reached down to squeeze his hand. The image of Solomon fighting an onslaught of men in my honor made my heart flutter. He truly was my protector.

“I have an idea,” I gasped, a realization coming to my mind.

“You want me to fight for you?” Solomon asked, his eyebrow quirked in amusement. I shook my head vigorously.

“No. Well, not now,” I said. “Anyways, how about we… you know? Role play?”

Solomon’s face lit up devilishly. He gazed down at the image in the tome before looking up slyly at me. I held my ground, firm on my intentions.

“You want to be the nymph?” Solomon asked, and I nodded in return. “And I’ll be the sorcerer, I presume. Well, wouldn’t that be entertaining?”

“It reminded me of that transformation spell you showed me a couple of weeks ago, remember?”

Solomon nodded, remembering when we were studying for one of the exams. One of the chapters focused on deception. It was for demons to trick humans, but there have been instances of humans using cosmetical mirages. Solomon showed me how he can distort the spectrum of light around him, causing his hair to turn from white to different colors. Its use was very versatile.

“That’s certainly in the realm of possibility,” Solomon agreed with his finger on his chin in thought. “But it would be dangerous.”

My head tilted as I racked my brain for an explanation. Solomon’s eyes drifted away from me, a smile tugging at his lips. I was curious to know what things he would do. Solomon’s intentions were an enigma.

“Let’s do it.”

Not long after, we were starting the act. After a brief touch-up of what was to occur and what was off-limits, we reconvened to set the scene. Solomon recited an incantation from one of his books, dabbing my skin with liquid. I felt my body lighter upon finishing, realizing Solomon replaced my clothes with shimmering garments. The clothes were as light as a feather yet flowy and embellished to rival royalty. I felt like a princess, admiring my appearance through the mirror. The magic styled my hair to frame my face perfectly, adding the mystique and allure of a naiad. My skin almost seemed to sparkle like light flickering off the sea.

“Wow,” Solomon praised, kissing my cheek. “You look enchanting.”

I laughed, pecking his cheek back a little more forcefully. “I wish looking like this was this easy every day.”

“I will confess, I’m enamored by your everyday look. It feels comfortable… like home.”

I smiled sweetly, feeling the same when I was with him. I wished we could live together in the same room so I could see him in his natural habitat. It was nice to wake up and experience the mundane together. Sneaking in or staying the night just didn’t feel the same. I wanted to make a life together.

“Are you ready? We should begin,” Solomon asked, his hand reaching towards me. I took it gently as he led me to the center of the room. We took our positions. “Follow after me, okay?”

I nodded, watching as he changed his appearance to fit the scene. Instead of simply changing his outfit, his appearance was almost unrecognizable. His hair lengthened, shimmering with a faint golden hue. He wore a long mage robe embellished with dark green velvet, almost like moss. The robe's hem robe lay an intricate golden pattern, contrasting well with the robe—a vine wrapped around his waist which hung various pouches and a flask. Solomon still had his signature cape, this time a lighter shade of green. It shifted in the light, almost like the swaying of leaves. On his fingers were various rings of different styles. Solomon’s eyes were now a shade of green but still held that playfulness I could so dearly recognize.

“Hail, fair nymph of the waters,” Solomon began with a theatrical bow. “I am a sorcerer hailing from the northlands. Mine ears did catch thine cries of distress from yonder. Art thou unharmed?”

I tried to keep my composure to keep the moment flowing, but the language change was almost comical. Solomon seemed like an entirely different person. His new identity was both charming and frightening. I had no idea Solomon could act, but it would make sense, all things considered. Though my speech wasn’t perfect, I easily replicated his language.

“Thou art quite the actor, Solomon.”

Solomon looked taken aback, his palm on his chest in mock disbelief. He was enjoying the acting a bit too much. Although, when I mentioned roleplaying, I anticipated something a bit more sexy…

“Who be this Solomon? Such a name hath ne’er graced mine ears,” Solomon said. My brow quirked up.

“My apologies. I converse with thee,” I correct with a courtesy bow. “Thy speech is…different. I half expected thee to pull out a quill and parchment.”

“Perchance, fair nymph, ‘tis thou who art not immersed enough in our role,” Solomon chided. I knew he wasn’t serious, but his tone seemed genuine.

“Nay, sorcerer. I am but…unaccustomed to thy speech. Thy tongue is as silvered as thy magic.”

“Then, let us continue our tale. Mayhaps, by its end, thou will find thyself enamored not just by mine words but by the tale we weave together.”

From there, we enacted the roleplay, adding great charm to our characters. Solomon acted like a gentleman, showing his concern. I explained to him my predicament.

“Long ago, an envious fiend saw my realm flourish and sought to rob me of my dominion. She cursed me, chaining me to these fading waters. As they wane, so does my life force. I am tethered here, unable to seek other realms, fated to fade until naught remains.”

“I may assist thee. I am versed in a spell that hath the power to break such a curse, but thou must place thy trust in me. What sayeth thou, nymph?”

“Whatsoe’er it requireth. Do as thou seest fit,” I said, my face contorting as I tried to find the words. Speaking was a bit more tiring than I expected. When do we get to the good part?

Solomon discussed a spell with me. Although he was straightforward in his intentions, he left out a few details that confused me. When I asked him to clarify, he would find a way to distract me from my curiosity.

“Lie thee down upon the earth,” Solomon instructed, gesturing towards the floor of his dorm. I looked reluctantly, staying in character. Regardless, I did as he told me. “Calm thine spirit and empty thine thoughts. I shall take the fore. Follow mine lead.”

My body lies supine on the ground, my arms at my side. My skin shuddered as I felt Solomon’s cold touch. He caressed my body, paying particular attention to my most intimate areas. I could hear him mumble something under his breath. It didn’t sound like a language I recognized.

“Stay where thou art,” Solomon muttered as I wiggled underneath him. I couldn’t help it. How could anyone stay still?

“Easier for thee to utter,” I said indignantly. Solomon leaned above me, placing a finger over my lips. His face was furrowed in concentration as he continued the ritual, paying my disbelief no mind.

“Thou shalt feel aught peculiar. Heed it not,” Solomon muttered, but it was too late. I squeaked as I felt my body move on its own accord. I felt the ground leave from below me as my body hovered. It was a simple spell but enough to make my senses overreact. With no stability, I felt incredibly unbalanced and flailed my arms.

“Solomon, I’m going to fall!” I exclaimed, panic setting it. Solomon seemed to have no intentions of letting me go, however. Instead, he simply grasped my waist and pulled my body into his. To say I was a bit flustered to have his pelvis between my thighs was an understatement.

“What are you doing?” I said, breaking character yet again. Solomon flashed me a mock disapproving look.

“I didst bid thee to follow mine lead. Thou hast turned a deaf ear. This is an act of trust and circumspection. If thou continuest to wriggle, thou’lt mar the ritual,” Solomon said, his hands slowly running down the length of my body. His touch resonated through my skin. For a moment, I forgot my predicament. His eyes shined. Solomon knew he had the upper hand.

As Solomon supported me with his lower body, he started speaking in the strange language again. His voice was soft and sultry. Every word vibrated the air around us, and I could feel it against me. His voice was powerful. It made me feel vulnerable underneath him. Even though this ritual was an act of trust, it dived even deeper into our relationship. I wanted to say something but feared interrupting it. I also relished the power dynamic.

I noticed my skin starting to glow by the end of the incantation. It was simply mesmerizing. Slowly, I could feel my body begin to descend. Solomon’s touch didn’t dare leave me as he guided me. His actions soothed me.

“The hour is nigh, dear nymph, for thy salvation to be realized,” Solomon said as my body settled on the ground. I could only stare at him doe-eyed. Every movement and touch seemed to spark fireworks inside my head. Solomon leaned forward, and I realized how much I loved to see the outline of his chest through his clothes. I felt, in that instant, an intense desire to see more. More. More.

Solomon procured an item from his bag. It appeared to be a paintbrush with a pointed tip. I felt the brush tickle me as he traced symbols on my body. He used no ink or medium, yet images materialized on my body. I’ve never seen such shapes before. Each character carried an intense weight with each one he drew. Each stroke was meticulous and delicate as if painting on thin paper. I moaned as he lifted my shirt tantalizingly slow. Solomon paused.

“Doth the touch of a sorcerer stir thy senses?”

Solomon's eyes didn’t leave my face as I looked away shamefully. His hand carefully dragged each finger across my abdomen and belly. I arched my back, desperate to rid myself of the growing heat within me.

“I trow a mere whisper might send thee to the heavens,” Solomon said as he refrained to show the full extent of his amusement. “Yet we must proceed.”

He continued to draw more symbols across my flesh. All body parts must be covered, much to my embarrassment. He removed my clothes until I lay bare before him. Even though he had seen me naked a hundred times before, I felt like a virgin. The black text decorated my entire body. He seemed to study his work, but I realized his gaze was more focused on what lay beneath the symbols. My skin prickled with goosebumps as I tried to keep still.

“Dost thou fancy what thine eyes behold, sorcerer?” I said, a coy smile gracing my lips. Solomon looked taken aback but smiled wickedly. The distance closed as he crawled on top of me. He took a moment to gaze at my face as I lay entirely beneath him. Solomon’s blue eyes spoke more words than could be said at that moment.

“To touch thee, ‘tis to dance with the very flames of desire,” Solomon replied, leaning into a sweet kiss. I melted into his lips as I matched his movements. It was a respite from the aching within me. If Solomon continued to tease me, I wouldn’t be able to act anymore. His lips seemed even more appealing than the thousands of times I tasted them before.

I reached towards his waist, gripping at the fabric. My half-lidded eyes stayed transfixed on him as he parted. I needed him. I couldn’t keep this charade any longer.

“Thy lips speak innocence, yet thine body doth beckon me closer,” Solomon said. My face contorted as I rolled my eyes.

“Just fuck me, Sol,” I said, moaning as I pulled him into another kiss. I greedily moved my lips with him. My tongue swiped at his bottom lip, ready for entrance. Solomon hummed, using my lowered defense to slip his tongue into my mouth. Every time I tried to get the upper hand, Solomon was one step ahead.

Solomon’s arms wrapped around my body, keeping me steady against him. His tongue parted from my mouth, searching for new realms. Kisses lined my collarbone, my sternum, all the way to my hips. Each kiss tickled my skin, causing me to giggle. Seeing him so fixated on me brought warmth to my chest. I felt comfortable.

Solomon flashed me a smile, which was my cue to reassure him I was enjoying myself. He always kept an eye on me, even when preoccupied with his own pleasure. Seeing him eager to please made me feel secure. Even now, as Solomon suckled on my breasts, he made sure to monitor my reactions.

I gripped the back of his head, urging him for more. I cooed encouraging words as he licked and prodded. His right hand played with the other breast, his other hand cupped around my thigh.

“Mm, your taste is delectable,” Solomon said, nuzzling the flesh with his cheek. He seemed to forget his previous identity, as he seemed distracted with lust. “I would be content like this for eternity.”

I caressed his cheek, his eyes gazing upwards. Solomon’s beautiful eyes were glazed, a look of admiration and love smitten across every feature. Solomon hypnotized me. It reassured every uncertainty in my mind. Solomon was mine, and I was his. I committed each detail to memory as he returned to my body.

Solomon’s hand trailed down, rubbing the inner part of my thigh. Instinctively, I closed my leg. His touch was precise, like he understood every nerve within my body. I whimpered as I felt him rub his fingers along my exposed slit. Simply caressing me caused wetness to pool from within me. He used this benefit to rub my clit, my body twitching in response. I squeaked, clutching at his clothes. Solomon was quick to kiss my lips, causing my body to relax.

“Be careful,” I warned, rubbing his back gently. “I’m sensitive.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” Solomon chuckled, earning a wary glare from me. “I’m teasing. I will tread carefully, but I expect you to keep up.”

I held my breath as Solomon descended on my most intimate area. Various thoughts ran through my mind at that moment. Even though we have had sex in every conceivable position, this felt different. There was a strange feeling in my gut. I couldn’t explain it. Solomon was enjoying himself, as am I. Yet, I felt something new. Different.

I groaned as his tongue met the tender flesh of my clit. I could feel my legs twitch as he set the pace. Waves of pleasure reached my head. The worries became hazier and hazier. All I could think about was how much I loved Solomon. I would do anything for his love.

Solomon squeezed my thigh, digging in deeper. My breathing became heavier as the tension inside me built up. Each time he sucked my clit, it felt like a zap to my brain. I flexed my legs to resist the urge to close my thighs against him. Despite the looming threat, Solomon seemed content as he slipped a finger into my vagina.

“Ah, Solomon!” I gasped, placing both my palms by my side. My hands stretched and closed, finding a distraction against the new sensation. His finger rubbed the roof. It was slow at first before he eased more into it. Solomon let out an airy chuckle as I tensed underneath him.

The aching within me was building to unreasonable levels. I tried desperately to suppress it, but it was too much. I cried out, my body giving in to the onslaught of euphoria and pleasure. The high lasted a few moments before Solomon paused, allowing me to gather my bearings.

I gently rubbed my knee against him, my brain too overwhelmed to utter a single word. Instead, I reached out to him with my hands. He quickly understood, embracing me in a tender hug. Love, lust, and admiration all came to a head. At that moment, I wanted it all.

“Are you ready for more?” Solomon asked, pecking my lips. I hummed in agreement. He whispered something unintelligible, but I was too busy focusing on his figure on top of me. Solomon’s hips rutted against me, his breathing becoming more rugged. I could feel his rigid dick through his pants. Knowing that I turned him on was pleasure enough.

Before I could register his actions, I felt the hot flesh of his dick rubbing the outline of my pussy. My hips moved with him, taking every ounce of pleasure I could get. He whispered more dirty words, but still, all I could think about was what was yet to come. The anticipation was killing me.

Solomon’s dick prodded at my entrance, coating the head in the slickness of my essence. It only took one push before he slid inside. Feeling my pussy expand against him made me gasp. The air seemed to leave my lungs the further he pushed. Solomon is powerful in many ways. His body was a force to reckon with.

“Are you doing well, my dear?” Solomon asked, his eyes lighting up in delight at my squirming form. I let out a muffled reply, slowly absorbing the many sensations. When his full length wrapped around me, Solomon thrust slowly. It was gentle initially, but I knew he was simply resisting the temptations. I squeezed his bicep, encouraging him with a smitten glance.

That was all Solomon needed. His pace became more vigorous and sloppy. The sounds of his cock against my wet pussy was enough to arouse me more and more. Each thrust was a shockwave. I couldn’t keep in the moans the more he delved into me.

“Solomon,” I gasped, the first response I could fathom to say. He leaned forward, gingerly sucking on my nipple while he fucked me senseless. My hips rotated in unison, the tip of his member rubbing the bundle of nerves inside. The tension came back in full force, as well as an overwhelming desire to reach its peak.

“Every gasp, every shiver—my entire life has led up to this moment. Take it all, my dear,” Solomon whispered, saliva trailing between his mouth and my breast. I cried out as he lifted my hips, angling deeper and deeper. I was a mess as I mumbled incoherently, letting the pleasure rush over me. Before I knew it, the tension snapped, and I was riding yet another orgasm to its finish. By now, Solomon had wiped every sane thought from me.

Solomon’s thrusts lessened as he watched me. I grunted with each movement, my senses heightened and out of control. What was a mere moment felt like an eternity. Oxytocin and dopamine incited a primal need to love him—to be with him. I never wanted to part from this intimate moment.

Before I could protest, Solomon retracted his dick from my aching hole. I whined, an emptiness left in his wake. Nothing could prepare me for his departure.

I knew he was still in need of an orgasm. I crawled towards him, taking his wet cock between my hands. It smelled like sex, our scent heavy in the air. With an experimental taste, I pushed it into the damp recesses of my mouth. As I bobbed my head up and down, I adjusted to his girth. Pride welled up inside my chest as my nose touched the base of his dick. My tongue synchronized with my movement, earning a distinctive moan from the sorcerer.

“Ugh, if you keep that up, I’m going to—” Solomon gasped, but it was too late. He thrust inside my mouth. I gargled in protest, my eyes widening as I felt his seed release inside me. My thoughts screamed to retract, but I wanted to appreciate the moment. I wanted Solomon to fill up my throat with everything he had.

I could see his chest heave up and down. His hand caressed my hair as he watched me swallow his cum. It was thick and salty. I loved it, but it wasn’t an easy task. I grasped Solomon’s dick, licking up the rest. His brows furrowed with each touch.

When I was done and satisfied with my efforts, I returned to eye level with him. My smug expression said everything that was on my mind. I felt victorious, another win over the conniving man.

“Why must you look at me like that,” Solomon chuckled, slowly pulling his clothes back on. The illusion from our play had faded, revealing our usual attire. I somehow felt more at ease seeing him like this.

“Maybe I just like looking at you,” I teased, licking my lips. Solomon’s taste wouldn’t leave my lips. It was simply perfection.

“Well, aren’t we fortunate? I happen to enjoy being the object of your gaze,” Solomon said, earning a giggle from me. He reached out a hand towards me. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Do you need some water?”

No matter how many times we spent together, I knew my satisfaction was Solomon’s priority. I felt pampered and loved by the end of the day. That’s all I desired, and I wanted the same for him. We forgot our roleplay long ago, but it will remain in my heart forever. Even though we never reached the story’s denouement, we shattered the true curse. Through trust and our unwavering bond, I finally felt free.

#solomon x reader #obey me shall we date #kinktober 2023 #fanfiction #day two

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 7 months ago

Text

Perigee Chapter 4: Diplomacy Missed the Mark

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

"What are these?" Dionne inquired, glancing over three shallow boxes and tracing the pattern on them she knew perfectly.

It was a rhetorical question really, the real query behind it, 'are these for me?'.

But even that was a foregone conclusion, for who else would Ethan by lingerie for?

Her fingertips picked under the edge of one lid, but Ethan's hand smacked down over hers before she could see its contents.

"You have plenty," he growled when her head snapped to his in confusion.

"Then who?" she frowned, her voice tight and already on the very edge of angry.

"Mind your tone," he warned, lifting his hand and turning away. "It's like you've forgotten your place."

"I'm your wife," she snapped. "It's very much my place to question who else you'd buy expensive lingerie."

"Green is not your colour," he sniffed, lifting the stopper from a crystal decanter and pouring from it. "And it's certainly not becoming."

Dionne bristled at the insinuation but managed to rein in her frustration.

"In all our years, have I not served you faithfully?" she managed through her teeth.

"You have," he acknowledged, glancing up as he sipped his drink. "But when fate delivers a full moon perigee of McDonough lineage, no alpha in this or any other county would pass that up."

"McDonough?"

Ethan gave her a look of pure disbelief, but then seemed to understand her ignorance.

"Yes," he exhaled, taking his glass to the Chesterfield. "A bloodline ancient and potent."

"So this has nothing to do with your libido?" she sniffed, folding her arms across her chest.

"Do I want to fuck her?" Ethan mused, watching the whiskey slosh around as he tipped his glass from side to side. "Oh yes. The look of defeat on her face as she cums will be perfect."

Dionne's lips parted, but she couldn't quite find the words to express her anger and revulsion. No, she didn't care about Calico or whatever tortures Ethan had planned, but that he would expect she'd be okay with it all was beyond belief.

"Good thing I know a good divorce lawyer," she muttered under her breath, turning for the door, but she stopped when Ethan laughed.

"You and I both know you won't leave," he chuckled. "You arrived with nothing, and you'll leave with even less."

"Christ, I haven't rolled through Cleaver in ages," Miho chuffed, killing her bike's engine.

"I suppose there's no point in telling you to keep a low profile," Jazz smirked, removing her helmet and readjusting her blonde locks.

"We're not here to keep a low profile," Miho replied, following suit before peering down the street. "And I'm not good at it anyway."

"No," Jazz murmured, nodding. "No, you are not. But, diplomacy first?"

"Sure, I'll wait in the car," Miho smirked, lightly hip-bumping Jazz as she began toward the mansion. "Just leave the windows down a little."

Shaking her head, Jazz followed up the paved stairs trimmed with manicured box hedge and flowering roses, and waited behind Miho. Miho, meanwhile, didn't bother with the doorbell, and went straight for three heavy thuds against the large wooden door.

The response was slow, but the woman who answered - a maid by her ridiculously formal uniform - smiled politely.

"Jazz Mann to see Alpha Cole," Jazz said with equal courtesy. "He's not expecting guests, but this business is important."

"And her?" the woman gestured, arching one sculpted eyebrow at Miho's heavy boots, jeans and black band tee and leather jacket.

"Don't mind her and she won't mind you," Jazz replied blandly. "Now, Alpha Cole? Or am I going to have to become... insistent?"

"Alpha Cole is currently indisposed," the maid explained.

"We don't mind waiting," Jazz beamed, placing her hand against the door, but she stopped short of forcing her way in.

Miho, on the other hand, tapped her toe loudly, and her jacket creaked menacingly as she folded her arms.

"Yes, of course, please come in," the maid agreed finally, stepping back to allow them entrance to the foyer.

"Off to a good start," Miho smirked as she followed, and Jazz sent her a pleading look. "I'll wait out here while you receive his illustriousness in the formal sitting room, she added, sitting herself in a red velvet wing-back chair.

Looking unsettled by the prospect of leaving Miho unsupervised, the maid faltered, but Jazz leaned toward her to whisper.

"Don't worry, she's very good at following commands."

With a serious face she then glanced to Miho.

"Stay."

"Yes Ma'am," Miho nodded curtly, and slung one leg over the other.

Leaving Miho where she sat, Jazz then followed the unnamed maid down a corridor of dark wood textures, and old, gold-framed paintings, before being led into a lavish sitting room. It was not the first of its type she had experienced: opulence in every inch of upholstery, luxury in heavy velvet drapes, and a large measure of ostentation. But she was not wowed by the pretentious show of wealth, in fact, she usually attributed it to insecurity, no matter how formidable the home owner seemed on the surface.

"Can I offer you refreshments, Miss Mann?" the maid inquired, hands clasped behind her back.

"Oh no, thank you," Jazz dismissed with the light wave of one hand. "If Alpha Cole isn't here in ten minutes, my friend and I will be leaving."

After a short pause, the maid inclined her head, even offered the slightest of unsure bows, before turning to exit.

"To chat with Calico McDonough," Jazz added lightly, then reclined comfortably. "You should probably tell him that."

"I heard," Ethan dropped from the garden-side doorway, disdain corrugating his forehead.

One hand remained in the pocket of his crease-less chinos, attempting to convey a relaxed countenance, but his other fingers flexed toward his palm.

"And yet, you don't seem all that pleased I've come to present myself to the Alpha of this region," Jazz mused, rising from her seat to offer him a respectful nod. "That is tradition, no?"

"What do you want with Calico McDonough?" he questioned flatly, striding in like he might not stop until his shadow swallowed Jazz's petite frame whole.

Jazz just waited for him to reach her, then looked up.

"You don't want to know who I am first?" she offered, blue eyes focused on his despite the height disparity.

"Jazzeline Mann, I know who you are," he retorted, refusing to meet her calm with anything less than brooding menace. "And I hate to repeat myself. What do you want with Calico McDonough, Lorekeeper?"

"I want you to dissolve the pact your father brokered, and any other notions you might be entertaining about her liberty and autonomy," Jazz explained, nice and clearly so there could be no confusion.

Snorting incredulously, Ethan apparently abandoned his attempts to intimidate, and opted for nonchalance instead.

"No," he answered. "The universe in balance - debts must be paid."

"In nine out of ten cases, I wouldn't disagree," Jazz offered, studying his body language, the tense of his shoulders, the veins in his neck. "But not this time. Unbeknownst to her, a coward father has offered his innocent daughter to save his own skin, and since we're talking cosmology here, I can't think the universe would be okay with that."

Having poured himself a whiskey - at 9:30 am - Ethan took a sip the scoffed.

"Is this all you have? The universe is going to give me a bad Yelp review?"

"Well," Jazz exhaled, seeming thoughtful, "there's always the less civilised option."

Crystal firmly met mahogany, and Ethan moved to face Jazz once more. The storm in his expression was on the brink of breaking, and Jazz was sure she could hear the buttons of his shirts straining as he flexed.

"Yes, exactly," Jazz confirmed smoothly, pointing at him from toe to top.

"Who are you to enter my territory with such disrespect?" he growled, a knuckle or two popping.

"Pardon me for quarreling, Alpha Cole," Jazz winced, but it was definitely derisive. "But you already claimed to know who I am."

Her persistent taunts the very definition of poking the bear, Jazz steeled herself against the very real possibility Ethan might lash out at her - still, she had more to say.

"We no longer live in the Dark Ages of patriarchy, where women must bow and submit to men, werewolf or otherwise," she declared with a much sterner tone. "You and your ilk are a dying breed, clinging to archaic traditions because they make small men feel big."

"If there is dying to be done," he rumbled, taking hold of her arm tightly, "you should be more concerned about yourself."

Resisting the urge to struggle, and fighting down the snapping beast beneath her own, pale skin, Jazz tipped her chin.

"By all means," she grated. "But you're going to want permission from my alpha first, who can - by happy coincidence - be found waiting in your foyer."

Jazz struggled to keep her feet on the floor as Ethan dragged her from the room. The maid let out a little squeak as she was knocked aside in the corridor, but Ethan did not pause until he'd stomped into the foyer - where Miho, her back to him - tilted her head at the painting it seemed she was critiquing.

"Why would anyone forge a Seurat?" she wondered, her hands spreading in a baffled gesture as she turned to the sound of thunder. "God, I hate neo-impressionism."

Biting her tongue was all that kept Jazz from emitting a sound as Ethan's grip tightened. Her fingers itched to stretch and claw out his bicep.

"I take it diplomacy missed the mark?" Miho queried rhetorically, not even looking at Ethan. "Don't feel bad," she continued. "Big cock, reeeeeally small brain."

Despite appearances, Miho was indeed paying attention; the second Ethan's shoulder twitched like he intended to throw or slam Jazz down, Miho held up her hand.

"Ah!" she barked, a sharp imperative to stop. "If you want to scrap, I'm all for it, but it will be with someone your own size."

"You're her alpha?" he spat, not releasing Jazz.

"Is that really so surprising?" Miho laughed, then narrowed her eyes at him salaciously. "Hell, for a few, ahhh, hours, I was YOUR alpha."

Tonal shift.

Changed tack.

"Please cease man-handling Jazz," she requested with a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping a little. "She wanted to ask nicely, I wanted to go with fishing-line testicle torture, yet here we are all worked up over the freedom of a woman you're not entitled to anyway."

Not that she needed permission or a signal, but the disappointed click of Miho's tongue punctuated the limit of Jazz's patience. The strength of Ethan's grip on her arm provided a perfect anchor for Jazz to swing her lithe figure forward and then up, where she caught his neck between her thighs.

The momentum jolted him backwards, his reflex to throw out both hands, allowing Jazz to roll free of his reach and return to her feet.

"Very diplomatic," Miho snickered.

"I thought you'd have punched him by now," Jazz muttered, fixing her blouse collar.

"In my house!" Ethan roared, on the edge of transformation.

"You were offered reason," Jazz pointed out, irritated by the tear she found in one sleeve.

"Release Calico McDonough from the pact," Miho went on. "You have everything you need here in Cleaver without her."

"Or what, Miho?" he sneered.

"I guess you forgot what happened when you sent Cleaverlaw after me last time, hmm?"

"Small brain," Jazz reminded her.

"Leave Cleaver, and Calico," Ethan commanded. "Or I will bury you both."

"There's another sex joke here about how you were the one buried in me, but I just can't quite get the phrasing right," Miho frowned in mock consternation. "Something, something, left tied-up and naked for your wife to find?"

"Punchline still works," Jazz approved, but was poised for further action if Miho really broke Ethan's self-control.

"We'll go," Miho stated, before Ethan could retort. "But you should man-up and do the right thing. Nix the pact."

Jazz stepped to the door first and Miho followed, seemingly unafraid to show her back to him.

"Whether you like it or not," he snarled spitefully, perhaps knowing he could not take out both women at once. "Calico will submit to me. The pact will make it so."

After checking in at the police station as required, Calico was asked to accompany Detective Nowak to the crime scene; thankfully not Detective Cole. Still, it struck her as odd she'd be taken to the scene at all so early in the investigation, even if - especially if - she was a suspect. No doubt it had something to do with Ethan, maybe trying to reinforce the seriousness of the leverage he had over her.

"I'm sorry the untimely death of someone is such an inconvenience for you, Mrs Hollows," Jude sniffed, breaking the silence only as they pulled up outside the crime-scene tape.

"No that isn't..." Calico began, then changed tack. "I wasn't rolling my eyes at this, Detective Nowak, just... there's a lot going on, that's all."

Skeptically, Jude studied her a moment, before exiting the car.

Exhaling a long breath, Calico followed, albeit reluctantly.

"This way," Jude instructed, motioning with his hand, before himself heading toward the cabin.

While his back was to her, Calico dug her phone from her pocket and checked her messages, but there were no notifications. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but was definitely hoping for some news from Dane that he had the magic answer to solve all her problems. It was a lot to expect from a guy she'd just met, but the seed of hope he'd planted refused to wither - even as she looked upon that wretched cabin in the woods.

"What exactly are you hoping to achieve by bringing me here?" she asked, trying to keep the snark out of her tone.

"Just corroborating your story," Jude replied, this time not reacting to her irritation.

"It's not a story, it's the truth," she argued. "I inherited the cabin from my ex, showed up here and saw someone rotting inside - from the outside - and went straight to the police to report it."

"It's true we found no evidence of you inside," he agreed, walking her to the front of the a-frame cabin, where the entire wall was glass. "And our review of your vehicle's GPS data will ascertain your recent movements."

She could have complained, but what they'd find was she hadn't been anywhere near Cleaver until the day she discovered the corpse.

"Well, I look forward to being completed exonerated," she said, then fixed her gaze on the dark stain through the glass.

The shag-pile rug remained, sans corpse , the murky person-shaped mark providing a reminder someone had died.

"Has the ME determined cause of death?"

"More interested in the the cause than the identity of the deceased?" Jude queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Read into that whatever you like," she shrugged, peering into the cabin through the massive front windows. "So? I mean, I wouldn't be here if the death was ruled natural causes, right?"

"We're still waiting on toxicology," he revealed. "Tell me about Oscar Hollows."

"Narcissistic, over confident," she answered with a shrug. "Worked his way up out of next to nothing, but reached for more than he could handle and was entitled to, including in our marriage."

"Unfaithful?"

"Yep," she chuckled. "Got a woman pregnant, thought he could explain away his stupidity on alcohol."

"And the AVO?"

"Proud men can get very angry," she sniffed. "His reputation was in decline, his business was failing, and I wasn't interested in putting up with infidelity - it didn't sit well with him."

"So he used physical force."

"Got in a few lucky punches," she nodded, working her jaw. "But that was it. After that it was all just... pathetic. Drunken phone calls, sobbing, shouting, begging."

"Begging you to take him back," Jude posed.

"Yes," Calico nodded, recalling how much that had disgusted her. "He suggested we could all live happily together."

"You, he and this other woman - whose name is?"

"Alina Toffat," she replied. "I never met her, but spoke to her on the phone a couple of times."

"Initiated by?"

"Her," Calico laughed, shaking her head and turning to look out into the trees. "She thought we could share Oscar, raise her kid as a family. I told her about our split, the drinking, the order, but she didn't much want to hear it - she was enamored."

"You sound like you feel sorry for her," Jude observed, his tone changing a little.

"A little, I guess," Calico nodded, rolling her shoulders and looking back to him. "I told her no way, good luck and goodbye, and didn't hear from her after that. Oscar stopped calling, and eventually I get a call to inform me he'd wrapped himself around a tree and I was the proud owner of a death cabin."

Jude sniffed.

"Is this all a bit too dramatic for you?" she quipped, tucking her hair behind her ears and raising an eyebrow at him.

"Not at all," he replied, tipping his chin a little. "Alina Toffat: did you hate her?"

"Think the body's hers?" she answered with a question of her own.

"Now I have a name to run, we'll find out soon enough," he smiled thinly.

"Maybe Oscar killed her, before his death," she mused darkly. "He wasn't much for taking responsibility, so maybe he blamed her for things turning bad."

"Interesting theory," Jude replied.

"No less interesting than I killed someone," she pointed out. "Shall I pose a few more, or do you want to actually look at evid..."

She didn't hesitate to answer her phone when it rang, but didn't greet her caller by name.

"Dropped by the tavern, but Bill said you left early," Dane's voice sounded.

"I've been entertaining Detective Nowak at the cabin," she responded, making eye contact with the man in question, holding it as her pupils constricted a little. "But we're done here, so I should be back soon."

"Good. I have some people who'd like to meet you, people who might be able to help."

"Awesome. I'll be there soon. Thanks."

Lowering the phone, Calico finally blinked at Nowak, who actually flinched.

"By all means charge me with something you can't prove, Detective," Calico said, walking toward his vehicle. "But if not, I'd like a ride back to town, now."

She was half expecting him to handcuff her, but Jude did as she'd demanded, driving her back to town where he dropped her at the tavern. She thanked him, reiterated she wouldn't leave town - just yet - and headed inside.

The moment she crossed the threshold, she was met with a strong presence, a torrid swirl of incongruent calm and bitingly sharp that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She couldn't explain it, but the same instinct that had forced her to flee, to seek an alternative solution to her impending servitude to Ethan Cole, now whispered 'safety' into her ear.

"Hey," Dane prompted, stepping away from the bar and greeting her with a smile. "Rough morning?"

"Nowak is fishing," she scoffed, smiling, but her gaze was searching. "He hasn't even identified the corpse yet."

"No doubt he's got Cole breathing down his neck," Dane nodded, pointing to the stairs. "Miho and Jazz are waiting upstairs."

#werewolf #werewolf fiction #Miho #Jazz #Iconic duo #to trope or not to trope that is the question (is this s trope?)#original fiction #original characters #full of sass

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chamberlainsremovals · 1 month ago

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Sheffield Relocation Services, Chesterfield Moving Services, Household Removals Chesterfield packing and moving: Experience seamless packing and moving in Chesterfield with We Do Your Move. Our professional team ensures your belongings are securely packed, transported, and unpacked, providing a hassle-free and efficient moving experience.

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letsgethaunted · 1 year ago

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Sandy Island (sometimes labelled in FrenchÎle de Sable, and in SpanishIsla Arenosa) is a non-existent island that was charted for over a century as being located near the French territory of New Caledonia between the Chesterfield Islands and Nereus Reef in the eastern Coral Sea.[1] The island was included on many maps and nautical charts from as early as the late 19th century. It was removed from French hydrographic charts in 1974. The island gained wide media and public attention in November 2012 when the R/V Southern Surveyor, an Australian research ship,[2] passed through the area and "undiscovered" it. The island was quickly removed from many maps and data sets, including those of the National Geographic Society and Google Maps.[3]

#Google Blacked Out Zones #Sandy Island #New Caledonia #South Pacific #Captain Cook

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ironbirdbouquet · 4 days ago

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The Best Tile Cleaning Solution Near Me in Chesterfield County, VA: Why Choose C Thomas Cleanings?

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Technology

Benefit

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Feature

Description

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Health Risks

Professional Cleaning Benefits

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