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elfven-blog · 5 months ago

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Complacent Final

Summary: The light at the end of the storm (He's free babies!!)

Orca!Merman!Connor Kenway x Reader A mini series (The final)

CW: Drowning.

Dedication: A final thank you to @ramshackledtrickster for the inspiration, for their art and all the advice/information for the au. Thank you, truly! And in spirit of that, the art that inspired me from the start in our final header. Word count:3.7K

At first you heard nothing, saw nothing, smelt

nothing. You could barely feel anything but cold. Like your entire body had frozen.

You weren’t even sure you were alive. Just floating, almost, in nothingness. A dark empty void that not even the images in your mind seemed to be conjured in. Perhaps this is just what existence was, what it had always been.

Maybe you hadn’t drowned, maybe this entire time everything you’d seen was a dream or some kind of sick delusion. Merfolk. What a weird dream, you thought as you woke up.

Your eyes blinked at the bright light, a yawn slipping from your mouth as your brow furrowed. A headache formed at the back of your skull causing you to groan as your hand reached to massage your temple.

Getting ready for your shift felt like it took forever as you finally managed to finish getting ready and once you were out the door, your chest felt heavy like you couldn’t breathe. You must be coming down with something, hopefully you could get through this shift and then you’d go to the doctor.

With a heavy sigh your hand pushed open the doors of the aquarium, the action making you pause. Hadn’t you just left your home? Maybe the headache and breathlessness was affecting you more than you thought.

It was weird as you put your bag and coat away in the lockers, it seemed so quiet. No one responded to your words or your smiles like normal. Even the visitors seemed to ignore you as you presented your usual rock pool creature demonstration.

They’d stand there, listening, watching but then you’d turn to look at them and suddenly they’d be facing away. Your hand massaged at your temples again. The pounding in your head was getting worse and your chest felt like a heavy weight settled on it.

It was unnerving, maybe you needed to go to the doctors after your shift today. A little boy lifted his hand up to ask a question but you heard nothing when you called on him. You couldn’t even see his face, no matter how much you concentrated on him there was no details. No flecks in his eyes, no light across his hair and his mouth didn’t move.

The saliva built up in your mouth as you tried to stutter out what you hoped was the right answer to an unheard question, the people around him only shaking their heads. You put the starfish and its rock back into the pool but when you turned back around, everyone was gone. Then there was that pounding again.

As you finished the demonstration your watch pinged to let you know that it was time to clean the rock pool sides. You began making your way to the staff only area to get the equipment, that same little boy from the demonstration took your wrist and tugged you back with surprising strength. Grounding you to the spot as he tilted his head at you, he still seemed so wrong.

“Don’t you miss him?” His voice was clear this time, your brow furrowed at his question and the pain in your head returned accompanied by a shrill sound that made your hands fly up to your head while you dropped to the floor. The little boy turned to walk away, ignoring as your hand reached out for him, for someone, for anyone.

“-ey!” your head shot up and looked around “-ak- up!” a heavier weight on your chest made you cough before it was gone, and with a sigh you moved to the cleaning cupboard to get your equipment. Seemingly forgetting about the shooting pain and the boy.

The cleaning cupboard smelt of chemicals and it made your nose scrunch up. After getting out what you needed, you went to lock the door but stopped at the sight of a sign on the door. It’s a sign you’ve read over and over during your time in the aquarium. ‘All equipment for rock pools’ but on the bottom there was a bit of paper taped up that you had never seen before ‘please use for the orca too!’.

The orca? There were no Orca’s here, there never had been. You had to take a sharp breath as that same pain shot through your head, and your hand rubbed at your forehead to try and ease it. The bright lights probably weren’t helping. You shook your head before moving back to your rock pools but your head moved to the door on the other side, the boys words repeating “Don’t you miss him?” Him.

As your hand dipped into the water to wipe at the algae growing on the glass your brow furrowed when the water didn’t feel like anything, maybe you needed to change the temperature if it wasn’t cold enough. You let go of the sponge and you watched as it dropped to the bottom before pressing your hand against one of the rocks. Nothing. Normally it felt rough and coarse but nothing.

“-ose” rang through your ear like a high pitched squeal “Ple-“

Who was that screaming? Your hand rubbed at your temple and your head looked up to see who was making so much noise. The corners of your lips turning down when it seemed like no one else noticed.

“I ca-“ that heavy weight settled on your chest again until it was heavy enough that you were falling backwards, hands trying to hold onto something…anything.

And as you hit the ground a high pitched “Wake up! Please!” screeched through your mind. Everything hurt, it hurt so badly. Your eyes rolled back, the pain behind your eyes and in your temples bursting.

Your mouth opened to scream but nothing came out, the weight too much for you to produce any sound.

Then your body rolled and you coughed up what felt like tons of seawater and bile. The taste is still on your tongue even after you'd stopped throwing up. Your eyes shooting open to see you were no longer in the aquarium.

Wet sand beneath your hands, water lapping at your feet and the feel of something, no. Someone rubbing at your back. A gentle shush whispered in your ear, comforting you until the coughing subsided and you were no longer vomiting seawater.

Your mind whirred and your vision was blurred as you tried to think but all you could remember was the sound of thunder and how wet everything felt. Then all at once your mind felt like it was bursting as months of memories seemed to flood your mind at once making you wince and curl up.

“It’s okay, you’re okay” that voice said again as hands wrapped around you and pulled you into their lap, your face instinctually burying into their neck which helped keep the light from your eyes. A hand rested on your back while another gently stroked your head, nails scratching so gently at your scalp and the pain in your head seemed to disappear at the feeling.

The body beneath you started vibrating as you relaxed, a purr filling the silence around you and when you could your head moved away from it’s sanctuary. You watched as the corner’s of his lips turned up, those brown eyes you knew seemed to soften and his entire body relaxes at the sight of you being okay “I thought I lost you there” he whispers as if worried that being too loud would shatter everything and this would be a dream.

How ironic you thought, your hand moving to rest against his jaw and your thumb stroked his cheek. That feeling of skin that transformed into the rubber of his whale skin against your thumb made you smile at him “Not yet” you answered him. And he tightened his hold on you, both of his arms wrapped around your body as he pulled you as close as possible and his face buried into your hair as he huffed against you.

It was strange, you thought, not the touching. You were used to that by now. No, it was the feeling of sun on your skin and sand beneath your legs. The wind breezed past you as it caused goosebumps on your skin. The sound of waves, and birds. The smell of the sea…of Ratonhnahke:ton surrounding you.

You had never noticed he had a scent before, the smell of the aquarium must have drowned it out. But he did, Connor smelt of sea salt and sage. The perfect combination for the large merman you decided. Eventually you pulled away with a renewed worry in your veins.

“What happened to everyone else? Where are they? Are they-” He quickly cut you off by pressing his lips to your own, your eyes widened for a moment before they slipped shut and your hands rested against his chest. The muscles twitching under your palms as one of his hands pressed to the back of your head and the other squeezed at your thigh.

Kissing Connor was like home. Slow and gentle and it wasn’t as wet as you thought it would be. Considering he was a marine animal but he was still cold, his tongue traced the seam of your lips and you let your mouth fall open so he could tease through your lips. His tongue tracing over your teeth before pushing in to massage your own tongue, coaxing yours to do the same.

He kissed like it would be the first and last, until your lungs burned of oxygen and your hands clawed at his skin. The hand on the back of your head tangled in your hair to keep you in place while he took your breath away, when he noticed your lack of breathing he moved away from your mouth to kiss at the corner of your lip “They are fine, we got them to safety” You nodded, quite distracted from his words as both his hands moved to your hips while his mouth moved down to ghost across your jaw and neck.

And then he pulled away, grinning at how dilated your eyes were “I have been waiting to do that” he muttered before pulling you in for another kiss. This one was much like the last but it didn’t last as long and you frowned when he pulled away this time. Eyes blinking slowly as you tried to catch your breath, chest heaving from the slow deep breaths you were having to take.

“Maybe warn me next time?” The deep rumbling laughter rolled from his chest at your response, before he picked you up to settle you back on the sand. His tail splashing the water to cover himself in it again so he wouldn’t dry out “Wait wait!” you suddenly said, confusion in your eyes as you looked at him “Who’s ‘we’?”

And Connor grinned again before pushing himself down the beach “Come on, there’s some people I’d like you to meet” You followed him in your confusion, stumbling after the large Orca as he submerged himself into the water. Surely it was a bad idea to follow him into water after you’d just woken up from drowning.

But you followed anyway, gasping when he appeared again from the dark water to take your hand. Swimming close to the surface so that you could stay above water and you could follow him. It didn’t take long for you to reach where he was taking you, and your mouth dropped at the sight of the ship still floating in the water.

She was a little worse for wear with loss of paint and some bits looked broken but she was still floating. You could see Faulkner standing on the bow nodding down at someone in the water as he spoke to them, and your eyes widened a little more at the sight of multiple merfolk swimming around the ship. Some of them brought wood and things to the crew while others seemed to have what looked like food in their hands.

Ratonhnhake:ton led you to the woman who was talking to Faulkner, the captain lighting up as he saw you both approach “You’re alive!” he shouts and the others on the ship clamber to the side, grinning and shouting all at once to you. The noise was loud and overwhelming but none of it was too much for you as you grinned up at them all. Connor’s arm wrapping around your waist to help keep you stable.

Once everyone had finally settled down, the Orca diverted your attention to the merfolk that had been talking with Faulkner. You noticed as his hand tightened its grip, his thumb rubbing up and down your skin and his tail seemed to flick a little more under the water as the woman’s eyes set themselves onto you.

Oh how beautiful she looked in the light of the sun rays, almost a halo formed around her as she swam a little closer. She was smaller than Ratohnhake:ton,she was different shades of grey and her tail was less structured than his too. But those eyes and that nose were the same, and the hair braided on her head was slightly darker shade of brown than his. His mother you realised, and suddenly you understood his nervousness as it flooded your own system.

“This is my mother” Connor introduced you both, his hand loosening against your hip as he smiled “Ziio” and he frowned for a split second, clearly uncomfortable at using his own mother’s name.

She said nothing as she watched you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but think of how similar the look in her eyes felt to that of her marine counterpart but all that melted away when she smiled and wrapped her arms around you “Thank you” she whispered in your ear, her voice felt like a gentle wave washing over you “Thank you for bringing riien:’a home to me”

Connor seemed to grumble next to you as his mother pulled you away from him, his arm slipping from your waist while your own wrapped around the Sea Leopard. She was significantly smaller than her son, but she had fur and it felt rather smooth beneath your fingers. She pulled away after a while, her hands staying on your shoulder as she smiled “I promise I am not as scary as my marine counterpart” Then she winked at you before pulling away “I am just as fluffy on land though”

She was like a summer breeze you decided, the cooling component needed during a stifling heat. Once she was away from you she swam a little closer to her son, pushing him down into the water with a click of her tongue as her hands began to fuss over his hair. You laughed as Connor avoided your gaze, suddenly interested in the bracelet on his wrist as the skin on his neck and face burned from the blush.

“You’re embarrassing the poor boy” came another voice before an oar poked at Connor’s mother. A large sea turtle appeared behind them, the older man tilting his head as regarded you for a moment before turning back to Ziio. Distracting her with something and taking her away to speak with some more seafolk.

“Don’t mind the old turtle, Achilles is more of a solitary creature these days” Ratonhnhake:ton says as his hand reaches for your wrist again so he could pull you back into his embrace. He takes his time to lead you around the gathering of merfolk, introducing you to each and everyone. You’re more than happy to do it.

By the end of the meet and greet, the sun is starting to set and the warm air is becoming cold. Connor leads you back to the boat, and the crew help you climb aboard. You’re finally able to change your clothes and eat once you’re inside.

And Faulkner sits down with you to discuss what’s next, it eats at your heart as you talk. You know you can’t stay here in the middle of nowhere, and you can’t go with Connor. You aren’t a merfolk, you can’t breathe underwater. You don’t belong in his world just as much as he didn’t belong in yours.

Faulkner decides that you’re all leaving tomorrow. The decision makes your veins freeze and you dismiss yourself as you go to the cabin you’d had for the journey. While laying on it your mind whirls with ideas, plans and just anything that could mean you could stay with him. But you know it’s not feasible, there isn’t a way to stay here forever in the sea with him.

A knock on the glass of your cabin startles you but any nerves are wiped away when you turn your head to see your Orca smiling at you through the window. You immediately walk over to the small window, your hand pressing to the glass and his own does the same before he points upwards which makes you tilt your head and furrow your brow.

He gives you an frustrated look, his mouth straightened into a line and his eyes rolling with a shake of his head. His hand pointing behind you and you follow it to the door before looking back at him where he now points upwards. He pretends to celebrate when you get up and walk to the door and you stick your tongue at him in response.

Once you're back on deck you notice that most of the crew has either gone to bed or are talking with some of the merfolk over the railings. It makes your heart lighter to see everyone interacting with each other in such a warm way. Your own hands make contact with the railing, your thumb rubbing at the cold metal as memories swarm to the front.

Cold splashes of water, distant thunder and the feeling of sinking into the dark abyss fill your mind before they’re swept away by his hand on yours. And you’re back with him again as you smile down at him, his own lips twitching upwards “I wasn’t gone for very long” you whisper to him in the dark of night.

His large shoulders shrug as his hands move to pull himself up onto the deck before he rolls over onto his back so he can balance on his hands in a sitting position rather than laying on his front. You sit next to him, your back pressing to his side as his arm slings around you. Resting his hand on your stomach as you both sit there a look up at the sky.

“I missed the stars” He finally says to you, his eyes bright as he smiles with his head tilted up. His hair flowing down his shoulders, the braid sitting on his chest and then his eyes slipped closed as he takes a deep breath “Thank you”.

You spend hours with him on the deck, with him telling you the stories his mother had told him of the stars, and of the stories his grandfather had told him from his travels around the world’s oceans. He makes you laugh as he recalls, what you doubt to be real, a story his grandfather had told him about fighting off a pirate trying to get his fins. In turn you tell him as many stories as you can remember of the stars from your people, the constellations and their tales seeming to bond you both all the same.

By the time you ran out of stories for each other, the first rays of daylight had started to appear and suddenly your heart felt heavy. Connor noticed your change in behaviour, hwo you went quiet and seemed to sit there playing with his fingers.

“What is it, treasure?” he mumbled as his hand took your jaw so he could direct your gaze to him, his lips pressing to your forehead and purring gently to try and soothe you “Tell me”

“We’re leaving today” He froze at your words, pulling away for a moment with a bewildered look in his eyes. His thumb rubbing at your jaw “Faulkner thinks it’s time to go before another storm hits”

Ratonhnake:ton takes a deep breath at this, the look in his eyes sharpening to sadness as he nods “That is wise'' he lets go of you but not before pressing his lips to your own “You must remain safe”. Once his lips part from yours, he pulls himself off the boat with the railings and splashes back into the water beneath.

“I’ll come back, I will” You shout as you lean over the edge, but it’s too late. Connor’s already gone and your eyes can’t find any sign of his black and white tail in the dark waters “I don’t know how but I will”.

As you opened the door of your home, you took a deep breath and your head tilted as your entire body seemed to feel light all of a sudden. You shut the door behind you and dropped your bag on the floor, before ridding yourself of your coat and shoes. Once all of that was done you slid open the door that led to your back garden.

A smile on your face as you took the towel that you kept near the door before practically bolting down to the shore. The corners of your lips pulled down when there was no sight of who you were after yet you spread the towel out anyway and shimmed out of your clothes until just your swimming costume was left.

As you lay on the towel, your eyes drifted shut for a moment but they flew open at the feeling of something large wrapping around your ankle and pulling you down the beach a little more until the waves lapped at your body “You are late” rumbled a deep voice in your ear as arms wrapped around your body.

“Sorry! Sorry! We had an octopus to help, his poor tentacles got trapped” The Orca hummed as he listened to you ramble on about the mimic octopus you had spent the past few hours helping. His head burying into your hair as he lay there with you, his body covering your own as your hands moved to run through his hair. He would happily listen to your rumble for the rest of his days.

#assassins creed #assassin's creed 3 #assassin's creed 3 x reader #assassin's creed x reader #ac3 #ac3 x reader #connor ac3 #connor kenway x reader #connor kenway fic #ratonhnhaké:ton x reader #ratonhnhaké:ton #merman!connor kenway #merfolk!assassins creed #merfolk au

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sixx-writes · 2 years ago

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adrenaline

Jack Krauser x Reader

Word Count: 3,497

cw: noncon, light bondage, blood play, knife play, degrading names, rough sex

AO3 Version | Masterlist | Header Image

Summary: You're kidnapped from your own driveway by a mysterious group of mercenaries with no idea as to who they are or what they could want with you.

18+ ONLY NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You didn't remember being taken.

It was a night like any other, after driving home from your friend's house the last thing you could recall was seeing your front door and standing in your driveway fumbling with your keys. After that everything was completely blank. Foggy images were all you could conjure up if you concentrated hard enough. You remembered drifting in and out from the influence of whatever you'd been shot up with - the pinch of a needle going into your neck. The cloying scent of the bag covering your head during the drive. At least two men were speaking to each other but you couldn't understand them through the cotton filling your head.

It had been around thirty minutes since you were dumped into a tent and the bag removed giving you no clues as to where you were being held. Your surroundings were mostly barren with a few unmarked crates and containers near the entrance while the tent itself was unremarkable in it's design. The only light source was one of those battery powered lanterns you would take camping. One you could find at most hardware stores or supermarkets.

You weren't going to cry you decided. You needed to stay calm and think clearly.

Suddenly, you heard a man's voice coming from directly outside and you instantly cowered back as far as you could while the zipper came down.

In stepped the most ripped intimidating man you'd ever seen wearing a getup the likes of which you'd only witnessed in movies or on tv. He's decked out in a form fitted black shirt that leaves not a single bulge of muscle to the imagination, a pair of military pants, and a bright red beret. Yet none of this holds your attention for long because all you can focus on is the knife he's twirling skillfully through his fingers.

His icy blue eyes appraised you with a chilling detachment completely devoid of emotion made more unsettling by the scar that marked one side of his once perfectly handsome features. You had hoped that whoever had kidnapped you was just some mook and you would find an opportunity to escape. Now, the weight of reality had set in and you felt cold and helpless - this was clearly a professional. Most likely a mercenary. This man didn't give a shit if you saw his face or not which meant he was confident that he wouldn't be caught or..

Well, you didn't want to think about the 'or' in that scenario.

"Listen up," he spoke before you got the chance to, "As long as you're a good little bitch nothing bad will happen. Understood?"

You nodded, mutely.

"Very good," his tone was condescending. The same one might use with a slow pet after it had learned a new trick. It made indignant anger rear it's head deep beneath the fear that locked all of your limbs in place.

"What do you want with me?" you said as the man stepped back out through the small opening just as quickly as he'd came. Not enough to see outside but enough to be able to tell that it was nighttime. It would make an escape much easier. He ignored you zipping you back inside, alone, without another word. You listened carefully for the sound of his footsteps to get far enough away before you sprang into action.

Carefully as you could you dragged the zipper open the tiniest crack to peek out. As you had guessed it was a campsite with around six more tents a little larger than yours scattered in a loose semi circle. There were also several other mercenaries dressed similarly to the one that had visited you situated at various tasks around the area. A chill went down your spine when you discovered all of them were armed with automatic weapons.

Luckily, there were no guards outside your tent which worked in your favor along with how none of them happened to be looking in your direction. You slipped outside zipping the flap back up to hide your escape for as long as possible before making a run for it.

That was how you ended up in the woods with no idea where you were going feeling only a little regret that you hadn't grabbed the lantern. The only light was the moon overhead and the sparse places where it pierced the thick canopy.

You couldn't have made it more than a few dozen yards before something whizzed past your face and embedded itself into a tree. You barely slowed to see what what it was but your heart nearly stopped upon seeing the unmistakable shimmer of a knife embedded in the trunk right next to you. It had only just missed. Somehow, you didn't think it was an accident. It was a warning for just how fucked you were.

A knife in your spine would be too quick of a death. He would draw it out. Make it hurt.

You continued to run unable to stop the tears from flowing while your imagination went out of control at all the possible torture scenarios. You wondered if you would even find out why he had taken you before you were killed. You didn't have long to think before a knee landed in your spine driving you into the ground and ending your escape as soon as it had began. How had he known? You hadn't seen him anywhere in the camp before leaving.

No matter how much you sobbed and screamed, kicked and thrashed around, he was an immovable force on top of you. You recited every insult you knew until the inside of your mouth tasted like a mixture of salt and copper so intense you wanted to gag if only to throw up on the fucker's boots. The man had soon had enough and his knee disappeared relieving you from the painful pressure at your spine as he flipped you around, easily catching the zip ties around your wrists amidst your shameless meltdown.

He had the look of someone that had stepped in something particularly disgusting glaring down at your pinned form - as if you were the one in the wrong.

"Seems I underestimated how stupid you are. And weak. This is really the best you could do? Running for your life mean so little to you?" he said, not hiding his disgust.

You didn't know why his words got to you so easily and because you're already in for it you spat out, "Fuck you."

"There it is. Finally showing me some spirit. Shame it's already too late. Hope this half assed escape attempt was worth it."

You took a deep calming breath to suppress the adrenaline that flooded your body making you irrational before you whispered, "Don't kill me."

Your pride wasn't worth your life after all.

"Why not? Huh?" his grip on the zip ties tightened making the plastic dig in deeper, "Answer me, bitch."

"Because.. because I'll do anything. I'm sorry. Just.. I don't know what I was thinking. I'll do anything! I swear!"

In an even more degrading display you tried to bite your lower lip in an act of looking alluring for the mercenary wincing at the taste and sting of fresh blood. His expression remained cold and unmoved so you took it a step further managing to raise yourself up enough to nuzzle against his crotch like some deranged horny cat. It was awful and you would regret it later but if it meant he wouldn't torture you in other ways or kill you, you could live with it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded. His voice had taken on a rougher edge than before. You were afraid to meet his eyes for what you might find there. The answer is against your face anyway. Beneath the strong scent of male musk and sweat is hardening flesh. He's very into the idea of what you're offering, apparently.

"Just let me make you feel good," you muttered, hoping it would be enough to earn his forgiveness. There was also the possibility of another attempt at getting away while he was distracted. Your shoulders feel like they're going to rip out of the sockets at this angle with the unrelenting grip he has over the zip ties behind your back but you don't dare stop.

That is until he forcibly flings you away from him and against a tree where the back of your head connects with it alarmingly hard. The action leaves your ears ringing and you stare at the ground in a daze.

"What..?"

The mercenary had lowered himself into a crouched position not far from you. His knife pressed against the underside of your chin angling your face up and when he spoke you could only see flashes of his teeth in the suffocating darkness. It made him seem more like a predator by the second - just a dark shape with sharp teeth ready to rip out your throat. No longer human in your mind but a monster that threatened to devour you.

"Run, little bitch. If I catch you, you won't like what comes next. Run!"

His words echoed strangely inside your head as if you were two people trapped in a nightmare and not just a mercenary chasing a terrified girl in what had became your horrible reality in a matter of hours. You had no idea why he was giving you a second chance when beneath your strangled sobs and gasps of air you could hear him effortlessly keeping pace with you. This was a game to him. He was enjoying every second of your misery knowing that you would never get away.

The branches and twigs tore at your skin and clothes as if the forest itself was coming alive to tear you apart. The prelude of what was to come when the mercenary decided he's had enough.

It doesn't take long for you to slow and exhaustion to truly set in while your pursuer barely seemed tired at all. He isn't even out of breath when his fist tangled in your hair catching you with no effort at all. You fought him of course, but it does nothing, he might as well be made of stone as he dragged you along and hung you up by your bonds from a broken branch. Your feet were barely touching the ground and the pain at your raw wrists is absolutely horrid.

His face gave nothing away when the knife is pressed back against your throat, it's wicked blade following a trail downwards between your heaving breasts, until it met the top of your shirt. The fabric of your tee parts with no effort leaving only your bra intact but that was all it took for you to notice the change that came over him. Those empty eyes lit up with something dangerous stirred to life by the sight of your sweat soaked skin.

Cold steel is pressed against your lips and you gasped in shock at how fast the movement was.

"Lick it," he ordered.

Your eyes went round at his request and because you're more concerned with what might happen if you disobey you tentatively press a quick kitten lick to the tip.

"Are you trying to piss me off? Lick. It."

Fresh tears overflowed from your eyes as you pressed the entire flat of your tongue against the blade and ran it along the entire length as you might have done with a cock. In a single flick he cuts the tip of your tongue in another of those inconceivable movements and before you have time to react his mouth crashes over yours. It's rough, more like his tongue is violating your mouth than an actual kiss, in the act of tasting the coppery twang of your blood and saliva groaning softly through it all.

By the time he's done there's a mixture of fluids leaking from the corner of your lips and painted across his own like some kind of morbid war paint. You were completely disoriented by the intensity of it having no time to recover before your bra is the next victim of his assault, split cleanly down the middle like your shirt. He isn't as careful this time and you hissed when it grazed your skin leaving a scratch behind along the inner curve of your breast.

When had he removed his beret? You hadn't noticed until his mouth was pressed over the wound at your breast licking over it drawing out fresh waves of burning pain.

"Stop," you pleaded, "hurts-! Ah!"

He'd already moved on to your nipple bringing out a confusing mix of pleasure mingling with the throbbing soreness of the fresh wound. The mercenary bit at the hardening tissue mercilessly making you squirm and gasp. It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. A disturbing wetness was already soaking the crotch of your panties and 'shame' probably wasn't a strong enough word for what you were going through in that moment.

"You like this," he said, matter-of-factly, pulling back just enough to look up at you while his cool breaths raised goosebumps along your wet skin. The tip of his knife threateningly toyed with your other nipple until it was erect to match the other he'd been abusing with his mouth, "Tell me how badly you want it, bitch."

"N-No! I don't! Please, I can't take this anymore. What do you want from me?"

Your sobbing plea for respite was ended when another cut was opened just underneath your right areola and you cried out. This time he sucked a good portion of your entire breast into his mouth so you were overwhelmed with both pain and pleasure at the same time. You continued to cry and babble nonsense until he pulled off with a lewd pop leaving your nipple smeared with blood in the aftermath.

"I tell you what. I'll try to make this easier for you. If I check and this cunt of yours isn't wet then I'll take you back to camp," he moved in closer to your ear speaking in a sensuous whisper and you could smell the strong scent of copper on his breath, "But if it is I think you know what happens next, right?"

No matter how you thrashed and tried to free yourself it was no use because in the next few seconds your pants were yanked down your hips with the button and zipper still closed. You were down to the last barrier of your dignity between you and he - the plain black thong you were wearing. His fingers were unceremoniously shoved between your tightly closed thighs sealing your fate in an instant. The crotch of your panties were ruined even more when he pressed in soaking up more of your wetness to confirm his suspicion.

"That's what I thought. Who knew you'd end up being a kinky slut. This makes it even better."

"What do you mea--" you didn't get to finish the sentence before the same fingers that were dirty from your juices were forced into your mouth. The taste of your own pussy invaded your taste buds just as you felt his knife brush along your hip. Your thong met the same fate as the rest of your clothes and your glistening netherlips were exposed to the mercenary's hungry glare.

The blunt edge of the knife traced along your navel moving lower until the coldness of it made you jump as it brushed up against your clit.

"Pleashuh don'uh," you try to speak but his fingers are still filling your mouth and all that comes out is nonsense. You're getting more frantic by the second at the threat of being cut at your most sensitive place, too afraid to move even an inch. Cruelly, his thick digits are suddenly forced deeper into your throat, as if he can tell how hard you're fighting not to struggle. You gagged and jerked in response unable to help yourself and he gives a single dry chuckle of amusement.

It doesn't stop there as he continuously pumps them in and out holding the knife at your slit and teasing at your swollen bud until you're panting from more than just fear.

Saliva is leaking down your chin and throat while the wetness of your slick leaks down between your thighs. You're dizzy, in pain, and probably more aroused than you've ever been in your entire life.

"Ready to talk, bitch?" he sneered, finally, finally taking his fingers out.

"Please," you said only able to manage more of a pathetic croak than actual speech. Your head was pounding from the lack of oxygen as you struggled to form the words that would make your suffering end. Not fast enough for the mercenary as it turned out because you felt the tip of his blade denting your mound just lightly enough not to hurt you.

"Please, fuck me. I want it. I'm sorry I tried to run. Please. Please," you quickly babbled out and silently prayed to whatever god was listening that it would be enough.

In a blur you were thrown to the ground, your ass getting more scratched up from the detritus that made up the forest floor. The mercenary dropped to his knees between your spread legs, cock already in hand, and a leer on his face. It was pathetic how your soaked pussy twitched and clenched at nothing when he gave himself a few pumps and god this was actually happening wasn't it?

You were just as relieved as you were ashamed by your own arousal at the situation because the idea of something that size getting forced into your body made you nauseated.

Like everything else that had occurred that night there was hardly any buildup to his hands on your hips dragging you upwards and impaling your desperate muscles in one go. Your back arched as you released a scream. Your abused throat ached from the effort and the breath is knocked out of you entirely when he pulled out all the way to the tip and slammed back in all the way to your cervix. Your eyelids fluttered over unseeing eyes and you orgasmed in only a few thrusts - too shocked for it to register for a few mind numbing seconds. It's more degrading than anything that's happened to you so far and you heard the mercenary hiss out a curse and go still from how tight you were.

Your eyes drifted closed as you lay there unable to cry left entirely numb from it all.

"Did you see that, Leon? Look at how much of a whore she is for me. Aren't you proud."

That gets your attention.

You didn't think you could possibly be surprised anymore until you looked up and saw the mercenary holding a camera. The kind with the little screen that folds out that you haven't seen anyone use in fucking years.

"How do you know my brother?" you demanded.

"Don't worry about it. Just lay there and be good. Fucking. Bait," he snarled, bottoming out inside you on every slam, making your eyes roll back. You whined and squirmed when he didn't stop, continuing to fuck through tight orgasm constricted muscles. Your hole made an embarrassingly loud wet noise as your come continued to leak out leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock and dripping down his balls.

You chanted, "Please, please, please," not even sure what you wanted anymore. This man knew your brother somehow, clearly considered him an enemy from the way he spoke, so why was it you were already so close to coming for the second time?

"Say 'Please make me come, Jack,'" he said, coming to a complete stop inside you. When you don't comply right away the familiar sting of his knife was at your throat and you couldn't stop how your pussy tightened in response, betraying you.

"P.. lease, Jack, I need to come so bad. Let me come," you said. You were already so far gone you would have said anything at that point.

"Good girl," he praised. You should have felt humiliated, angry like before, yet you only tightened around him again. "Such an obedient little bitch. She knows her place well, already. Show Leon what a good whore you are and come for me. That's. It."

His pace turned brutal, inhuman, and when you came it's in an explosion of fluid that soaked both of you. His knife cut into your skin where he still held it against your throat. You're barely aware of Jack on his knees over your body as he finishes himself off over your tits with a grunt. His come burning where it lands on your cut skin but you no longer care. You're exhausted to the point of passing out.

The last thing you remember is Jack saying, "I'll be waiting," before blissfully slipping into nothingness.

#krauser x reader #jack krauser #re4 remake

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cuppalevi · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲'𝐬 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐚 #𝟑 | 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢

Today's Cuppa is cuppalevi's feature fanfic recommendations. See Cuppa Collections for list of fanfic recommendations.

april 25 2024

this fic omg. i personally love detective and mysteries so i was determined to see this thru— naturally, i binge-read this.

this felt like a sherlock holmes in attack on titan. there were parts of the story where the reader was tasked in deciphering codes, to which you can solve along as well. i certainly did. i sat up from bed, grabbed a pen and paper and tried to decipher before continuing the chapter.

the plot was sososo great. the case that they were trying to solve makes u really think who could be the suspects and what other type of evidences could have been shed to light. it did not disappoint!! delving into the life of a detective being pressured to resolve these crimes being committed in order to prevent more crimes happening.

in terms of the relationship with levi, it was gradually developed. its got the type of slowburn that was so satisfying at the end and was not way too drawn out. the lingering and the yearning was SO WORTH IT. the cast as well *chef's kiss* never a dull moment with the aot characters. their contributions to the story was substantial. as well as the other original side characters, keep an eye on them.

silesy was incredible at conjuring the red string of fate in this where different people were intertwined and all had particular roles to play in the story. the connections between details in the story will make u go "ayo?!" or "i knew it!" to which makes the experience greater cos you get mindblown.

Kind: Series

Content: alternate universe, detectives, murder, action, solving, slow burn, angst, etc. more tags on ao3

Status: completed

𝘼 𝘽𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙙 𝙊𝙛 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 by silesy

A killer is on the loose. After solving an elusive cipher that proved your aptitude for the case, you were added to the elite detective force under the commandment of Chief Erwin Smith. Your only hope at catching him is joining forces with your new partner: a stoic, icy-eyed man with a short temper that slowly but surely makes his way into your heart.

©cuppalevi on tumblr / icon by yomu do not steal / header by me

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #todayscuppa #attack on titan x reader #aot fanfic #snk #shingeki no kyojin #levi #levi x you #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #brewingcuppa

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alieinthemorning · 1 year ago

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Nightmares [Ace Trappola | Maeda Yuuna]

Content: Nightmares, Character Death, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Ace Trappola/Maeda Yuuna

Header: @/n_twst on Twitter

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work's concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

And yet, he still found his way to her. Sitting on the porch steps, watching the stars be stars. Then her head turned, and she smiled, patting the porch steps like she had done before.

He didn't hesitate this time, and took up the spot beside her.

All was quiet, and then she asked, "Nightmares, huh?"

Ace didn't often have nightmares. The dreams he usually had were odd and disjointed, never something to take seriously.

These dreams

These nightmares

Were something different.

They weren't just something his mind conjured from staying up laying and watching a scary movie.

This was derived from real life.

It was from the first night of school when he, Deuce, Grim and Yuuna were sent to the Dwarf Mines to recover a magestone for that stupid chandelier that Deuce had broken (by using his body).

But it didn't start from the very beginning. No, it always started after that monster appeared.

That inky demon with the giant pickaxe that scrapped along the cave floor as it chased after them.

They had barely made it out alive.

And unfortunately for him, it seemed like his mind wanted to torture him with the what-if.

What if it had gotten its claws on them?

First went Deuce, who protected Yuuna and Grim. At least he wasn't facing the pickaxe as it slammed down. It didn't kill him instantly, but he didn't scream (maybe because Ace didn't know what Deuce sounded like when he was dying). They were forced to watch him struggle and struggle until he finally succumbed to death.

Next was Grim. He scurried along the floor and walls, ducking and dodging the pickaxe. However agile he was didn't matter though because the beast was still a beast and ensnared easily him in its grasp. Grim yelped and squirmed, looking back at them, Ace and Yuuna, for help. But not for long, because in the next moment his flames were snuffed out.�� Engulfing the cave into a silent darkness.

And then finally there was tonight. He knew he would have the nightmare again. So he tried his absolute best to avoid sleeping, but sleep always catches the unsuspecting.

The cave was just as it was in the previous dream, quiet and dark. Perfect for the ink demon. Ace summoned his courage to cast a spell that essentially turned his magestone into a flashlight.

He should have never done that.

He called for her, he ran for her

he found her

Yunna had already befallen the monster's wrath, and it was the worst one yet. The pickaxe's chisel end was set firmly into the hard ground, its owner nowhere to be found. In place of the owner was Yunna, who was impaled atop the pick end. Her deep brown eyes were wide, while her mouth was a small 'o'.

It was weird. It was like she was surprised, like she didn't struggle. Like she had died instantly.

But why?

Out of all of them, why had she—

But he didn't have the chance to linger on the thought.

Because in the next instant he was dead.

And then he was awake.

He felt...numb. While the nightmare still appeared on his eyelids every time he blinked, he felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

He brushed a hand through his damp hair, deciding that getting up and going for a light night stroll was better than falling back into the hands of death. He didn't go anywhere particular, just wandered about until he had to return to his dorm.

And yet, he still found his way to her. Sitting on the porch steps, watching the stars be stars. Then her head turned, and she smiled, patting the porch steps like she had done before.

He didn't hesitate this time, and took up the spot beside her.

All was quiet, and then she asked, "Nightmares, huh?"

He turned to her, frowning at the trails of wetness that stained her brown cheeks.

"Why are you crying?"

She didn't bother wiping them away as she gave him (what he now realized was) another watery smile.

"Maybe instead of asking me, you could ask yourself that."

And then he realized his own cheeks' dampness. The tightness in his chest. The tremors in his hands.

Numbness was replaced with sudden feeling

and it terrified him.

Yunna grabbed his hand and pulled him up. "Let's go somewhere else. I don't wanna worry, Grim."

And then she led him to some open area behind the woods of Ramshackle.

"Okay, you're safe to let it out." He just stared at her, not even realizing that he slightly shook his head.

She tried to give him another smile, but she couldn't. It wobbled and fell into a frown as her own feelings caught up with her. "We don't have to be strong here. We can be as small as we want to."

Then she pulled him into her arms, clutching onto him tight.

She was just as afraid of losing him again as he was her. Like, if she didn't hold on tight enough, that he would slip from her grasp.

Is that how her nightmare took them away from her? Did they just disappear?

He held her just as tight, hopefully giving her some form of reassurance.

She sighed, her shoulders shagging just a bit.

"I'll stay with you.

"I promise."

If y'all wanna blame anyone, blame my friend, Rogue. They had a minor role in this (he started it, but I sure as hell finished it).

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

#alie ficlets #alie series: hatsukoi #ace x yuu #ace x yuusona #oc insert #yuusona insert #ace trappola x maeda yunna #deuce spade #twst grim #tw: character death

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pennedbylisse · 1 year ago

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NEVERLAND IN AUGUST

I often tell myself I will no longer partake in writing tae fics bc they always turn out excessively angsty and melodramatic, and yet, I find myself here, time and time again.

short version: kth and poor decisions. salty air. beach shore. never meant to be. exchanges that slipped away into moments in time. a secret well kept, and then fallen into oblivion. seashells. skinny dipping. august, except it's not. you, except you are not mine. us, except there is no such thing. you were never mine to keep, or to lose.

tae's got a neverland complex. doesn't wanna grow up, bc it means leaving behind his freedom, but worst of all, you. or something like that.

proceed, if you are interested in the long version.

wc: 3.7 k

tracklist: 'August' by Taylor Swift

tense and POV: 2nd person and past

You are so easy to fall back into, as though we are molded to fit one another, a lock to its key, and it shouldn't be this easy to self-destruct.

Taehyung slipped away into the night when the crowd had settled and turned its eyes blind; when the topics of conversation had shuffled from his career and marital prospects to rather pettier, popular culture developments.

He averted curious gazes amidst the crowded streets as he meandered aimlessly. Like a compass with a damaged needle, he spun indefinitely, pressed tight between bodies. No sense of direction.

With a flighty gaze, he scoured the surrounding, illuminated buildings for an anchor, a sort of lighthouse, some sort of sign to pierce his attention, slap him hard across the cheek as the ground would if he would only stop falling. If the ground were to catch him and hold him, rather than cave beneath his feet.

Gloomy, dim eyes searched past the silhouettes of the skyscrapers, past the nomadic clouds, which veiled the moon's luminous halo, attempting to make out faint stars freckling the sky.

Not just any stars.

Polaris - a stable point, axis, around which the rest of the world's body falls and rises.

The star he'd chased with his siblings through the playgrounds long ago.

The clouds were too vast and dense, as were the crowds pressing in around him. Suddenly, he felt painfully sympathetic of Polaris's condition; the world seemed to start spinning around him, too; the ground at his feet warping with each unsteady step.

He didn't want to be central, polar. He wanted to be a fuzzy margin, ambiguous, never quite a start, never quite an end. The horizon.

He wanted to be too many things in life, and nothing at all, at once. It was dizzying, to say the least, to be tugged in every direction. To have so many quarreling voices beckoning your attention.

Sometimes he wished he could split himself into a million little versions. Split the burden between them.

He just wanted it to stop. The spinning. The encompassing chatter. The omnipresent stares. All of it.

He dipped into a gas station with a neon sign for a header and pulled the cheapest bottle of red wine from its rack. Rolled it over the counter towards the register clerk along with his upturned ID, only his thumbpad mostly covered his picture and name.

It was a quick swivel, quick enough for the clerk to nod in recognition he was of age; not long enough for them to register the reputation behind the name, the face;

not long enough for a light to flicker in their distant gaze and their mouths to fall slack in awe.

With a lazy grip on the bottle's neck, he swayed and weaved through the saturated streets, often slamming shoulders, until he sank into a dim alley, save for an overhead flickering neon sign, similar to that of the gas station, only just one flicker short of giving out.

He padded his way out to a quieter, sleeping street, and found himself a vacant bench to collapse onto.

It was finally dark, and quiet, and the margins of the world had seemed to settle about him.

There, he conjured up an affair with the shadows until he grew to question whether he'd become one. Whether the star-freckled clouds had encompassed and carried him away, to some distant Neverland. A place that could offer him an eternity to figure out the calls and wants of his heart.

His parents had omitted a truth from him. They'd omitted many through his development, opting for sugar-coating existence, but of all the ones, this one was unforgivable.

They had never mentioned how it is like the air in your lungs dissipates with each passing year. A blind habit forms: you start holding your breath just to get through a couple of gruesome hours, a shift, the day.

You wait for the afternoon to catch it again, but then the afternoons start growing burdensome in a way uniquely their own. It grows, the weight on your chest, drowns you and kills you slowly.

In his brief recollection tonight, he supposes they'd been unconvincing in their pretensions. They'd never blatantly admitted this truth but had often insinuated it.

He should have looked closer, not forsaken the fine details.

He would have noticed the drawn bags lining their eyes, the burst capillaries on the ivory margins.

He would have felt the exasperated sigh leaving their lips while bracing their weight against the counter, just trying to stand another day.

He could feel that helpless sigh, now. Infact, it had grown to become his.

A sigh which seeped into the quiet night.

Quiet, safe for the whir of cars on the highway, a couple of miles back; safe for the chirp of crickets nestled amidst bushes, shrubs.

Quiet, safe for the sudden exclaim of a nearby branch, snapped under unannounced weight.

Taehyung stiffened and used the bottle that had been resting on his thigh as leverage, in case he'd need to spring upward and dash -though, it would likely be less of a dash, more of a stumble and awkward trot away given his inebriation.

"Boo!"

He didn't startle, much too inhibited to have reacted within the acceptable timeframe.

Or simply, too unbothered.

Instead, he turned his head with a lazy, drunken gaze and there you were -- his Neverland on Earth, stardust lining your eyes, a shard of magic and dream and impossible possibilities amidst a limiting world.

The stars surely envied you.

You kicked the air, standing, waiting awkwardly, as if for an invitation from him to sit. You weren't sure if he'd appreciate you intruding on his hideout, even if it was a vacant restaurant patio, with rusted chairs and overgrown ivy.

"They are losing their minds looking for you, you know?"

"They are?" A smug smile tugged on the corner of his glistening lips. "Let them." He proceeded to lick the gloss away, tasting the bitterness of residual liquor with subtle tones of sweet vanilla and tart cherry. "Are you gonna tattle on me?"

He swung down the leg he'd had outstretched on the bench, opening a space for you. Welcomed your presence.

Your original reluctance dissipated, formerly pinched shoulders relaxing.

"I already did," you flaunted, lied, made your way across the patio, crunching over shattered stone.

As you lowered yourself onto the seat, he gestured the opaque bottle at you, whirling the contents around.

"If I'm going down..." he started, holding back a hiccup behind puckered lips. For an instant, his face twisted, as if bile had crept up the column of his throat.

He swallowed hard, and quarreled with the nausea wringing his stomach. "I might as well not remember any of it."

You'd feel nauseated, too, leading his life.

Sure, it was glimmery and luxurious, alluring and comfortable by every physical means, with everything imaginable so carefully crafted and tailored. The perfect life.

It was all pretend, shallow. A gilded cage is only ever still a cage, a prison, confinement.

It wasn't him - not the him that you knew. He was a free bird, meant to take flight.

The him that you knew would be up for spontaneous drives to the shore. He'd get lost out of an insistence to avoid using navigation systems. He'd blast every genre of music through the speakers, and somehow recall every lyric, even the ones that were in a foreign tongue.

The him you knew, would leave his shoes at every corner, flinging them off with irritability, complaining about how sore they made him, managing to turn it into a debacle on how suffocating it is to be trapped.

He'd walk on coarse gravel, all through the city. Come home with the filthiest soles, nothing short of charcoal. He'd defy every norm with the lightest of smiles, come spewing to you about the sights he saw on his adventures, the people he'd met, how he'd played soccer with a couple of kids from the neighborhood, how their mother had served him some jiggae and how it reminded him so much of home.

Then he'd guffaw, shake his head and tell you that it was weird how he could recognize the familiarity of home when he'd never really met it.

But you were, of course, biased in your belief that the only version of him that existed was the one he showed you. You didn't really - or simply didn't want to - accept that this version could be the manifestation of a persona, a theatrical mask meant to distract something deeper, more fragile, genuine, and lost.

Your accepting company allowed him to be a different version of himself, but it wasn't entirely the truest one.

"Get up." You slapped his thigh and turned the bottle he'd handed over, letting its maroon content pour onto the cement, stain it beyond repair. "I want you to remember tonight."

He groaned, collapsing his head onto his hands and ruffling his hair into a nest. "I had been enjoying that!"

"That..." You shifted your gaze to the ground and then back up at him, brows pinched in question. You couldn't possibly be referring to the same thing. "No one could possibly enjoy that. Abominable." You shuddered.

"It was cheap," he justified.

"You act as if you have no money."

"I don't! It's their money." He thrust both arms into the open air, gesturing to his puppet masters, to the strings sewn into his elbows and wrists.

At all times, he was being watched fall apart at the seams, and was scrutinized. The same life which had been breathed into his infantile lungs, never felt his. Instead, it reminded him of a plotted strategy on a chess board game drawn out for added torture. It wasn't a single, one-time commitment; it was a lifetime of sustaining choices that would remove him further from himself.

"Enough self-pity for one night. Come on." You rose, knees creaking a little. "Let's go."

"Where to?" He beckoned, still planted on the bench.

"Somewhere. Anywhere. Nowhere." The offer hung in the air, open to endless possibilities. Potential twinkled in your starry eyes; a million wishes and dreams birthed in a second.

You smiled, and stardust gathered on your tear line, rained down and dusted his sullen limbs until he was floating, made weightless, trailing after you.

"Neverland."

"What?"

"Let's go to Neverland."

You snickered and it was as if bells chimed, rang, jingled.

"What are you - Have you gone mad?" Taehyung hissed, dancing his weary gaze across his immediate surroundings. He'd rapidly grown weary, careful of an audience bearing witness to the spectacle you were putting on, in your lacy underwear. Locks of hair danced around your figure in response to a cool oceanic breeze gathering to greet you.

"I am pretty sure this is illegal. Illegal, T."

T, as in Tinker Bell, his personal version of a rose-tinged fairy, with a volatile temper, particularly when things don't follow your script.

Incredulously, Taehyung continued to mumble beneath his breath. The cyclical breath of the sea drowned his protests.

Your bra collapsed onto a mound of sand, forcing his lips mute. Like a fish hauled out of the water, his lips smacked open, shut, then open again, failing to close around the ghost of words he'd thought to say but suddenly drew blank on.

Cheeks burning flushed in that so fae way, you dipped your chin behind the curtain of your hair.

You shut your eyes for what you were about to do. Mustered the courage to follow through, to not feel vulnerable under his gaze.

Taehyung's unwavering gaze followed your hands down, before trailing up so fast he saw stars spinning around his field of vision. He felt he'd been thrown into Van Gogh's Starry Night.

Slowly, apprehensively, he let his eyes cascade over your silhouette, which grew smaller in the distance as you raced to the sea, desperate to hide in its embrace.

Growing envious of it, Taehyung ripped his top off his torso, and stumbled the length of the shore, quarreling with his trousers.

In his boxers, he stopped close enough for the edge of the tide to graze the tip of his toes. Retracted at the sudden bite of cold. "You are mad, woman." It's no longer a question.

"Look who's talking?" You twirled around, the water caressing your sides, sculpting you with as much love and delicate intent as a historic artist did his marble block. "Isn't this illegal?"

And something in you fizzled, like the air bubbles frothing against your lips on the crystalline surface. It filled you with confusing pleasure to leave a mark on him. To corrupt him.

You hoped your touch on him - your influence - was permanent enough to outlive all that would proceed. Permanent and deep like etchings on tree barks, or indentations on freshly cemented sidewalks.

The panic in his gaze had long dissipated. It blended into a palette of emotions. All unnamable, indistinguishable, but utterly mesmerizing, nonetheless, much like the colorful horizon behind you.

Delight. Amusement. Fascination. A twinge of flippant anger.

You drive me mad, woman.

Orange sherbet. Strawberry pink. Lavender lilacs.

Mad enough to rouge his own cheeks.

You'd like to stare long enough to acquaint yourself with each and every one of them. To name them all, and find where one starts, and the other ones trails off.

But the thought of staring, steadily into his gaze makes you restless, short of breath. As if there isn't enough air in the entire atmosphere to satiate your lungs.

You can't name the way he looks at you; it's foreign, but not frightening in its oddity. Still, you can recognize its danger, in that it's not a known way to look at friends.

You reclined your head onto the surface of the water, much as you would against your pillow after a long day. "Oh, it's heavenly, Tae." With your arms outstretched like the limbs of starfishes on the ocean floor, you floated. The salty medium carried the voice of the sea directly into your ears. The sound of your breathing and the beating of your heart amplified.

A bizarre reminder that you were indeed alive.

Splashing and thrashing echoed across the sea, and you instinctively curled in on yourself to find Taehyung visibly grimacing at the cold state of the water.

"Why did I ever think following you was a good idea?"

You beamed, droplets of the salty sea clinging to your lashes, where they refracted the setting sun, and it's like stardust in broad daylight all over again.

"You have to do it all at once. Don't think. Just do," you encouraged, watching as the delicate, thinly defined muscles of his torso flexed and twitched over the surface of the water.

His gaze was devoid, save for deeply creased brows caught in contemplation. A war with the limits of sensation. He held his arms linked over his chest to preserve heat, or perhaps hide his vulnerability.

Water pooled in the cup of your hand, which you splashed in his direction, aimed right at his handsome frown.

Victory ignited like an ember amidst your eyes.

He grew to shudder a few arms' length from you. Broad and strong shoulders quivered helplessly.

"You!" Then, those burnt-honey eyes pierced yours. Glaring. Fixed.

The cupid-bow lining his upper lip momentously twitched as he repeated himself "You-" His words stumbled over unstable, shallow breaths.

You withdrew into the water's embrace and watched attentively, as the waterline climbed up his finely detailed torso. Outstretched arms grew nearer. Burnt-honey eyes widened in a vengeful craze. Ivory teeth became bared underneath strawberry-red lips.

A frightened giggle of yours bubbled the water's surface rimming your chin.

Finally, with an inhale of courage, Taehyung lunged forward, took the blow of the cold front on, and wrapped you in his arms. His weight sunk you beneath the surface. You were a pair of tangled anchors.

Not having stored a breath in your lungs, you squirmed and kicked in his old. His groans were muted by the harrowing echoes of the abyss beneath the sea.

Strong arms tightened around you and hauled you out. You broke the surface with a desperate gasp, choking for breath between giggles.

Laughter echoed in his chest, and reverberated through you. It reminded you of the waves and siren songs you grew up believing resided within conch shells as a pig-tailed kid.

Since having shed your milk teeth and tolerated the gnaw of growing pains that accompanied such loss, you'd given up on childish fables of that kind.

On trips to the shore, there weren't hidden siren songs in the colorful conch shells you held up to your ear. There was only your younger sister cackling beside you, calling you a fool - but only after having tried it for herself first.

But much as you had convinced yourself siren songs didn't exist inside the shells, you'd also convinced yourself you'd never hear that laugh again. Somber. Baritone. A tad boyish, in the way it would crack unpredictably. So wholly yours. It was a tune you'd looped in your memory from the very first instance you'd heard it.

In that split-second, with his hands fanned over your hip bones, and half-moon eyes tenderly fixed on yours, the fables did not seem so farfetched. New possibilities were solidifying at the tip of your fingers. Your fingers grazed the apples of his cheek.

The possibilities were whispers in the crest of your ear.

You'd only needed to get far enough from the bustling commotion of the city to hear them, to realize they'd always been there.

An abstract somethingness would always exist between you two, just barely palpable.

The champagne had a mildly scorched aroma undermining its light fizz. You grimaced as it burned its way down your throat.

On any given night, you would much prefer a cup of tea to pair with the sacred act of slipping into bed; green, chamomile, on occasion, even aromatic Tulsi.

But tonight, you weren't trying to sleep, to ease a mild case of insomnia. Sleep would rob you of time both of you knew you didn't have.

After a couple of swigs from the dark bottle, your skin began to buzz. A denseness subtly amounted over you, as though honey were dripped over your body, every move lubricated, viscous.

Your legs were warm, draped over his in a languid, but intimate manner - almost grounding in nature, as if you were his anchor. You tethered him to the present pleasures, kept his mind off the anxious tomorrows.

His lips were sweet on yours and at times a hint bitter, like something you shouldn't have taken pleasure in tasting. A poison, that grows tolerable the more you ingest, but not any less deadly.

The tolerance being an illusion, an influence of the poison over you, foreshadowing its impending triumph, as you relinquish your willpower.

That's it. You were dwindling under its influence. Your mind grew heavy, like your limbs, with intoxication.

It was no longer bitter.

Rather, it became cloying, and you were innately and undeniably insatiable.

Taehyung hoisted your hips to reposition them over his, desiring your proximity. Possibly as equally intoxicated. The question hung over your heads in the shape of a watchful moon.

Who was the poison?

The hold on you was rough, but harmless. It was the gentlest rough-grip you have ever been subjected to. You allowed it.

"I shouldn't do this." Your shallow breath ghosted his swollen lips in torment.

He nuzzled the distance in desperation, and you obliged, tasting him apprehensively.

Just one peck.

Then, another.

And, what if, perhaps you held his lips in place with adoration and reverence. Held them in a warm hug, as if to shield them from the cool breeze blowing in from the sea.

Would that have been such a crime?

The set of trespassers that tore through your blouse certainly were (criminal). They robbed you of any and every modicum of self-restraint.

You were no longer holding his lips. You had long since graduated to a sculptor, molding them to your will with each measured graze. Simultaneously, you started to circle your hips over his, back and forth, round around.

"We should stop." Taehyung breathed raggedly into your neck. "Tell me to stop," and it came across as half-plea, half-demand.

You defied him, pulled him close, your breasts flushed against his sturdy chest.

You were definitely the poison.

You were a corrupt, filthy little thing. Loved it when he called you out on it.

Tonight, he held you like you were something, someone sacred, like you were ceramic at risk of shattering in his hands.

You wrestled his gentle touch, wanting him to defile as he'd done enough times before for it to not be mistaken with error, overwhelming tempation.

You were temptation embodied, but he never once feigned sanctity.

Equally so, if not more, you deeply desired to defile him, to permeate every inch of him until the crime became undeniable.

Fast, is how it unfolded.

But is there any better way to go?

Live fast, die young, right? Shine so bright you burn out. A phenomenal supernova. Watchers gathered to experience a historic event.

There certainly wasn't an absolute right or wrong way to go. But, if there had been, Taehyung was certain that way was fast. To burn like the dozens of stars in the sky, framing the quaint balcony. One moment there, the next gone.

He knew that his departure approached just as quickly as dawn brightened the horizon. He knew you weren't oblivious to this fact.

Something in him winced at the thought of putting you through it again.

"Tell me to stop."

"Don't stop."

"Tell me to go," he almost begged, groaning as you kissed down the column of his neck.

"Stay."

He wished he could.

A ringtone blared across the room, funneling out through the creak between the balcony door and the frame. It said what neither could bring themselves to utter.

Taehyung marched out of the room, half-dressed, delirious but with a direction in mind.

And just like that, the bitter taste returned to overpower your senses.

The whispers in your ears, grew deceiving.

Deceitful little lies. Impossible possibilities.

The possibilities that had grazed your fingertips crumbled into mounds of sand.

Sand, after all, is only ever withered shells.

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fiphillipsauthor · 2 years ago

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The header to my Tumblr is a piece of artwork that my daughter designed for my author website. My novels are futuristic fantasy, with plenty of magic but also robots and advanced technology, so I wanted a design that reflected that. Hence the robots arms reaching for the magical orbs. In my novels, all magicals - even the youngest - can conjure up light orbs.

This was long before I knew what the cover designs would look like for my novels.

What do you think?

#fantasybooks #fantasyart #magicandrobots

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srtmoony · 5 years ago

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shades of magic headers

reblog or fav if you save it

credits @regsblack on twitter

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anoshedits · 4 years ago

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adsom headers

like or reblog if u save, c: dantegalaxy on tt

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atlasedit · 4 years ago

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a darker shade of magic headers.

reblog or fav if you save it.

@zoyalanstov on twitter.

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ifwewerevillain · 5 years ago

Photo

shades of magic headers

/ if you save, like/reblog. credits to @alescslater on twitter

#headers #headers tumblr #headers twitter #headers w psd #headers with psd #headers aesthetic #headers collage #headers books #headers quotes #headers a gathering of shadows #headers a conjuring of light #adsom #victoria schwab #ve schwab

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ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm · 3 years ago

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what draco does on thursday nights

this was written as a preface to my work for the @magicaltrans trans comfest. i came out this year on a thursday in may. the header is the sky over the place i figured it out. over the next three days, i will be posting fan-art inspired by my favorite trans representation in fics. Read on a03

Harry didn't know what Draco did on Thursday nights. He never wanted to make it a sore point in their relationship - in the years since the war, Harry had decided to go out of his way to be an easy person. It was a practical and safe use for his heightened attentiveness, honed from years in a cupboard and months on the run. To feel what someone wanted, what a situation was, and to actively choose to go along with it, for the sake of someone's comfort. Because it made him feel tuned, made the world right to offer a degree of care no one would have thought to ever give him. So, Harry didn't ask Draco what he did on Thursday nights. They just met up on Fridays instead. Until now.

He forgot, is what it was. He forgot what day it was, and it was such a shit day anyway, and it was raining- and besides, Thursdays were cursed. Draco told him as much so many times - head tilted, eyes knowing, posh drawl turned up to eleven, "If the world was ever to end, Potter, I wager with absolute certainty it would happen on a Thursday afternoon. Probably right after 4." And so, befitting this curse, Harry was thinking only of Draco's plush sofa and his always-on lights when he barged into his flat on Thursday at 6 - and walked right into what looked like a party. A very quiet party.

About a dozen strangers were sat around Draco's little sitting room - all varying ages, all looking quite comfortable on the floor and dining chairs and pillows pilfered from the sofa. Harry stopped in the doorway, like someone caught in a net. Draco was standing in front of the mantle, warm and lovely in the light. Draco was holding something tight. Draco was reading.

His dear pink lips were open around a soundless word when Harry had walked in. Everyone had turned to look at the door. A woman with purple hair smiled at him, lightly. Harry's eyebrows knit, eyes squinted in a wordless I fucked up. He saw Draco swallow, fingers twitching around his little notebook. He cleared his throat, and continued.

"And Blaise is quite poetic and tortured, once you peel back the whole LVMH sex fiend thing-"

The room tittered with sparkling laughter. Draco eyes never left the page, but the little dimple on his left cheek flashed into existence. Did these people know who Blaise was?

"So to hear him say that the biggest burden in his life wasn't that his mother couldn't keep a lover, but that he was the thing that stayed throughout - that the pressure of being part of an intentional and unbreakable unit was the burden of her love, it was a relief."

Draco turned a page. Harry realised he had seen this notebook before, halfway between sleep and waking, on the bedside table in the light of Draco's pink lumos. Stupidly, Harry's mind conjured the image of the curves of Draco's calligraphy.

"It was a relief to know that being loved, even before times of trouble, could still be heavy on the heart. It made apparent the fact that while my mother and father and I were this mighty huddle, against the world and for ourselves, this demarcation made for an unparalleled safety and an inescapable vice. We belonged to each other in a way other people around us didn't. And so when I knew my body wasn't what I wanted, it felt like a crime against that union."

There was a soft murmur of assent from the couch. Harry noticed that one of the people seated on it, an older man, had a little pink and blue flag on his flatcap. His hands looked soft and pale against Draco's china cup.

"But this is folly." Draco's voice took on the sibilant exactness Harry always associated with Lucius Malfoy. His shoulders tightened a fraction. A low buzz shot by Harry's ear.

"It’s just that - we all think we're the most broken person in our families. That there’s no one as strange, no one so dirty or deranged, or maybe yes, there is, or was - but they didn't know it, did they? And the knowing makes it worse. Because it doesn't matter to know that the ones that broke us were terrible. Surely, you think, expiring under your gene pool, this litany of transgressions has me as its end."

The underground rumbled under the floorboards. Draco's eyes were fierce, unblinking.

“It’s like this," he said,

“Until I came out to Pansy, I don't think I’d ever felt like I was honest about a thing in my life.”

Harry shifted the bag of takeout in his hands, where it had started to cut into his heart line. It crinkled.

“Nothing I’d ever said before had carried any relief - no confession, no secret, no thing revealed, from the smallest scrapes and bruises to feelings that seemed uncontainable at the time. It all felt like awning over some great, other thing, retracting with the seasons only to spring open again.”

"And my love for my parents felt so oppressive because it belonged in a separate category, a honesty that I couldn't afford to myself in any other part of my life. When you have access to something that feels sacred in a life in which everything else is dim and mirrored, you want to hold onto it more. Surely it is worth it, above all earthly comfort. Surely, if the love you're born into is so boundless, your luck ran out at birth. And best not to test it. So you don't feel like a person, you feel like an intrusive thought. Why bother with transitioning? It would be greedy to want more than what you already won."

Draco's eyes were so bright, so vivid in the glowing yellow room. Harry was convinced when the weather is bad the usual blue of the sky gets pooled into his eyes. It must be a heavy burden.

"But you need to show gratitude to the gifts in your life in ways tailored to them. You can't respond to love by closing your heart. It's a deep misunderstanding of the flow of life. Love is not a finite resource, the way mercy is when it comes from cruel people." His left forearm rubbed against his chest. "Your responsibility isn't to fit into the love you've been assigned to. It is to thrive from it, to carry it into the world and use it like a language, like a resource for so many heretofore untapped."

Harry thought of Draco smiling at him mid-conversation at pub nights, like he was including him in the chatter. He thought of Draco's little we's: all what are we doing about that and we'll get through it and we know this already. He thought of how Draco sometimes hugged him with his whole body, arms and legs and blankets wrapping around Harry sat up in their bed, whispering "You're like my little present."

"Father would take us to the seaside each midsummer. In my adolescence the beach was torture, until my clothes came back on. But after, we would walk along the pier, and each time without fail father would take my right hand, mother my left, and we would walk trough the crowd like diagrams overlapping. We must have looked a sight, white as candles. And I would never be the first to let go. It would have felt like a rejection, like a thing set onto a shelf without its pair. But the love isn't broken when you let go. When you take back your own body. It's woven into you with each breath - with a string that can't run out. I know my parents' love is tied to me like my own shadow, but unlike my shadow, it will never change shape."

Draco looked up. His eyes met Harry's, and he smiled, small, a candle flame turned brighter by degrees.

"I haven't done anything against the cosmos by wanting to be fully myself. I haven't broken the terms of my special gift by wanting the world to see me as I am. My body isn't a condition of the love I was assigned."

Harry gently bent his knees to set the takeout down.

"We know the deepest magic is passed on through the soul. I am someone's good son. My body can't change that. The world can never change that. So when people ask me how I found the courage to transition, I always say: It's simple."

It feels like something shimmering across the room, like the end of a book when you feel the last words stretching from your heart like rubber bands. Draco looks up from his paper, smiling at the room like the sun came out.

"I close my eyes and I feel hands holding me on either side."

A moment hangs silent, like something tripping on itself - and then the room breaks out in cheers. Draco looks so pleased, pink-cheeked and sweet under the praise and the hands patting his back, the excited chatter of the group. And Harry wonders, just for a moment, if perhaps they should be kinder to Thursdays, from now on - and then he steps forward and walks into the room.

#drarry #harry x draco #drarry microfic #joy makes drarry things #joyful fic

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kookiecrumb · 3 years ago

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kth || Transitions and Positions: Ch. 1 (m)

header by: @jjkeverlast

wc: 600 words:)

summary: Taehyung is a beast on the field, but what happens when his body begins to undergo rather unprecedented-- and supernatural--changes? He consults you, the walking encyclopedia for all things spooky!

Ch.1 summary: Taehyung is almost late for the bus after practice, meanwhile Y/N falls asleep while doing her assignments only to have a very peculiar, yet arousing dream.

LINK TO CHAPTER 2

warnings: explicit language, intense scenes, eventual smut~ (18+)

tags: quarterback/werewolf!taehyung x fem/classmate/werewolf enthusiast!reader

betaed by the lovely: @destructiveasparagus

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Pulling off his football helmet, Taehyung struts into the locker room after an exhausting practice. Leaning against a cubby, he unravels the tape wrapped around his knuckles. He squeezes out the rest of his water, save for a finger or two. It squirts from his Gatorade bottle onto his hair as he shakes his head, spraying water the floor. He takes a towel and dries it off before pouring a little bit on the towel and wiping his face.

Sitting down on the bench, he peels off his sockets and shoes, liberating his feet before everything else. Next comes the jersey and the pads underneath. His number hits the floor, a neon orange "13." Below it, his name in the classic font, outlined in black: "Kim."

His face lifts to listen to the bell indicating that the after school activity bus would leave in approximately 10 minutes. Taehyung curses under his breath, wiggling into his true religion denim and throwing on a simple black tee shirt. Grabbing his duffel bag and his backpack, he speed walks toward the only bus left in the lot, shuffling between his team members to get on the bus home.

A paper ninja star sits between his fingers. He fiddles with it as he daydreams out the window with his wire earbuds in. He mouths the word to every song, unwinding.

His mates congregate in groups together. Some make clicking noises with their mouths, others slap the back of the seats to create a makeshift "freestyle" cypher beat. Some pull up their work and stare at their assignments for fifteen minutes before slowly closing their laptops and scrolling on their phones. Taehyung slides his fingers into his pocket to fish out his phone.

It flashes on, indicating to him that it is just shy of 7:00PM. At least he wasn't a band kid.

About twenty miles away, you're sitting on your bed, chewing on the end of a pen, trying to conjure up another stupid annotation to make on your rhetorical analysis packet.

Falling back on your bed, you grunt. What the fuck is your teacher on, honestly? You're just trying to get through the last semester of highschool in one piece. What was the reason for giving such ridiculously difficult work?

You toss your work across the bed, and it lands on the mattress with a dull thump. Giving into your need for an after school nap, you doze off in a starfish position, your pen dropping to the floor as you lose consciousness.

Your eyes snap open in a daze. Surrounding you are woods for miles. A single spotlight, the silver moon, drenches you in its light, in the middle of a shadowy wood. Your skin pebbles, the overbearing presence of something ungodly possessing you. You writhe and, in mindless desperation, turn your head to meet a pair of amber eyes glowing in a sea of shadows.

Your head jerks down toward your feet, your breath quivering. You're helpless, your psychology has been transformed into bare, primal sense. A thrilling feeling forms in the pit of your stomach. That thing-- that creature exudes an energy you could only describe as predatory.

You thrust your body forward, only to realize you've been tied to a telephone pole-like edifice with twine.You lean against the pole in surrender. "Fuck," you cry out through fearful tears. "What are you here for, what do you need?!" You sob.

Eyes fluttering open, your heart pounds in your throat as you yank the curtains open. The moon only smirks at you with a mocking grin.

You throw your feet over the side of the bed and go to retrieve a glass of water.

~~~

a/n: requests are open and encouraged (it is my pleasure to write them, it is so much more fun for me~

When's the next chapter, Isa?!: Scroll all the way up.

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lumiereandcogsworth · 3 years ago

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Series

Each series is ordered chronologically for ease of reading!

Extended Movie Scenes

Missing scenes set during the film.

Tasting Sweet Freedom

Starting after their first kiss, it follows Adam and Belle’s first couple days after the curse is lifted.

Courting

(T rating included) Adam and Belle continuing their courtship - the early days of their relationship.

The Next Adventure

Pertaining to Adam and Belle’s engagement and wedding.

Married Life

(T rating included) Adam and Belle being all in love and married, before they have children!

Their First Little One

Follows Adam and Belle having their first baby.

Their Sweet, Little Family

Adam and Belle’s growing family! Parenting and life with their kiddos :)

Cherry Blossoms (Young Adam)

(T rating included) A series of fics regarding Adam’s life as a young prince, his childhood to young adulthood.

Where Roses Bloom (Young Belle)

A series of fics regarding Belle’s childhood in the village!

Maurice and Maria

A series following Belle’s parents (and Belle’s infancy) when they lived in Paris

Emotional Hurt/Comfort Tag

I Love You As You Are (1,400 words)

Adam has a rough day, but Belle is there for him.

In Any World (1,180 words)

Belle struggles to get used to her new life as a soon-to-be royal, Adam confesses his own tribulations.

Gilded Poise (900 words)

Their first royal ball as husband and wife, Belle is more nervous than she thought she’d be.

Turning the Page (1,962 words)

Adam faces anxiety before his first speech as king, Belle is there to comfort him.

A Kiss for Every Sorrow (890 words)

Belle discovers Adam’s scars

Sleepless Nights (1,059 words)

Adam wakes from a nightmare.

Comfort in a Stormy Night (378 words)

Belle has a nightmare, a writing + illustration collaboration with @drawnby27emilys :)

Late Night Worries (846 words)

Belle stresses about her duties as queen.

You Put Your Arms Around Me (576 words)

Belle, Adam, and their love for each other.

Conjured Fears and Shattered Mirrors (1,975 words)

(Rated T) Adam has a horrible night terror. Belle is there to comfort him when he wakes.

Queen of My Heart (671 words)

Belle wants to prove herself as queen

Adam’s Little Sunshine (800 words)

Adam’s daughter brightens his gloomy day

A Window of Time (1,543 words)

Adam has a busy day, but finds peace from his family

Stand-Alones (Beloved)

Easy to Remember, Harder to Move On

Set when Adam and Belle are engaged, but it follows Maurice as he empties his home in the village to prepare for life in the castle. Memories flood his mind, thinking of harder times as well as cherished moments of raising Belle. (5,073 words)

Majesty of a Different Breed

Adam and Belle have been married only a short time when a stray dog wanders onto the estate. Slow but sure, the hound sneaks its way into the hearts of everyone in the castle. Love is stored in this fic <3 (10,371 words)

Blossoms Bloom and Light Shines Through

Adam’s daughters are just as curious and adventurous as their mother, but when they unearth a part of his past that he had tried to forget, emotions run high. Adam faces the tragedies of his past whilst embracing his present beautiful life with Belle and their children. (8,387 words / 6 chapters)

Forever I’m Yours

Years and years down the road… Adam and Belle have always loved to dance. (359 words)

For Both Are Infinite

Another moment set in the future, when their love is old, but still so very alive. (1,361 words)

Header made by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics !

#wow i’m so glad i finally have a full list!!#doing the series made most sense #there’s way too many to list individually #but i’m also SO proud of my series. they’re all chronologically ordered and it’s incredibly satisfying to me personally <3 #anyway this will get updated as time goes but most of my fics will fall in the series <3 #also shoutout to emily and her masterlist which this one is heavily inspired by <333 #beauty and the beast 2017 #beauty and the beast (2017)#batb 2017 #adelle #adam x belle #belle x adam #batb fanfic #batb fic #lydia writes!#op

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader

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