#mr s crane

[mr-s-crane]

[DO NOT REPOST]

Wine-dark waves off the coast of Lynn, MA in December. Sometimes red algae collects near the shoreline giving the water this incredible color.

[kwebtv]

From the Golden Age of Television

Series Premiere

Mr. Peepers - Mr. Peepers Gets a Job - NBC - July 3, 1952

Sitcom

Running Time: 30 minutes

Written by David Swift  and Jim Fritzell

Produced by Fred Coe

Directed by James Sheldon

Stars:

Wally Cox as Robinson J. Peepers

Joseph Foley as Mr. Gabriel Gurney

Norma Crane as Miss Rayola Dean

David Tyrell as Mr. Charlie Burr

Leonard Elliott as Mr. Wadd

Georgia Harvey as Miss Monitor

Penny Santon as Mrs. Gilroy

Lee Barnett as Norton

Griff Evans as Mr. Noble

[circusgoth-dotcom]

The Storyteller and The Constable

Ship: Gabriel Caradog Angevine x Ichabod Crane

Word Count: 857

Summary: Gabriel and Ichabod had quickly become allies after his dispatch to Sleepy Hollow, mostly because Gabriel had found himself instantly smitten with the man's looks and mannerisms. Unfortunately, Gabriel believed there would be an unavoidable clash regarding their histories and personalities, so he began to present himself in a way that he hoped wouldn't "scare" Ichabod off. False appearances can only last so long. CWs for suggestive themes, alcohol mentions, themes of low self-worth/esteem, brief death mentions.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @dudefrommywesterns

Things had changed for Gabriel Angevine since Ichabod Crane had come to Sleepy Hollow. The young constable had been sent to investigate the brutal decapitations of the father and son Van Garrett, and the Widow Winship. While this consumed most of his waking hours, he still managed to find time to procure a few allies in the misty town... Gabriel among them.

Gabriel had always been known as the town’s storyteller, a master of words... and a master of promiscuity. As he grew closer to Ichabod, he began working hard to keep particular stories out of the man’s earshot. He’d done damn well, too, considering he was now spending time aiding in the investigation instead of spinning yarns around the fireplace. He could’ve almost passed himself off as someone worthy of Ichabod’s time if it hadn’t been for those drunkards.

“Angevine, we need a good story in these trying times! Where’ve you been lately?”

“Yeah! Oh, I know a good one, somethin’ that’ll make that horseman look like a sheet ghost...”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Osmund?”

“I believe I am, Daniel. Angevine, tell us about the time you shagged the Headless Horseman!”

Gabriel, who had been up to that point ignoring them and wiping down the tables in the guest house’s tavern, immediately froze. He knew Ichabod was still in the room, finishing a nightcap before retiring to his quarters. Glancing over, he saw confusion and embarrassment blooming on the poor man’s features. Gabriel stalked over to the bar and whipped the offending patrons with his towel, causing them to wince.

“I’m sure you know it by heart, nowadays, why don’t you tell it to yourselves?” He snapped before retreating to the store room behind the bar.

“What’s up with him??”

“He has been acting strangely...”

Ichabod, being a good and true friend, set aside his drink and pressed after him, excusing himself to the bartender. He found Gabriel anxiously twisting the dirty cloth in his hands, standing with his back facing him. He hadn’t realized he had been followed until Ichabod cleared his throat. He dropped the cloth on a nearby counter, taking a shuddering breath as he looked over his shoulder.

“Mr. Crane, I... you don’t need to confront me. I’d understand if you silently kept me out of the rest of your investigation.”

“Why would I do that?” His brow furrowed and his dark eyes were filled with questions. Gabriel turned fully toward him.

“Because I’m filthy. I can deny it no longer, there was no point in trying to make myself palatable for you.”

“Why would you change yourself for me??” Ichabod stepped closer.

“I liked you the instant we crossed paths, and I knew a man like you would not want to associate with a man like me, so in the hopes that I could get to know you better I ‘cleaned’ myself up.”

“And what kind of man is that?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Me or you?”

Ichabod shrugged. By his expression, Gabriel knew he was trying very hard to comprehend what was happening before him. “Both.”

Gabriel released another trembling breath, leaning back against the wooden counter. “We’re from two different worlds. You, from the city, the cobblestone, you have your pick of the harvest. Because you’re a gentleman. I, from the less developed country, the dirt, happy to take what he can get. Because what other choice do I have?”

“I think you’re m-more than that,” Ichabod rushed to get the words out of his mouth and still tripped over them, like a child running down an uneven slope. He swallowed. “You’ve shown me you’re more than that.”

“What you’ve seen of me is a farce--”

“Not completely,” Ichabod had taken Gabriel’s arms in his hands, their faces inches apart. They blushed. “Pardon me.”

“Mr. Crane.” He was lost in that woodsy gaze, the eyes of a fawn or a hard-working steed. Their chests heaved slightly before Ichabod finally let go, backing off. He absently felt for something in his pocket.

“Is it true? That you had... relations, with the local ghost story?” His ears were pink and his lips were tight. He couldn’t look at him this time, so Gabriel shut his eyes.

“No, it’s not. Just another one of my stories. For some reason, everyone got a kick out of it, even if it was one of my most vulgar. I guess we all need to indulge in the strange every once in a while... perhaps that’s what keeps us sane,” Gabriel answered firmly. Ichabod nodded, looking relieved, though he sounded slightly hoarse when he next spoke.

“You’ll have to tell it to me sometime.”

Gabriel’s eyes flew open in surprise. “Perhaps you’re not as straight and narrow as I assumed, Mr. Crane.”

“You can call me Ichabod. I don’t mind.”

He smiled and reached for his hand. “Very well, Ichabod.”

Ichabod closed the gap, feeling the feather-light touch of Gabriel’s cool skin against his own, pockmarked from memories best forgotten. “I like you very much, Gabriel. I wouldn’t want to miss out on your company in this town, plagued by mysterious death.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

[lt-oreilly]

I HAVE MADE AN UPDATED VERSION ALSO THE NAMES ARE RED TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS ABOUT BISEXUALS

@boy-wonder-oncologist-fan @jack-the-possum-boy @cowjoosedispenser @capyclub @deansnotstraight @geeoharee @commonghost @random-stuff-enthusiast @the-nerdy-autist @euvangelos @n1ghtm4r3-p01s0n

The famous mentally ill doctor characters chart

I am open to suggestions

[hyperiondickrider]

Baby Bunny~

(Chapter 1)

Vox x Reader; Valentino x Reader; Alastor x Reader; maybe Lucifer x Reader

After your untimely death, Mr Vox was kind enough to take you in and give you a job as his assistant. However, it appears that you’ve caught the eyes of few other demons, who are certainly not afraid of a little competition…

Frankly, Vox was a stressed out man.

Endless meetings to attend, scripts to review, and catastrophes to clean up; very little could consistently relax the poor man. Luckily, one of these particular vices just happened to be readily available; you.

Oh, how he loved to watch you flit around his offices, big floppy ears twitching with concentration, large brown eyes peering up at him, searching for approval and validation. It almost made him feel guilty, the way you obeyed his every beck and call.

Regardless, your presence had become a somewhat comforting one in his workplace, ever since you had the unfortunate fall from earth following your untimely death. Your loyalty to the overlord only made sense, given his boundless generosity towards you, providing you with a job as his personal assistant, as well as a small flat inside his studio.

Thus, when he discovered that Valentino had decided to send you on an ‘errand’, he was less than pleased. Of course, you with your unbridled kindness and timidity couldn’t even think of refusing such a request, despite the sex maniac holding no legitimate power over you. So, off you went, suddenly feeling rather exposed in your open white blouse and tight leather skirt (a favourite outfit of Mr Vox), as you wandered through Pentagram City, glancing back occasionally at the directions that Mr Valentino had so graciously provided.

All of a sudden, you feel yourself slam into something, or more aptly, someone. Your nose begins to twitch in fear of the consequences, knowing full well the cruelty of the sinner residing in the area. Peering up at the stranger with teary eyes, you mumble an apology, and pull yourself back up on shaky legs.

“Not to worry, my dear! Accidents happen, of course! Although, you really should watch where you are walking, darling.”

The static in his voice, almost tangible, sends shivers down your spine, his glowing eyes intensely staring into your own, as if to bear witness to your very soul.

“How rude of me, I neglected to introduce myself. I’m Alastor, darling, the Radio Demon.”

The man, Alastor, extends a hand to greet you, but the mention of his title causes you to freeze, and flinch away in fear. The demon’s smile strains in reaction, appearing confused and mildly offended.

“T-the Radio Demon? M-Mr Vox said I’m not allowed to speak to you..”

Alastor’s grin tightens at this comment, his snarl baring gums, yet he chooses to feign ignorance.

“My dear, it’s impolite to not return a greeting.”

Due to the mild threat in his tone, you reluctantly tell him your name, your bunny ears twitching in fear, as you look up at him.

“Now, my dear bunny, wherever were you off to on this fine morning?”

“Mr Valentino w-wanted me to s-speak to Angel Dust about his s-supposedly ‘poor work ethic’. S-so, I was h-hoping to find him at the Hazbin Hotel..” you trail off, unsure of how much information you could safely disclose.

But Alastor’s grin only brightens at the news.

“Well, my dear, you’re in luck! I was just about to head over there myself!” With that, he pulls you closer to him, evoking a surprised yelp from you, and wraps his arm tightly around your waist, setting off at a brisk pace.

Alastor hums a jolly tune, seemingly ignorant to your struggles in keeping up with his quick pace, almost being dragged along. Finally, once you had reached your destination, he finally releases you, this time choosing to grab you by your arm. But, for some reason, he chooses to spare a moment, and look you over.

You stood a fair bit shorter than him, having to crane your neck to meet his eyes, but furthermore you were simply trembling with fear. Your nose was twitching, your floppy ears fluttering with anxiety, and your doe eyes refusing to meet his gaze.

You truly were just adorable. Oh, he was going to have fun breaking you.

And with that, he flung open the hotel doors, the action catching you off guard, as you jump again.

“Awfully jumpy today, my dear? Why, is everything alright?” He asks with a condescending grin.

“Just peachy, Mr Alastor.” You manage to mumble out a reply, starting to overcome your fear of the radio demon.

“Now, now, you mustn’t lie, my darling. But, trust me, you have nothing to fear here.” He draws you closer again, his clawed hand playing with your hair, as you looked up with a tight frown. Once he got bored of your lack of reaction, he decided to switch his focus, petting your bunny ears. This action caught you off guard, their sensitivity causing you to whimper, bringing a hand to your mouth to stifle your noises. Alastor’s grin grew ever wider, finding a new way to push your buttons. He increases pressure on his ministrations, causing you to yelp as your jelly legs gave out and you collapsed against his chest. He finally relents in favour of hoisting you back up onto your shaky legs and wobbly knees, forcing a whine from you at the loss of contact. He chuckles darkly at your compliance, your passive nature truly pleasing him. Perhaps he should keep you around; that truly would annoy Vox… but that’s a thought for another day. For now, he needed to build trust in you.

“Toots? What are ya doin here, cutie?”

Angel’s New York drawl fills the room, his voice full of concern.

“M-Mr Val sent me, Angie. Please, I-I don’t want you to get hurt…” your eyes well up at the thought of poor Angel’s contract, as he rushes over to hold you.

“I just came to warn you, Angie. Mr Val isn’t pleased. He’s mad at you, and he’s gonna make it hard for you. P-please, Angie, come back, for your own sake. I miss you…” you trail off, sniffling.

“I know ya do cutie, and it’s ok that big V’s mad at me. I can take it, sugar. But, toots, what about you? Does Vox know ya here? He’s gon be real mad that you been hanging with smiles over there.” Angel rebukes you, concerned for your own wellbeing.

“M-Mr Val said he’d tell Me Vox that he’d sent me on an errand for him, so I think I’ll be fine…”

“Sure, toots, whateva ya say.” He pulled you in for a tight hug, as you buried your head in his chest fluff.

Angel seemed a lot happier now. You were glad that he had begun to escape Mr Val’s clutches.

“Angel, who’s this?” A chipper voice interrupted your thought, as you were greeted by a tall blonde girl, who seemed ecstatic to see you.

“Charlie, this is Y/N. She’s Vox’s assistant and just came ta check up on me. Y/N, this is Princess Charlie Morningstar; she runs this shitty hotel where I’m stayin.”

Suddenly aware that you were in front of Royalty, you bowed nervously and squeaked out a greeting. Your timidness was met with aws and statements of your cuteness, causing your face to darken slightly out of embarrassment.

“Well isn’t she just adorable! Now my dear friends and guests, I believe I should be escorting our dear bunny back to her workplace. After all, we wouldn’t want your boss to worry about, would we? “

You gulped at Alastor’s words, nodding your head vigorously, as he once again, grabbed you by the arm and began marching away.

“See ya, cutie! Come visit sometime!” Angel yelled as you left.

“Bye-bye, Angie! I’ll definitely come see you again!”

And with that, you set off towards the entertainment district.

[rebka18]

~Rebka´s SERIREI Fic Masterlist~

Heya,i had this on the works for a long time,after years of recopilation and reading the hole tagg,heres one of my most faves serirei fics,hope yall like it.

Fluff Fics

Try by hmmeid

Astray by 3kanite

Crazy isint it? by onigirikita

Walk in by ruthwrites

Warmth by MMidnight26

Promt-a-palooza by tinkertoysdamm

serirei Fluff collection by skeilig

heartline by ruthwrites

unsaid by shamusiel

Little Things by scorbubby

Pink smoke by anonymus

Communication by tinkertoysdamm

ebb and flow by LucoLoco

Broken,repaired,new by GalacticConfectionist

Ice Ice Baby by BinaryDreams1010

Omamori by oohbrother

Any other day by Toyota_truck_month

300 paper cranes by SoHoldmetight

~Important~ by avividshadeofblue

Reigen arataka:lightweight of the 21st century by seriseppo

My MP100Oneshot Collection by anna_wd

Sometimes thats better by pearlygloom

Collect Call by SinKingSims

I've(Mostly) got it under control by LucoLoco

In the woods by MallowJum

Fathers day ,or free day by Soholdmetight

Reigen's Comprehensive Fool-Proof Guide on How Not To Be Next Door Neighbors With Your Employee (because that'd just be creepy) by Malkytop

Angst (disclaimer they all have happy ending)

Mr Brightside by tinkertoysdamm

Worth having around by azuresquirrel

Round and Round by Phia

two truths and a lie(but its all the same) by BinaryDreams1010

As if Possessed by avividshadeofblue

Past to Present by Approachingthedogpark

nice to go un-unnoticed by Binary Dreams1010

Old friend/New friend by silversinger

pay no attention to the man behind the curtain by Binary Dreams1010

Melodrama is Overrated by tinkertoysdamm

Speak Now by Phia

After the Storm by fallenmoon

Surface Tension by crookedturtle, fend

The final curtain by ketyamine

bloom by cursedwrum

The Pariah Convention by word_dissosiation

retreading paths we'ev walked before by dytabytes

The space Between by Skeilig

A heart like yours by Yessica

Is that better by SoHoldmetight

I wanna ruin our friendship by Skeilig

To Travel by Janekfan

Growth by manfish

in absentia by Malkytop

Tension by Ace_in_the_hole

Sir,thats my emotional support commoner by Thousand_springs

Aus

The Big Woo by tinkertoysdamm

You tickle my cat fancy by tinkertoysdamm

Of Kings and Men by Jadespade

You're still young,thats your fault by tinkertoysdamm

Serizawa-centric

Closing time by tinkertoysdamm

Guarddog by tinkertoysdamm

Out of body by bobmos

Castle by the sea by missydogblog

After today by 3kanite

light breaks where no sun shines by crepusculaire

Reigen-centric

The most beautifull moments in life by drembla

Refrain Boy by Scorbubby

Case fics

Do you count as missing if no one is looking? by BinaryDreams1010

What we make by crookedturtle

Like a Cheap suit,You can Wear me out by Vulcanodon

Goverment Mandated Babbysitting by Aproachingthedoggpark

Series Fics(disclaimer some contain NSFW so readers discretion is adviced only 18+ pls,the fics are all properlly tagged to)

The truth about Arataka Reigen by luvrboywrites

Severed Bonds by Liarian

Wrapped around my soul by Traumatas

A conmans guide to relationship and dating by Silversinger

When the flower Blooms by snapdragonsuplex

Rainbow Medium by BinaryDreams1010

Evicted by janekfan

Soul!Reigen by BinaryDreams1010

[nanabrainrot]

A Private Affair [Husband!Miguel]

Hobie and Pavitr are convinced you and Miguel have a loveless marriage. Gwen insists they just don’t watch you two hard enough.

Husband!Miguel x Wife!Reader (just fluffy and playful miguel being flirty w u <333)

“What do they even talk about?” Pavitr quipped once as the rest of the team left the room with him.

While opposites attracted, you and Miguel carried a similar energy: serious and stern. Miguel was grumpier and prone to losing his cool compared to you, who was known for your aloof attitude right after being known for being Mrs. O’Hara.

“No clue,” Hobie grunted as he crossed a threshold past a number of anomalies, “might be a loveless marriage. Never seen ‘em hug or kiss like couples do.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Of course you boys don’t see the subtlety of it.” The boys paused before huffing at the suggestion that their gender of all things obscured them to any nuance between you two: you never really touched, never dwelled on conversations beyond missions in front of them, and were never affectionate. It was just like seeing two coworkers and no more than that.

“What subtlety?” they inquired in unison, matching Gwen’s storter strides as they went toward the cafeteria.

“Just watch them more. Harder next time.”

-

“Earth-349’s anomaly is clear. Canon event still occurred at proper time and Earth-56’s anomaly is just awaiting transport. Went smoothly,” you reported, hands across your chest as you looked up at Miguel. His eyes weren’t on you though, just the screen. You weren’t missing the way he kept glancing though.

“Something on my face?”

“Nothing,” Miguel coughed, that shy way he did when he wanted to be close to you but couldn’t be. Smiles are saved for private, the facade of professionalism thinly veiling the tension between you two: you both just really wanted to go back home and get some rest, be close again.

It’s so hard to not just sink into his arms and coo at him like a cute puppy and coddle him with kisses as his wife but it generally was agreed upon to just be as controlled around each other as possible. It was destined to go downhill if you both got too touchy feely; he’d look like a lovesick fool instead of a leader and the same applied to you. Work is work and home is home.

“You keep looking at me though.”

“I can’t look at you?”

“You can if I have something on my face,” you retort with the smallest smile in the word - the corners of your lips tense as they slightly rose. He was funny in his shy nature like you weren’t married for years. His love was so cat-like, having to let him be skittish before he leaned into you.

“Then you do have something on your face,” he replies typing absentmindedly.

“I do?” you ask, genuinely worried you’d been clambering around with food on your face as a leader in the medical center.

“Yeah,” he said, “you’ve got pretty all over it.”

A slightly bigger smile. A professional one. “You got empanada on yours.”

He stands straight. “Really?”

“No,” you chuckle, “but you thought you did for a second huh?”

-

The way you stand by each other leaves room for Jesus, Hobie thinks. Miguel has to crane his neck down to look at you and you need to crane your neck up. The banter on the height difference is barely out of earshot when he hears you two as he stands outside of Miguel’s office: your voices all friendly and calm.

“Can’t you sit when I talk to you? You’re hurting my neck, Miguel,” you start, foot nudging the rolling chair to him.

“You’re hurting my eyes,” Miguel shot back quickly as he grabbed the back of the chair rolling at him.

“Calling me ugly now?” you snort with an eye roll, arms crossing in that closed off pose even with just your husband.

He narrows his eyes, that cheeky smile, “No. Just hurts to look at the sun, y’know?”

Hobie thinks he’ll throw up.

-

Gwen and Pavitr had seen you in the medical bay, Miguel sitting in a chair by your desk with some stitches in his forehead. Gwen and Pavitr only really needed a dash of hydrogen peroxide but you recommended they stay seated and drink water before they headed out. It’s just adjacent to your desk, separated by the thin hospital curtain - thin enough to hear you. Gwen’s fingers pressed to her lips as Pavitr went to speak (as he always did) and she gestured to the direction where your desk was.

You and Miguel were whispering… just loud enough for them to make out what you both were saying.

“You’re getting real old… coming in here with that gash,” you murmur, “swing faster. I never wanna see you bloody again.”

“Thought you said you wanted to grow old with me. Swinging slow so the arthritis doesn’t kill me,” he scoffed shortly.

“Hysterical,” you snip back in a low voice before pausing and saying, “but I just hate to see you hurt. Even if I get to see you in my unit.”

The murmurs stop as some shuffling is heard, the sound of little peppering kisses to his hair barely audible. “I just need a magic kiss and I feel better though. Get right out of your hair…” he chuckles lowly.

They can’t see you smiling.

“I won’t give you one then,” you start, “just cause I want to take care of my husband a little longer.” The little giggles and cooing from across the barrier are just a private moment overheard but it does enough.

Hobie and Pavitr just fake gag behind your backs now when they see your hands or shoulders brush against each other. It’s the little things of a marriage that are the most important, at work or at home.

[latoyalestrange]

eternal glory

s. sallow x f!reader

summary: sebastian is selected to compete in the triwizard tournament during your seventh year at hogwarts. after he won the first challenge (by a landslide), you could've practically exploded with excitement for him. seeing you like that...wait, were his pants getting tighter?

words: 700ish

warnings: fluff, established relationship, aged up seb and mc, praise kink!seb?? soft!seb, not smutty just a spicy lil makeout sesh. not edited. minors dni!!

a/n: someone pls draw seb with the kisses all over his face how cute would that be!!

the triwizard cup, one thousand galleons, and eternal glory. that's what sebastian was promised. how could a slytherin resist? sebastian knew that as long as you were by his side, eternal glory was as good as his. however, this tournament was already proving to be easy enough. it also came with some...unexpected perks.

after defeating his appointed common green dragon, debatably the easiest to beat, you were obviously overcome with joy. as soon as he emerged from the player's tent, you launched yourself into his arms. a smile split from ear to ear on his face, seeing your genuine excitement for his win. he felt so much pride, so much love.

"you did so good, my love!" he instantly felt his heart flutter in his chest as he held you close to him in the air. you peppered exaggerated kisses all over his face, turning his cheeks and nose a bright red. he couldn't help but giggle as you wouldn't stop when he tried to plant your feet on the ground again.

"you were incredible! oh my days, i'm so proud of you!" the pure look of joy on your face still lingered as you continued to sing his praises in front of everyone, including the reporter for the daily prophet. with your lipstick now splattered around his face, he had an infectious smile that even he couldn't deny. he was blushing, hard, as much as he hated to admit it.

"it was easy enough." he smirked, keeping his tough exterior.

"i must interview this boy! mr. sallow--" before the man could get another word out, sebastian raised his hand to stop him.

"i won't be answering questions," as unusual as it was to say, his expression was casual--smug, even. "thank you." the reporter stood stunned for a moment as he watched sebastian usher you away by your wrist.

"sebastian? you're not going to talk to anyone?" he weaved through the crowd, reaching a clearing near the south exit.

"waste of time!" he answered, glancing back at you with a mischievous look.

"waste of time? are you late for something, sallow?" you teased, but he didn't respond. he only increased his speed to a jog, creating giggles between the two of you as you raced the halls. you quickly recognized that he was leading you to the slytherin common room. as you reached the dimly lit hallway, a familiar serpent slithered around the wall, and the grand door appeared beneath it. he quickly shoved it open, pulling you in with him before turning to push you up against the cold slab of wood as it closed.

"i don't suppose you were this excited to cuddle and take a nap?" you looked up at him teasingly as he towered over you, hands trapping you below.

"you know me well." his head dipped to leave love-marks at the base of your neck. your hands naturally raised to tangle in his brown locks.

"can i ask-- was it winning, or--" he chuckled at your assumption.

"no, hardly." he craned his neck to meet your gaze again with his dark eyes. the smirk still lingered on his lips. "tell me how good i'm doing." that same smirk turned downward as his he bit his lower lip impatiently. you also lost any sense of smugness in your face, and curiosity replaced it.

"oh?" he nodded, his eyes pleading for more as he continued nipping at your chest. you breathed out a sigh of contempt, feeling a fire beginning to spark to life in your lower-half.

"you look so handsome, leaving marks on me." he groaned into your skin, almost making you giggle from the vibration.

"you like it when i praise you, baby? you did so good for me today, looked so good in your uniform." that was enough to make him mad. he quickly crashed his lips into yours, needing to transfer some of the fire he felt to you.

"don't stop...never stop saying those things to me." his lips were swollen when you finally broke apart, and his eyes were anything but satisfied.

"never." you shook your head, promising him. he smiled innocently for the last time that day before your lips met once more.

he loved being so rough with you, who would've thought he liked it when you were so gentle? either way, you were happy to know how sebastian felt when he saw you crumble underneath him when he used you for everything you had. seeing him weak at the knees from just your words, you felt, leveled the playing feild.

[moolovesyou]

openbook | angus tully x reader

a/n: teehee. im finding new animals to compare angus to. stoat has been added to the list.

request : "so she’s staying at barton with angus, and it’s just them. he’s DOWN BAD for her and she is too but kind of secretly like she’s nonchalant about it, so he thinks it’s just one sided. and then one day they are so bored and then she goes “wanna make out?” and you can visibly see angus panicking and freaking out that his crush just asked him that."

s: you pursue an especially shy angus tully.

w: cursing, suggestive, making out, pregnancy mention

wc: 2.4k

"I suppose that just leaves you two."

Mr. Hunham crossed his arms as he glanced between the only two students left to holdover. You and a certain curly-headed human stoat.

The past few days had been spent observing Angus Tully in his natural habitat. The first day was full of newfound wonder. At first glance, his presence proved to shine a greater aura than anyone else in the room. He hadn't noticed your incessant staring. By the third day, you had managed to move from across the study room to the same table, two seats across from him.

That's when he made eye contact with you for the first time. His eyes had widened slightly when he glanced over and already saw you looking. With a ghostly pink blush, he dug his head right back into his textbook. However, you definitely took note of the stolen glances every so often.

On the fifth day, he finally spoke to you.

". . .Um. . . can you pass the green beans. . . ?"

His deep voice whispered hushed and softly into your ear. It's like he was afraid to speak; afraid that you'd be so offended at his mere existence you would smash a plate over his head. You shivered. The whisper traveled quickly through your ear canal and straight to your spine, giving you the faintest tickle in your vertebrae.

You grabbed the porcelain platter and placed it in his awaiting hand. He had flinched slightly, inhaling sharply.

"Relax. I don't bite." Your lips curved into a small smirk. One of the other boys at the table snickered at your comment.

Angus's face flushed bright red. His face looked like a Christmas store that only sold bright red baubles. He almost dropped the green beans out of utter shock. You let out a not-so-discreet snort.

Now, here you are. Just the two of you.

"Sleeping arrangements will stay the same, each in their own infirmary room. The door must stay open at all times, however. God forbid you concupiscent youth sneak behind closed doors." Mr. Hunham grimaced, face turning into the nastiest frown. He shook his head to rid the thoughts. "Don't think you're off the hook with studying."

Both you and Angus groaned in synchrony. Angus turned on his heel, immediately retreating to the study room. You followed in pursuit behind him, keeping the smallest bit of distance. Hunham had gone to get himself a mid-day drink.

You trailed your finger along the book spines. American History. Sure, whatever. You pulled the book out, craning your neck to peek over your shoulder and get the smallest look at him. Angus had already situated himself in the table closest to the fireplace. He sat hunched over, headful of hair resting on his hand.

The light from one of the windows beamed onto him. Rays of sunlight appeared tangled in his curls. He was like a book craving to be read. Just waiting for someone to crack the spine a bit.

Before you knew it, your legs had done all the thinking. You carefully waltzed over, the floor feeling like ice to your flared up passion. You plopped yourself into the seat right beside him and placed the book down in front of you.

Angus lifted his head from his hand. A once sleepy expression now turned into one of pure bewilderment. His gaze flickered, eyes scanning you from top to bottom. They lingered on certain areas.

"Hi." You said.

Angus gulped, "Hey."

"Mind if I sit here?" You furrowed your brows, opening the textbook to a random page.

"You already are." He mumbled. He cracked his knuckles anxiously. "N-Not that I have a problem with that. Not at all."

"Good." You smiled at him. He swallowed, once again. His eyes were practically bulging out of his head.

For a while, you actually studied. You paid no mind to the mind-boggled handsome deer beside you. His breathing faltered with every page you turned. It was laughable. Just then, a door creaked open.

"EXCUSE ME!" An angered voice boomed. "Don't sit beside each other!"

Hunham.

"I didn't know teen pregnancy was airborne." You quipped, scoffing at the fuming man. If this was a cartoon, Hunham would have puffs of smoke billowing out of every orifice in his face.

Angus stifled a laugh, before straightening his face at Hunham's narrowed glare.

"Separate."

You and Angus shared a glance. You didn't move a muscle. Angus shifted awkwardly in his seat. The stocky man raised a brow, mouth dropping in disbelief.

"Move away, Mr. Tully."

Angus's lips formed into a thin line. With a harsh smack, he shut the book he was reading. He hesitantly lifted himself from the chair. It skidded against the floor with a loud screech. He gave you a quick final glance. His eyes were pleading to see your face for more than just twenty minutes. An hour, hell, he'd sit there for two weeks staring at your blank expression. He blinked away the puppy dog stare and shimmied over to a table in the farthest corner.

Thanks, Mr. Hunham.

The rest of the day blurred past. All that heavy tension had proved to be a terrible prescription for you; as it didn't allow you to think straight. You sat across from Angus during dinner, allowing you to tap and tease him with your foot. He nearly choked on his potatoes.

It was now past curfew. Every night, an hour or so after curfew, Hunham would pass through the infirmary for a quick bed check before going to bed. You couldn't sleep. You didn't know why exactly. But, it felt like you were waiting for something. An opportunity was on the line. Angus was less than 20 feet away from you. There wasn't even a door separating you. Hunham was on the complete other side of the wing. How could you pass this up? The night sky had finally answered you and the stars aligned; and they formed a bright white arrow pointing into Angus's room.

There it was. The small pitter-patter of Hunham's footsteps. You shut your eyes, trying to appear as deep into slumber as possible. The floorboards creaked underneath him as he stepped closer. He stopped, right around where the door must be. Silence. Did he even breathe?

A couple more seconds passed. And then; pitter-patter. All the way down the hall, until it disappeared into a room and behind a shut door.

You almost threw yourself out the window with how quickly you shot up from the bed. Your toes tapped against the cold wooden floor. It dissipated any tiredness within your body. You stood sheepishly. Moving from this room to the other was a mission. It had to be preformed like a graceful dance. Every step was important. Every step had to be meticulously calculated. Simply to make sure not a single creak or squeak blew your cover.

You tip-toed past the empty beds in your room, stopping at the doorframe. His room was a foot away from you. You could almost see the bedframes. You peeked out the room, an ominous ever-elongating hallway proving to be empty. With a few more steps, you found yourself past his open doorframe.

Oh, and how worthy it all was. Angus laid there, in his makeshift infirmary queen mattress. He faced away from you, shoulders rising with every breath he took. You were physically drawn to him, inching closer to his bed until you gently sat on the edge of the bed.

Angus shifted sides. He flipped over and faced you. His face twitched in his slumber, eyes stirring under his shut lids. You hoped he was dreaming about you.

Was it creepy to be sat staring at him? Yes. But, how could you not? He looked so peaceful. So pretty. Your gaze sketched over his features, noting every freckly spot and mole on his skin.

You reached your fingers towards his jaw, hovering just slightly above the soft skin. His stubble had grown a bit throughout the days stranded here; causing his jawline to look impossibly sharper. You don't know what you were thinking (other than 'shit, shit, shit, shit'), but you placed your thumb onto his skin. A gentle caress.

You clearly didn't plan for him to be a light sleeper, however.

Angus rustled, before fluttering his eyes open. Just like that, the sereness within him vanished.

His eyes widened and he leaned away from your touch.

"What are yo-"

You clasped your hand over his mouth. You held a finger to your mouth, signaling him to 'shut the fuck up'. His shocked expression faltered once he realized it was you. Warily, you dropped your hand.

"What are you doing awake?" Angus whispered.

"I couldn't sleep." You replied.

Or, you didn't want to sleep.

"How did you end up here?" He sat up, leaning towards you. He raised a questionable brow.

You honestly didn't have an answer.

"Would you like me to leave?" Your brows knitted together, lips curling into an offended frown.

"No, no! That's not what I mean. . ." He muttered. Even in the bare moonlight, the blush on his cheeks was bright.

"Please, stay." He whined, voice in a slightly higher pitch. You couldn't help the smirk crinkling upon your face. How could you say no to that?

"Sure." You relaxed onto the bed, leaning your back against the frame. He watched your every move. Which meant he was either completely hypnotized or trying to guess your next step. "So, why are you stuck here?"

"My mom and her boyfriend ditched me. I was supposed to be in Saint Kitts right now." He solemnly nodded, staring at you through half-lidded eyes. He rubbed his palms against his thighs. "What about you?"

You breathed out defeatedly, "Happens every winter break. Its sort of become my vacation now."

"That sucks." He mumbled.

"It's normal." You shrugged.

The conversation dissolved. The sound of the air conditioning hummed in the background. Wind howled against the windows. Angus's back cracked as he leaned back onto the bad, laying down horizontally. His legs stood bent off the bed, dangling a bit.

You laid back beside him. Your shoulders grazed each other, yet once again, neither of you budged. You turned your head to face him. His stare was fixated on the ceiling. The lights and shadows danced a helter-skelter choreography.

Your breath hitched as he turned to face you, fully laying on his side. He propped himself up on his shoulder. You were overwhelmed with adoration. Your mind wanted to keep him like this forever; picture perfect. But your body wanted to consume him in ways even abstinence couldn't hold off.

"Wanna make out?" You voiced.

Angus nearly suffocated with how long he held his breath. His jaw had dropped. Suddenly, the floor grew more interesting to him. He attempted to speak, but only muttered gibberish. After what felt like forever, you sat up and Angus mimicked your movement swiftly. He goggled at you expectantly.

"Yes or no?" You placed your hand under his stubbly chin, lifting his face closer to you.

"Yes." He gulped. He exhaled shakily against your lips.

You couldn't guess it. He was the first to lunge forward. He interlocked his lips with yours under a spell of dire neediness. His hand immediately traveled to the back of your neck, pulling you close and applying more pressure into the kiss. Cold and slim fingers which left you at a loss for thoughts. His nose nuzzled against yours. You lifted your hand to his cheek, cradling his face in your palm.

Angus swiped his tongue against your bottom lip. He wanted more. His fingers had tangled themselves in your hair, gripping hard enough to give you a jolt of satisfying pain. You smiled against his lips. You captured his lip between your teeth, biting down softly.

He pulled back. His face was flushed and adorned with pink and moist lips. His forehead rested against yours, curls tickling your skin.

"I though you said you didn't bite." Angus breathed. "Do I taste that good?"

What a flirty little fucker.

"Shut up." You snickered.

You clambered atop him, straddling his hips. A small groan escaped his mouth. His hands immediately traveled to your back. He pushed you close; chest to chest.

"You're pretty cute, Tully." You murmured close to his lips. He chased your words, neck craning up to angle his mouth against yours. ". . . and ballsy."

"You've had me worked up this whole week. Let me have this." He cupped your face within his hands.

His lips planted against yours like clockwork. Although, without the previous intense fervor. This was softer, more intimate. Your lips molded together gently. The kiss traveled all throughout your body. Your fingers and toes tingled alike. Your heart had his lip marks printed all over it. Wrinkles and cupid's bow indented and branded.

You pulled away, each of you catching your breath. That once shy, begging, baby animal expression had transformed into a lovesick daze with a shit-eating grin plastered like a cherry on top.

"You wanna go on a date? January? New year, new you. You could turn into us." You sat back up. Your hands interlocked with his, pulling him up with you.

Almost instinctively, he fit his hands onto your waist.

"I'd love to." Angus smiled. "But, we should be careful. We might be vulnerable to catching a case of the 'teen pregnancy.'"

You laughed. A little too loud. Angus covered your mouth quickly, both of your faces injected with fear. There's no way he could've heard it, right? Opposite side of the wing. That physics lesson on sound waves would've really come in handy right now if you paid attention.

A door was pulled open abruptly. Pitter patter rushed across the hall. Angus pushed you off, giving you one last swift peck, before you scurried over to your bed. You leaped onto it, covering yourself with the scratchy sheets. Your heart had pumped itself nearly to your throat.

"HEY-" Hunham cut himself off. You could only imagine the baffled look on his face. "Oh. Great, the Christmas spirits have come to visit me."

He waddled off into the hallway.

You smiled in disbelief. That worked. You felt satisfied; and giddy. You wanted to kick your feet and scream with delight. You just made out with Angus fucking Tully.

The excitement had exhausted you and you finally felt your first ounce of drowsiness. Although, you weren't opposed this time. You'd had enough time reading Angus's lips to invite some vivid imagery into your dreams. He was definitely the kind of book you wanted to read again.

[fairytsuk1]

mr. o'hara | (s)

pairing: miguel o' hara x reader

words: 2.0k

warnings: workplace relationship, cunnilingus, dom!miguel, over the desk, degradation, fingering, size difference, dom/sub dynamics

He was impossible to ignore. Yeah, with a wide frame and dominating presence that kept you on edge. Impossible. You were his equal, a cute brown-skinned Spider-Man. You could swing, you had spidey senses… you were more Spider-Man than him! 

That didn’t keep you from daydreaming about Miguel, though. You knew you should hate him. His rudeness and closed-off nature should annoy you to no end. But you didn’t hate him, not at all. If anything, you were endeared. He was rude at times, but you could tell there was to be more to him. Before everything happened.

Jess caught and engaged you in conversation while you were meandering about the complex one afternoon, “hey, Miguel needs to see you.”

You froze, swallowing your anxieties.

“Me?”

“I don’t know anyone else,” she smiled and crossed her arms, “why do you look so nervous? You do somethin’ wrong?”

“No! Of course not; I’m sure it’s nothing.”

She smiled cooly, “I’m sure too. You should get going.”

“Right!”

You quickly saunter off, eager to escape her calm and piercing gaze. Miguel might be mad, might be furious even. You’re considering whether you should jump to your death before seeing him, but somehow find yourself behind the doors of his lair in minutes. Swallowing dryly, they open, and there’s no air in your lungs as you enter the room.

Miguel is facing away from you, and there’s a tense feeling in the air as you approach from below. You don’t speak, and your core throbs seeing him stand so casually in his suit. You look down; you look obedient. Like you’re at his mercy. Miguel peeks behind himself, eyes narrowed but widening at your submissive self.

Neither of you speaks as he’s lowered to the ground, and you glance at your… boss. He looks so fine as he prepares to scold you for your misdeeds. He calls your name, voice drawling out like honey. It leaves you slick and breathless.

“Did you even hear me just now? Do you understand the mistake you’ve made?”

Your eyes flit around as you try to repeat his words back to him. Everything goes so wrong. You can’t find your voice, and Miguel is twisting his features at you to determine why you are acting so strange.

“I-I’m sorry,” it comes out meekly, “I didn’t mean to cause any harm.”

“Am I meant to take your word for it?”

He draws closer; you must crane your neck to maintain eye contact. He’s more menacing as he towers over you. It makes your pussy throb, knowing how easily he could pick you up and seat you over his cock. He’d fill you so well you could feel him in your throat.

“You can believe me! I promise it won’t happen again.”

There’s a ghost of a smirk on Miguel’s lips as he steps back to cross his arms.

“Fine. But, you need a punishment,” Miguel leans against a pillar, crossing his lean legs, “what do you think is suitable for you? Since you’re so… sorry.”

You know what he’s implying. It drips from every word that slips through his lips. You can hear it in the way he lets the pauses hang in the air. Make you listen, submit to him.

A punishment that seemed appropriate... you can’t help but trail your eyes over his clothed cock. Was that a bulge, or was he that big? You drag your eyes back to his, and Miguel’s already narrowed his intense stare at you.

“I-I’ll do anything you need me to, Miguel.”

“Hm.”

You take the bait, drawing closer and sniffling. He watches you with an unreadable expression.

“Get on your knees then.”

Automatically and pathetically, your knees thump against the floor as you sink down. You’re eye-level with his cock now, growing harder as you stare up at him. He’s smirking now, hand tenderly stroking your pulled-back hair before roughly dwarfing your bun with his massive hand.

Your mouth is salivating as you eye his attractive figure. There’s a slight push as he tugs you closer to his lower half. Immediately, you open your mouth and lick your tongue over the growing bulge. You don’t want to disappoint him. He makes quiet noises, grunts, and groans as his hips buck towards your soft pillowy lips and awaiting hot mouth.

“God, cariño, do you always suck your superior’s cocks? Are you always such a whore?”

You pull away, mouth slick with spit, “N-no! I-I’d only do this for you.”

He smiles in earnest, “As you should. Go on, let my fat cock stretch your pretty little lips. Show me you’re sorry, pretty.”

It’s easy to listen to him, letting him guide you as he rids himself of his suit and allows his cock to slap against your cheek. The pre-cum sticks in a glob, and your cheeks are hot as he hits the tip against the apple of your cheek again and again.

“This should be your new job; what do you think?”

A whimper escapes you, a weak protest.

“No? That’s too bad…”

The end of his sentence trails off as he rubs the tip over the slick of your bottom lip. Miguel seems to lose himself in both the visual and sensation, then he lines himself up with the opening in your mouth.

“Open, mami.”

You eagerly obey, letting him split your lips open and fill your mouth. He lets out a long, relieved sigh like he needs this. Wanting this, “Coño, your mouth is fucking amazing. Sucking me so good, fuuuck.”

Miguel’s cock is massive, and tears prick your eyes as you swallow him. You gag, but he doesn’t relent in sliding down your throat till your nose is brushing the hair that curls at the base of his dick. He overwhelms you, and your wrist sneaks into your panties to rub desperate circles.

If Miguel notices your fingering, he doesn’t mention anything about it. He only raggedly breaths, shallowly thrusting his hips while controlling your head with a fierce grip on your hair. Whining, you give him your best needy eyes as your throat constricts; he hisses and pulls you off.

“Sorry, cariño,” he laughs lowly, watching you heave for air as his cock stands hard and leaks, “your throat felt too good. Come here.”

Despite your recovering raw throat, you stand and face him. He immediately drags your soft palm towards his cock, urging you to jerk him off. There’s the sound of fabric ripping as he makes access for his hands to stroke your wet folds; you’ll ask about repairing your suit later. Soon enough, you’re connected as you eagerly make out, quivering and moaning against each-others lips. All this under the sound of squelching, mewling, slapping, and heady pleasure.

“Miguel, I need you. Please…”

He pants, feeling weak from your hand dragging over his head and smearing the pre-cum. If your pussy was anything like your throat, he might cum in an instant. Quickly wrenching your hand away, Miguel gives you a deep kiss before pawing at your waist.

“You need me? Really? Then beg for it.”

“Miguel…”

“Do it, or I won’t fuck you at all, which is what you deserve considering earlier,” his hands grip your waist even tighter, and you can see the flash of white in his canines.

It’s a clear threat; he practically growls at you, “Don’t forget yourself.”

Considering how weak you are for him, for how your cunt is drooling and fluttering to be filled, begging isn’t so bad. You bat your eyelashes, “please fuck me,  Miguel. I’m so fucking wet, and I need you. I’m sorry, so please…”

He makes no move, and you amp it up. Your hands palm his pecs, making yourself small as you grind your lithe body against him, “I want to feel you. Raw, please fuck me.”

You’re unsure what causes the switch, but you see it swirling in his eyes before he finds whatever he wants. His smile grows like a Cheshire cat, strong arms angling your waist to bend over his desk while he positions himself behind you, “wow, you really are sorry. I’m proud of you,” he sighs, flicking his head against your sensitive clit.

“Miguel…”

“I know, baby,” he coos, sliding in inch by inch as you nearly spasm under him, “that’s it, feel me. Squeeze my cock, show me how much your pretty pussy loves me.”

“Oh, Miguel! I-I can’t; it’s too big!”

It leaves you breathless. Miguel spears you, thighs tensing as he pushes inch by devastating inch inside your sopping pussy. It’s so much, yet you take it like the good girl you are or as Miguel grunts in your ear. You can only whine into his work desk, arms held hostage by his strong arms as he waits till his balls slap against the lips of your pussy.

You’re full to the brim, almost feeling Miguel in your throat as he makes sure not to blow his load too early into your greedy hole.

“Mig–Miggy…!”

You miss his happy face at your submissiveness, knees knocking like a newborn fawn as he thrusts his hips against your ass. Your boss puts effort into his thrusts that shake your body up and down. There’s a clatter from things dropping from his desk, but neither of you cares as you fuck like rabbits.

“Yes! Yes, please! S-So good, so good! Miguel, you feel so good,” you sob, crying out for him, “thank you! Thank you, Miggy.”

Miguel fucks into you hard, feeling your hot insides mold around his cock and make room for him to hump your needy cunt. He closes his eyes as you cry for him, focusing on the tightness of your pussy and how you’re fucking thanking him for pleasing you.

You’re exactly where you should be. He muses as his eyes rake over your sweaty, fucked out form. He dominated you so quickly, and he couldn’t be harder at the thought of it. His hands dig into your hips, leaving bruises in their wake. This was your punishment, no matter how much you loved it, no matter how much you creamed all over his cock.

“I-I’m getting close! Oh, fuck, fuck! Miguel…!”

Clearly, you enjoyed your punishment more than he hoped.

“Eres tan preciosa, ah fuck,” he gasps, bullying his cock into your creaming pussy and hitting the spot that makes you see stars, “take it. Fuck, take it!”

Miguel could feel you squeezing tighter around him. He was also losing himself, feeling the push of fangs through his gums as his claws made their dramatic appearance. Your hands desperately grab for purchase on his desk, but you get no relief as your eyes roll back, and you cum the hardest you ever have. Miguel pants, wrenching an arm around your neck. The feeling of his big strong hand splaying over the column of your throat leaves your brain dumb. 

“Yeah, yeah. Remember this, what a good girl,” he whispers in your hair, hips shuddering as you clench wildly, “qué maravilla.”

Every muscle in your body tenses up, feeling your toes curl and your head tilt back. You can hardly form a coherent sentence, only mumbling as your orgasm crashes onto you. Your hips can’t stop shaking, jutting towards Miguel as he takes care of you. You shouldn’t be acting so desperate with your boss, but you can’t help it, considering he’s given you the most intense orgasm of your tender life.

“Oh fuck.”

Miguel cums hard. His hips stutter in your tempting pussy as he fills you with his seed. It feels like lava, making you whimper his name in a small voice.

You can feel his hot load warming you from the inside out. Miguel’s hips press against yours in an absolutely devastating way. The two of you sit, you cockwarming him as he relishes in the post-coital glow. Wiggling slightly, you turn towards him with a hopeful look.

Miguel smiles cockily at you,

“I still feel like you haven’t learned your lesson, cariño. What do you think?”

You can’t help but agree.

[mr-s-crane]

[DO NOT REPOST]

Your local LGBTQ+ historian here with a TIMELY FACT: In May of 1933, the first books burned by the N@z! Party were looted from the library of The Institute for Sexual Science (ISS) in Berlin. This research facility was the world’s first sexology clinic. Founded by Magnus Hirschfeld, it promoted sex education, offered STI treatment, chronicled queer history and provided early forms of gender affirming medical care. The queer and trans community was among the first scapegoats of Germany’s fac!st regime.

History does, indeed, repeat itself.

Therein lies horror. And therein lies hope.

Because time and time again, the same old forces have tried to erase us and they always fail. Time and time again, their acts of hate inspire our acts of rebellion that push progress forward in response to their one, brutal step back. It shouldn’t have to be this way. But with every turn of the wheel, we thrive. If the study of history has taught me anything, it is that queer joy is as inevitable as spring.

FIGHT FOR US.

The 19th century painting featured is “Joan of Arc” by John Gilbert

[screams-in-writing]

Suit coat and starsss

A snippet below; I couldn’t help myself.

“Are you certain this outfit is truly necessary?” Mr. Puzzles asked. “Isn’t my usual attire fine for this ‘party’?”

“What do you mean? The get together is less than an hour!” You wondered, turning to face the man. “Does the clothing not fit or…or…” You trailed off into silence, question left unfinished, when you caught sight of the clothing in question. Your gaze focused, raking up and down, then more slowly. The white pants were a stark contrast to what Puzzles normally wore. It wasn’t lost on you that his hat, on on each boot (oh dear help they were knee highs) and one on the inside of the tail coat that showed when the man turned.

“It is too much, isn’t it?” Mr. Puzzles fidgeted with his bow tie, then brushed down his shorter warm grey-golden vest with gold buttons that paired with the hidden dress shirt and tailcoat. Upon no answer, he self-consciously adjusted the way the tail coat fit over his shoulders. Then, Puzzles’ hand went up to the top hat he’d either put over (or in place of) his usual bowler hat, as his metal antenna stuck through it. “Or is it this? It put the outfit together, but I feel like it is perhaps much too formal for this party, or ‘get together’, as you put it-”

“It’s perfect.” You managed to breathe out.

“Hm?” Mr. Puzzles caught on quickly; he placed a splayed hand to his chest beneath the bow tie as a sly grin appeared on his screen. His voice dropped lower, even if it was just to utter an ‘oh?’ of pure satisfaction. “My, my.” Mr. Puzzles added, as he sauntered over closer and leaned in close to roll a purr into his voice alongside your head. “Such flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.” A quieter whisper, a hint of static as Puzzles’ expression changed out of your view. “You look quite stunning yourself, I must say. What a pair we’ll make today!”

You needed a hole to open up beneath your feet right now.

Mr. Puzzles moved the side of his metal head to gently press to the side of yours.

Oh no.

He was going to be more insufferable and attention seeking tonight after that compliment.

“Why so worried?” Mr. Puzzles practically oozed confidence as he slipped an arm around yours to hook elbows as he slyly added. “Hearing you say such compliments…I do so enjoy receding them from you. But in the meantime, shall we go enjoy that party?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” You needed to get the upper hand again before Puzzles began trying to recite poetry at the get together for you in front of everyone in a showy way than when he was more genuine when it was just the two of you. Turning again, and patting his left arm around your right, you both urge Mr. Puzzles to lean down while you rose up on your toes to plant a kiss to the lower side of his metal head. A slight static crackle could be heard so near to his screen. A glance to the side allowed you a glimpse of what you thought were heart eyes and a heartbeat monitor flash across his face.

Mr. Puzzles faced coward for a moment before he craned his head down to press the lower half of his screen to your forehead. He let it linger there a moment, before Puzzles made a a dramatic kissing sound, and straightened. He looked inordinately pleased with himself as he observed your flushed face.

The joke was on him, however, as Mr. Puzzles’ face held a blush as his digital eyes focused on yours.

A beat of silence.

“You know, my dear, we could always skip the party.”

“If we don’t show up for at least a little while, Smg4 will think you kidnapped me again.”

“Rude! I only did that because Smg3’s bombs were about to go off right next to you!”

“And I appreciate the save, as disorienting as it was.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Mario made a sudden appearance. There was a great big smile partially hidden beneath that bushy mustache, the italian plumber’s smile spreading all the way to his eyes and crinkling the skin at the edges. “Mario’s thinking that he’s a interrupting something?”

It was funny to see how irate Mr. Puzzles became in Mario’s presence as Puzzles used his free arm to gather you to him. It was as if he thought the shorter man was going to whisk you away.

“Es-em-gee-four said you brought something for the party?” Mario prompted out of the blue.

“The scrupt!” Funny, how quickly Mr. Puzzles went full-on dramatic drama queen as he gasped loudly. “What a disaster!” Puzzles inhaled shortly as he let go of you entirely to place his hands to either side of his metal head. “I’ll be right back!” The man promptly retreated into his mind, leaving his metal head behind.

“The script is already with Smg4, isn’t it?” You snickered, addressing Mario, who was eying Puzzles head as of considering turning it on to some channel to watch. But when you spoke to him, blue eyes and the not-so-hidden smile spoke of mischief.

“Might have left that part out.” Mario admitted, before his smile softened and he teased you. “TV man really likes-a you, doesn’t he?” Then, before you can answer, he added. “You like him too.” A pause, then Mario gestured over to where Luigi and a few others were chatting as they walked along the path toward the showgrounds. “Want to see the castle decorations while TV Man runs around frantically-a looking for you?”

That you wanted to see.

You really shouldn’t, but who could resist spending time with Mario? The man was hilarious and so far was surprisingly aware of the fact that you couldn’t get up to anything too crazy in this world.

But for now?

You couldn’t help but snicker as you followed after Mario while he hummed a familiar tune; the two of you raced past Luigi and Saiko, looking like a pair misbehaving kids while taking a shortcut to the showgrounds.

Mr. Puzzles made a reappearance not too long after, static buzzing out of his speakers as he harrumphed over what happened and the fall that damned plumber had luring you off to do who knew what stupid shenanigans.

[circusgoth-dotcom]

sleepy hollow s/i, why not - Gabriel Caradog Angevine, the town storyteller

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 19

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. credit to @sweetwolfcupcake for finding the perfect donaka pic for this chapter! 😘😘 all chapters

Nineteen. 十九

You enjoy the duration of the ride, all the way up to Causeway Bay. He pulls up to a towering building, one of so many on Gloucester Road. 

“What’s this?” you ask, craning your neck as you look upward. 

“I believe they're called skyscrapers…” he answers cheekily. 

“Haha. I mean what are we doing?”

“Yum cha, of course.”

Your stomach starts to rumble almost on cue at the mention of this Hong Kong lunch-time tradition of tea and dumplings. 

You're not sure why it surprises you when he passes the keys to a young valet at the door. 

 “Does it ever worry you, handing the keys over to a two-million dollar car?” you ask as you take his arm. 

“Not really,” he answers. “It’s insured, and they know there would be consequences, if there was an incident.” 

“Hmm. Isn’t there a huge market for stolen luxury cars on the mainland? Like, don’t the Triads put them on speedboats and whisk them away in the dead of night?” 

Donaka chuckles darkly down at you. 

“What a morbid imagination you have.” 

“I read it somewhere.”

“One of your dubious internet searches, no doubt,” he comments with a knowing smirk. “You really shouldn’t Google ‘how to get away with murder’ so cavalierly.” 

This makes you pause as you are stepping over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. You almost teeter over in your high platforms, and you might have fallen if not for his steadying hand upon you. 

You remember that thread of research–from a long time ago. 

“It was for a book.” How far back did his sleuthing on you go? 

“Sure it was. Not for the ex boyfriend who was heckling you?” 

There had been a time when one of your exes had spammed you with messages on Facebook, asking you to hang out again with the poorly disguised intention of resuming your relationship, as though he hadn’t cheated on you with another backpacker in a hostel in Kathmandu. Murder was a bit drastic, but after the time he gave you before the cheating, the gaslighting, the degradation, and the way he would yell at you for utterly inconsequential things, you wouldn't have shed a tear if he'd been mauled by monkeys and fell off a mountain. 

You realize that from now on you might as well assume Donaka has read every little detail of your online life, whether it was password protected or not. This doesn’t surprise you as much as it might have a month ago. In fact…you’re damn near resigned. 

Rather than push you off balance, as usual, this time you merely roll your eyes. “Afraid I made my personal FBI agent clutch his pearls?”

“Undoubtedly.” 

He smirks down at you, and you can tell by the glitter in his shark-black eyes that he is enjoying himself. 

“Does my search history make you nervous, Mr. Mark?” you tease, knowing the likelihood is zilch to nil. He pushes your hair behind your ear, before tilting your head up with just a touch too much force to be considered polite.

“If you were going to try to kill me, y/n, you would have done it by now.” 

You gape up at him, flummoxed as usual. Does this mean he thinks he’s worn you down…or do you dare hope…you’re finally safe? You grasp for this latter possibility with greedy hands before your higher brain slaps the foolish notion down. 

Surely this man is only fucking with you, the way he has been all along. 

You are not safe with him, that inner voice chides. 

Why do you find it so hard to listen to it lately?  

In the end, you have to ask. “Does that mean…you're going to be nice to me now?”

He snorts, ushering you inside with his hand utterly spanning the small of your back. He doesn’t answer until the doors slide closed, and he crowds you into the wall with his big body, caging you with his arms on either side of you. Your treacherous heart leaps into your throat, torn as usual between fear and absolute immolation. He looks down at you with the sharp hunger of a wolf as he informs you, “You haven't even seen my mean side yet, sweetheart.”

Your mouth goes dry, and for some stupid reason you can’t tear your gaze away from his lips. 

You can only manage one pleading word past the tightness in your throat, your hand sliding over the hard plane of his chest, resting above his wicked heart. “Donaka…”

You don't really even know what you're asking him for? Mercy, or your final ruin?

The elevator dings at your floor. “Later.” He rights himself, taking your hand to lead you into the foyer of the restaurant. It’s a beautiful space, all dark high-polished wood and soft lighting. Backlit wooden screens bearing cutouts of undulating dragons and Chinese characters take up one wall. You wonder if it tells a story. The host addresses Donaka reverentially by name, and immediately ushers you to a table for two by the window. 

The view of the glittering blue bay below teeming with boats is breathtaking from this high up. 

If you knew nothing about Hong Kong, just looked at the teeny tiny green island on a map in relation to the mainland, and then to the whole world…it would seem hard to fathom what all the fuss is about. But there is a special magic to this place that you maybe sensed all along, yet had no hope of truly understanding, and you realize you still don’t. You wonder if that will ever change, or if this place will forever remain a dazzling mystery to you. 

“You like the view?”

 You simply nod, awed by the bustle below and your chic surroundings and the unlikely treat of being out in public with Donaka, you realize, for the very first time. Without thinking you find yourself reaching for his hand across the table, sliding your fingers into his. You feel him tense, as though you've actually done something to surprise him–or anger him.  You meet his eyes across the table, and for a split second you get the odd feeling that you aren't the only one who is uncertain.

It passes so quickly you are almost convinced you invented it. His long fingers wrap around yours possessively, the corner of his mouth pulled upwards. You can't tell if he's smirking at you, like you're the butt of a joke you don't understand– or if he's simply pleased. 

You’re not terribly proud of it, but it does not escape you that this man could show you a side of this city you never could have accessed before. Of course you always knew he was rich, but there is an upper echelon of of unfathomably wealthy people on this little island, and you’re beginning to suspect that Donaka might be one of them. 

Not for the first time you marvel that this handsome, well-connected man could have anyone in the world–and yet he’s chosen you. But then you tell yourself, also not for the first time, that he never could have gotten away with what he’s done to you, if he’d taken someone who mattered.

He watches you intently as you are thinking about all of this; you do not know what he reads in your expression. Before he can ask the waiter brings tea. Your hands separate on the tablecloth, and you feel the absence of his grasp keenly as though a chasm has opened between you. 

Annoyed with yourself, you dig your nails into your palm. 

The waiter sets down the tea tray, arranging the cups on the table, pouring for you both.  

Donaka chats with him genially in Cantonese, and you think about how morbidly fascinating it is to watch him interact with the public. He has such a commanding presence, and yet somehow he is always perfectly polite. You marvel at how people leap to please him. Do they have any inkling of the monster beneath the mask, or is it simply all charm? 

You catch a few words of their discussion, but most of it goes over your head. You presume he’s ordered for you both, after the waiter trots off for the kitchen. You find, in this instance…you don’t particularly mind. Would you have objected, once? Is he changing you? Or are you just surviving? You find you’re not particularly sure about any of these questions, and you dig your nails into your flesh even harder, as though trying to wake up from a dream. 

But this is no passing fancy of your sleeping brain. This is real, and you are living it–you have finally made it out of the house, and yet still, he has you. You realize it did not occur to you even once after the car stopped to make a run for it down the sidewalk, or solicit the help of a stranger on the street. 

Has he truly managed to train you? 

It’s not too late. 

You could make a scene, in this beautiful restaurant with its three Michelin stars. (You saw the proud plaque on the wall on the way in). But you look at the man sitting across from you, who is watching you extra intently now, as though he senses that you are a horse that has just remembered she does not require the bit–and you feel the truth settle over you.

You do not want to run.

You would rather sit here with him, and share a tasty meal like normal people, and hope that maybe things will turn around for you after all. 

You seek out his foot with yours, touching it lightly with your toe, and the question in his eyes seems to dissipate, at least for now. In fact, he looks downright pleased, and he tangles you up in his long legs under the table. He holds up his teacup in a silent toast, and gods help you, but you return the gesture and sip, the warm liquid sliding down your throat.

***

With an absolute feast of har gow and dim sum in bamboo steamer baskets filling the table, the two of you chow down. The table offers a taste of everything: succulent little dumplings filled with seasoned pork and shrimp, beef buns so delightful you could die. You even got to try bird’s nest soup for the first time, a delicacy that sounds strange to the Western palette, but something truly special. 

It’s the most full you’ve been in a long time, and you think Donaka might have to roll you out of the restaurant. Playfully you fight over the last dumpling with your chopsticks. He wins, of course, but he offers you the morsel expertly from across the table. You’re sure it’s not exactly good manners, but you cannot damper your utter delight for this sweet gesture from your usually so forbidding paramour.

“I think I’m going to pop,” you confess, winning his quiet mirth from across the table. 

“You liked?”

“Oh god.”

This only makes him chuckle more, and you know you are a ridiculous creature, but the sound is music to your ears. This pure delight makes him seem almost boyish, and you cannot stop yourself from gazing at him, wondering. 

“What were you like, when you were young?” you ask, seemingly out of the blue. 

He narrows his eyes at you, his brow furrowed, though you sense you have not actually displeased him. “Why do you ask?”

“I don't know,” you evade, setting down your chopsticks. “Maybe I wonder…if you were ever innocent.”

He lifts an eyebrow at this, and you shift in your chair, pressing your thighs together in an effort to relieve the sudden ache in your core. 

“Probably not,” he admits.

“Were you ever…happy?”

“Not like this,” he admits, and he could have pushed you out of your chair with a fingertip at that moment.

“What did you look like?”

This makes him laugh, and he too sits back in his chair, bracketing you with his long legs. “Younger, one assumes.”

“Do you have any pictures?”

“On me right now?”

You giggle, intoxicated in the moment. “No. Just in general.”

“I’m not a sentimental man, y/n. It’s not something I would keep around.”

You shrug, not sure if you believe him, deep down. You think that maybe he holds on to things in his way, more than he would like to admit. 

“Were you happy?” he counters.  “As a child?”

“Not often,” you answer immediately. “But then…I didn’t know anything different.”

“What about now?”

You close your eyes for a few long moments, and you realize the answer, crazy as it seems…is yes.

You nod, and the half smile he pays you is more than just triumph. The hunger in his eyes makes you squirm in your seat–yet there is also a certain warmth that you’re not entirely sure what to do with. 

In any other man, you would know exactly what it meant.

Donaka Mark, however…cannot be read so easily. You know it, deep down, even while a part of you dares to hope that maybe there is some genuine softer feeling in this man, just for you.     

“I have to use the restroom,” you say, gathering your ridiculous new purse on your forearm. It's a perfectly normal thing one does after a meal, but you incline your head at your keeper, waiting. He nods, and you go, walking towards the front of the restaurant. 

You can feel his eyes upon you as you walk away.

Yet after you do your business and step out you realize how close you are to the exit. You can see Donaka across the dining room, looking out the window over the water, seemingly not even paying attention to you. You think about how easy it could be, to just slip out of the restaurant unnoticed. Down the stairs, or even the elevator. Kick off these high-rise shoes and run. Make your way to the street, then your embassy. 

Maybe finally make your way home. 

You look again at the handsome man by the window waiting for you, and again you realize…you don't want to. 

If he will treat you well…you could be happy. You could be happy with that terrible rogue, and your new found family of Mei and Mrs. Wong and the other people of his household who have become your fast friends. Even Jason, who undoubtedly knows how you tried to trick him, still treats you kindly. You care for them all, and losing them would hurt in a way you find you’re not prepared to endure just now.  

He holds you hostage with kindness far more effectively than he ever did with fear. If he planned this day just to lull you into a false sense of security…he hit the mark dead on. 

Knowing very well that you could be a lamb returning meekly to the slaughter, you slowly walk back to the table with a strange ringing in your ears. As you take your seat you look upon Donaka with new eyes. 

You would have paid a king’s ransom in that moment, to know if any of this is real. 

Donaka inclines his head at you as you settle in, reaching out to possess your hand across the table with a greediness that surprises you. “So. What made you decide to come back, tou zai yee?”

Little rabbit indeed. 

You look out the window again, reluctant as ever to say it aloud.

He squeezes your hand in his, just this side of too hard. 

“I’ll have it here, or at home with you bent over my knee, bunny,” he assures you, his tone low and dangerous as the warning growl of a tiger. You see the eager gleam in his dark eyes, and you know he’ll be happy either way. 

Here he is, you think to yourself. The predator you knew lurked all along, beneath the genial facade.  

Still, you answer in your stubborn way, “Why make me say it? You already know.” 

You see it out the corner of your eye, when he smirks at you. “Do I? So I was right, you do have expensive taste.” 

This almost feels like a slap. You’re sure he knows it too, but you rise to the bait anyway, fighting to keep your voice low in this public arena. “Donaka, you could have taken me to a street stall on public transit, and I’d still be feeling this way.” 

“What way?” 

“Hoping against hope that this side of you is genuine. Because I like you a lot, when you’re sweet to me.” 

“Hmm. I think I’d bore you to tears, if I was always sweet to you.” 

“Try me.” 

This earns you genuine laughter; you covet it like a precious gem, knowing you’ll hoard it in your memory like a dragon guarding its treasure.  

“Is that all?” 

“No.” 

“I thought not.” 

You find yourself even more reluctant to admit the rest of the truth. It’s a fine blade you walk upon, confessing weakness to this man. It could lead to victory…or demise, with one tiny misstep. Yet like he knows, he waits, his dark eyes boring into you. 

“Go on, y/n. Finish your thought.” 

You make a small sound in the back of your throat that you know is no more threatening to this man than the posturing of a frustrated kitten. He squeezes you harder, and as ever, the strength in his hands never fails to make your insides flutter. 

“Mei…is like a sister I never had,” you admit. 

“You have two half-sisters.” 

“Yes. But they hate me, and I…don’t like them much either.”

He seems to consider this, which for this man, is about as close to surprise as you can get. 

“That girl means so much to you?” 

You nod, still looking out the window, hoping this explanation is enough. You’re afraid if you admit to him that his entire household has become precious to you, he will only use it against you. 

“Hmm. I suppose I can’t scold you for fraternizing with the help.”

You laugh shakily at that. Here you are, gone from housekeeper to kept woman–even if only as of today, somewhat according to your own will.

How the tables have turned. 

Donaka nods, as though mulling this over. It’s interesting to you, that this is the thing that seems to perplex him.

“Very well, y/n. Ready to go home?”

There is a lightness in his tone that emboldens you.

“No. I want more adventuring with you.”

He chuckles at you, his eyes shining like high-polished onyx. “Oh really? Someone thinks she's tai-tai already.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your Cantonese is abominable.” 

“I’m…working on it.” 

He snorts at that, only gently derisive. “Not hard enough. Ask your friend Mei, next time you're gossiping when she should be working.” He says this with a little smile, and you decide he doesn't mind that you have a friend at home, or that you’re making demands to spend more time out with him. 

“Fine. I will.”

He lifts an eyebrow at you amusedly, and damn him for the thrill it gives you. 

“Very well. More adventuring. I know what you'll like.”

You can’t help but think that's been the problem all along.

[danistartt]

4 AM- Jamie Tartt

pairings: jamie tartt x reader, roy kent warnings: language? mentions of murder, season 3 spoilers but only lightly about: jamie's first training with roy first jamie fic!! i love him, i hope i did him some justice!!

It’s too-early AM when the doorbell rings. At first once, and then insistently until it switches to banging.

It’s angry and loud and very annoying, urging a frustrated groan from Jamie when the door’s assailant pauses. “The fuck?” he asks the pillow, the arm around your waist tightening.

“Are we going to die? Is that a thing here?” you wonder tiredly, interrupted by a yawn.

The knocking continues, worse than before.

Jamie snaps awake, throwing his legs over the bed before you can process his touch gone.

“Be right back. Might kill someone.” He throws on a shirt and goes downstairs, muttering under his breath the whole way through.

You stare up at your ceiling, craning to hear what goes on downstairs. The door creaks open, the noise finally ceasing. Sleep leadens your eyelids.

The light Jamie turned on sneaks very gently into the darkness of the room, peeks of a conversation breaking the silence. You glance at the clock, catching Jamie pointing out what you’d just noticed.

“It’s fuckin’ four AM,” you grumble, pushing your face into your pillow.

A few seconds tick by. You let a single eye out and catch a different light turn on, much brighter than the ones you have. You frown.

Jamie shuffles back upstairs, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t head for the bed.

“Jamie?” you start. “Was it a murderer?”

“Worse,” he says. “Roy Kent.”

“What’s Roy Kent doing here at four in the morning?” you ask groggily, watching him pull on clothes in the darkness. You turn on a light.

“Arsehole said he’d train me if I meant it,” he runs a hand over his face. “And I guess I fuckin’ did.”

“Oh,” you mumble. “That’s good.”

“I guess.” He shrugs, brushing his teeth.

“I’m proud of you, Jamie,” you tell him, already half-asleep but trying to keep observing him. “You’re already great and you’ll be even greater,” you babble, honest.

He stares at you silently for a moment, only broken by Roy’s loud call to hurry up. It wakes you up with a start.

“I think you should hurry up,” you advise.

“Already done. I’ll be back soon. I hope.” He plants a kiss on your forehead, turning off your lamp. You give him a lazy peck right below his jaw.

“Good luck, Jamie.” You squeeze his fingers in yours.

Jamie rolls his eyes, hurrying downstairs again. You can hear him saying your name, and Roy curses, shouting an apology up to you.

“Tartt! It’s not a fucking beauty contest!” 

“”S okay!” you yell back drowsily. “Good luck!”

“Thank you!”

Another voice shrieks for you all to shut up. “Sorry, Mrs. Hammond!” you shout, listening to the door shut carefully. “Good luck, Jamie,” you mutter to yourself, letting your eyes shut.

[taintandviolent]

deflowering ; James March x virgin!Reader

{requested by anonymous} summary: 7k words! after a little dancing, more than a little champagne, you decide to take James March up on his offer of going up to one of the new rooms of the Hotel Cortez, to break them in, as it were. Little does he know, he's about to break you in, too. w a r n i n g s: virgin!reader (adult), mentions of alcohol, rough sex, explicit descriptions, canon divergence, rough sex, thigh riding, cunnilingus, blowjobs, aggression, use of 'daddy', dom themes.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny

It was the twenty-third of August, 1926, and you had just finished your second glass of champagne in the Hotel Cortez. Usually, you never drank this much, but it was a celebration after all. Some fellow named James Patrick March had finally completed the arduous construction of his new hotel and tonight was the opening night. Crowds had flocked to the entrance, dressed to the nines and all eagerly craning their necks for a peek at the glamorous inside. Those who weren’t explicitly invited were turned away by the doorman in his starched uniform.

You, of course — you’d been invited by your friend’s friend’s friend and when you showed up in a beaded, green dress and the mink stole your mother had given you four birthdays ago, you waltzed right through those doors without a single question. You looked like you belonged here as much as the group of actresses that walked in before you. The moment you entered, the hotel stole a gasp from your lips, dazzling you with its prestige and innovation.

It had been toted as “an overly ambitious project” and you could certainly attest to that. Mr. March, whomever he was, had written a particular aesthetic into the design of his hotel and from the hexagonal patterned carpets to the ornately panelled gold walls, everything fit the opulent theme. The Blue Parrot Lounge was a name you’d heard whispered several times, waiters coming down the curved staircases with trays full of delicate champagne flutes. You learned shortly after that the bar was on the second floor and overlooked the entire hotel lobby.

But downstairs in that lobby, a band was set up, their instruments exhaling the liveliest melody you’d heard in ages. Easily, they persuaded the masses to kick their heels up. The grand chandelier above your head twinkled like your own personal galaxy, shimmering every time you moved. In fact, everything twinkled. You felt ebullient, as light as a cloud, and didn’t have a care in the world.

There had been a brief pause where Mr. March welcomed everyone to his Hotel in his dangerously cordial way, making a show of popping champagne. Everyone applauded, congratulated and then quickly dispersed, eager to return to the complementary libations. You’d eagerly taken to the dance floor and quickly found a partner in a jazzy white suit. He had blonde hair, sharp, chiseled features and deep green eyes - handsome enough. You two paired alright, enjoying each other’s lively moves.

He’d clearly been drinking more than you, judging by the way he slurred his compliments to you, dabbing nervously at the sheen of sweat that decorated his forehead. After an hour or so of dancing, your feet were sore and your curious nature had wrapped its tendrils around your throat, ordering you to investigate the rest of the hotel.

A server held another glittering tray of champagne high above everyone’s heads, and you snatched one as he passed you, hurriedly bringing it to your mouth. The effervescent liquid tickled the bow of your lips, the tiny bubbles popping as you sucked in a delicate mouthful. You dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your middle finger, trying not to gulp too loud.

As the song changed, the band racing into another upbeat melody, you swung your shoulder around, prepared to sink deeper into the hallways. Instead, you nearly collided with a broad shoulder. “Oooh! ‘Pardon me!”

“Mm.”

You recognised him right away. In the wicked and honest parts of your brain, you were thrilled that, of all people, you’d bumped into him. During his speech, all the women were staring with illicit gazes and hungry tongues. You’d mapped the direction of their eyes as they scanned along his face, and down his body as they openly and dissolutely lusted after him. The audible whispers that scattered the room when he cracked open the champagne, allowing the fizzy stream to spray into his mouth would’ve been laughable if you hadn’t been one of the whisperers.

He seemed slightly less personable now, almost curt in nature. Something about the dismissive way he’d flashed his brows at you as if he was annoyed sparked a fire in your curiosity. He was too handsome to let slip through your fingers, and surely, there must be a reason for his clipped response. You gulped down a mouthful and cleared your throat.

“Say, aren’t you Mr. March?” You asked coyly, knowing full well who he was.

He stopped then, like he’d been challenged to a duel, and with a slight bow, turned gracefully on his toes. To him, it was a challenge. You hadn’t run off with your tail between your legs, offended by his sternness, and that was a challenge for conversation, for flirtations and perhaps… indulging himself.

“Indeed I am. Enjoying yourself?” He eyed the half-empty glass in your tiny little hand, taking note that it clearly wasn’t your first.

“Oh, very much so. This is a ssswell party, Mr. March.”

“Splendid! And please,” He took your hand in his, pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Call me James.”

You cooed in acknowledgment, watching him from the rim of your glass. He lingered for a little too long and you would’ve bet your last penny that you saw his nostrils flare slightly as he inhaled a deep breath of your scent. After a moment, James straightened up, keeping a firm grip on your hand.

He had indeed; you were sweet, like a delicate pastry with the slightest hint of fruitiness underneath. There were notes of a perfume, floral, something moderately expensive — surely, something you’d saved up all your pocket change for. The way your eyes glimmered awoke a deep hunger within his core. He’d play with this.

“Tell me, my dear. Can you dance?” He asked.

The moment you said you could, he’d wrapped your slender arm around his forearm, holding onto it tightly as he towed you back towards the dance floor. Thank god your mother had insisted you learn how to dance properly. And thank heavens your friend, whom Mother detested, taught you how to dance improperly. Mother had always said these new trend dances were for immoral and loose women, but when James March insisted you dance the Charleston with him, you’d never been gladder for immorality in your life.

Keeping a tight hold on your hand, he swung you out into the clearing. With his fee hand, he made a quick gesture to the band. They responded by starting up the familiar melody, and James stepped to your side, lifting his brows in a silent confirmation that you were as ready as you looked. You gave him a short nod, and you both took one step backwards, beginning the shuffling motions.

His feet moved quick to the rhythm; behind and in front of each other, his heels kicking out to the side. All things considered, you made a worthy partner, keeping up with his lively, bobbing movements. Your hands were at your waist, fingers splayed out, swishing from side to side. You both leaned forward in unison and sent your right heels up into the air. The moment you straightened up again was when you realised that a small crowd had gathered in the lobby of the Hotel Cortez and all of their eyes were on the two of you. Everyone was watching as you two masterfully stepped the Charleston and you felt like a celebrity, a performer with the most handsome partner.

There was one woman in particular, a gorgeous brunette gal, who looked on with narrowed eyes. James stepped in front of your line of sight, flashing a villainously personable smile, and spun you back to his side. Though he wouldn’t dare voice it, the beginning twitches of an erection had his cock stirring in his pants. You were delectable and lively, something he’d take great pleasure in snatching away from you. All the more arousing that she hasn’t the slightest clue….

As the song ended, you couldn’t help but dissolve into a fit of giddy laughter, falling backwards into his chest. You couldn’t be sure, but as his arms enclosed around you, you thought you heard a syrupy laugh deep in his throat. Both of you were tuckered out, chests heaving, a misting of sweat covering your décolleté and his forehead. After a moment in his strong arms — ooooh, his arms — he brought a handkerchief from a pocket, dabbing his forehead gently. Modest applause peppered the crowd, along with a few glad compliments.

“I don’t mean offence by this, but…” You swallowed, wetting your throat. “I didn’t think you could dance like that!”

“I’m full of surprises.” He answered.

James swooped around you, circling you predatorily. His fingers ghosted over the back of your neck, sending a convulsive shiver down your spine.

You two locked eyes then, staring wordlessly. Both of you unable to ignore the need, the pulling draw, the hunger to touch each other. It was the sort of gaze that started rumours. His tongue scraped along the roof of his mouth, longing to taste the churning arousal between your legs. He knew it was there, told plainly by the way you fiddled with the hem of your neckline, nervously, trying to placate your own licentious thoughts.

“Beautiful hotel, really.” You finally whispered.

“Allow me to show you the best room in the house.” His eyes flashed to yours, sensing the apprehension. You rolled your shoulders inward, prepped to decline as politely as you could.

“Oh now, now… no need to be shy. I’m a gentleman first and foremost.”

“I don’t know if your lady friend will enjoy that…” You retorted.

“You are the only lady in my company.” He assured.

You gazed behind him one more time and met eyes with her — an action you’d immediately regretted. Her gaze was as comforting as a jail cell, and her full lips were pulled into a tight, frustrated line that held back a myriad of hatred. You opened your mouth to speak, but a forefinger was pressed hurriedly into your cupids bow, shushing you quickly. He looked down at you, brows furrowed in disapproval.

“Now, now. Shh. I’d hate to have to cut out your tongue, my dear. I had plans for it later.”

Your brows pulled together, eyes displaying nothing but sheer confusion. What on Earth did he mean by that? Either of those things? You were too afraid to broach the question, partly in fear that the answer would’ve frightened you, or worse, aroused you.

As though he read your mind, heard your innermost thoughts, he added quickly: “If you want to find out what… well, you’ll have to follow me first, my dear. Shall you?”

He extended his hand to you, palm up.

Against your better judgement and without thinking a second more about the repercussions, you took it and managed to squeak: “To the moon, James.”

When you glanced over his shoulder a final time, that woman watched you as he led you away, that tumultuous anger burning in her eyes. Something about her piercing gaze sent a shiver down your spine. She looked innocent enough, but underneath the done-up exterior, there was a cruelness, a hostility that you wanted nothing to do with. You hurried your steps, pinning yourself closer to James.

The journey took longer than you expected as every few moments, he was stopped by a hotel guest and congratulated. Everyone from stuffy elderly couples to actors you recognised from pictures all wanted to shake hands with the man that had created “the hotel of the century”. You hung on his arm, politely silent, offering agreeing nods and kind smiles when they’d look at you. They must’ve assumed, of course, that you two were an item, and for that brief, fleeting moment, you were thrilled by the idea.

Once he’d pushed open the door, allowing room for you to walk in, you realised that the room he’d led you into was the room he’d cracked the champagne in — except it had been expertly cleaned within a few hours. There were no crowds, no remnants, no sounds aside from a pair of breaths; yours and his. Although, if you listened hard enough, you thought you heard the dull, muted music from below. It sounded hazy and slower up here in this room.

The lock clicked into place and James had you in his arms, his face buried in your neck, his pencil-thin moustache tickling the sensitive flesh under your jaw. He whispered seductive words of veneration into the nape of your neck, praising your appearance between breaths and tastes of your salty flesh.

“Forgive my eagerness,” he whispered into your ear, before nipping at your skin. “I find you… irresistible.”

Delighted by the sensations, your lids fluttered. You extended your neck to him, allowing more. He kissed your neck over and over again and began sucking too hard in certain spots. You let out the tiniest little hums of discomfort, trying to stretch away from him then. However, somewhere deep in your core, you craved that pain, the burn of his suckling kisses.

“I want you to kiss me.” He declared, finally pulling away to gaze upon your face, like he was studying it. “Kiss me, but don’t hold back. I want to feel your passion.”

You nodded quickly, feigning all the courage in the world. Nervous? Who, me? Never! Your lips clashed together as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close to him as you could. His mouth parted, allowing his tongue out to swirl around yours, and you could taste the champagne that lingered on it like a fading memory. He deepened the kiss, moving further into your mouth and all you could do was moan into his. Silly girl, he must’ve thought.

His hand left your side, trailing further down. With a cruel tug, James yanked your stocking from its front clip, tearing a generous hole in the nylon, then repeated the process with the other. You broke the kiss to watch this fiery display of arousal in awe, feeling a new, unfamiliar fire in your stomach. You’d been aroused before — hell, even pleasured yourself shyly under the sheets… but the hunger. The hunger that clawed at your insides with reckless abandon was speaking in a foreign tongue… but it was one that you wanted to translate into physicality.

“Oooh, easy tiger…”

His fingers splayed out over your now bare thighs, exploring the smooth skin ravenously. As he neared your centre slit, he snarled in response — whether intentionally responding to the animalistic nickname you’d given him, or because he’d felt the slippery nectar dripping from between your legs, you couldn’t know. You thought it might be the latter. You hoped it was.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you to wobble forward with want. He made a beeline to the nearby alcohol cart that had been arranged near the door and poured amber liquid into one of the glasses and golden champagne into another. He brought the darker coloured one to his lips.

“Mmm…” He growled as he swallowed, locking eyes with you, walking confidently towards the nearby chair. Though his head was turned away from his destination, he didn’t stumble, just gracefully sunk down into the chaise lounge without spilling a drop of his precious liquor.

You were in awe of this man’s finesse, of his charm, and the adoration for him displayed all over your cheeks. You didn’t need to bring out your compact to know that the flush had travelled down your neck, and your pretty little doe-eyes were as wide as saucers. He set the glass of champagne down on a nearby end table, presumably where it would stay until you reached for it.

“What’s underneath that ravishing dress, hm?” He asked. You gathered your lips to one side in a coy expression.

“Let’s see,” you tittered. "My bra and my knickers. And…. A pair of torn stockings and shoes, if you’re a specifics kinda’ guy…” You knew he was.

He waited.

You raised your brows, cocking your head to the side in affirmation — that was all. You were a woman of style after all. In this outfit? You wouldn’t be caught dead in a corset or a slip. Besides, corsets were for stuffy old broads nowadays. Everyone was wearing bras.

“Take it all off. Everything but the dress.”

Surely, the dress would be the first thing to go? It was an odd request, even for your virgin experience. You’d heard stories of men and their covetous desires. The idea of keeping the biggest article of clothing on seemed unorthodox, but you weren’t about to question his demands.

Obediently, you bent down and undid the buckles of your shoes, stepping out of them carefully. With a shy bat of your lashes, you turned away from him, shimmying and shrugging out of the straps of your dress until they fell into the crooks of your arms. Reaching around behind your back, you unlatched the satin bra, letting your supple breasts spring free of the compression.

Your heart pounded as you bent down again to slide the satin underwear over the curve of your ass and down your equally satiny thighs, giving the man behind you the tiniest previews of what was to come. Facing him again, you held your dress at your chest, carefully sliding the straps back up your arms one by one.

With a drink in one hand, the other stretched over the back of the loveseat and a delightedly smug expression, James watched your undergarments fall to the floor piece by piece. His cock throbbed in his pants, the thick fabric doing a damned good job at keeping the beast at bay. Free of everything, your dress hung a little different now, and his black eyes were aflame with the realisation. You swayed back and forth, the strands of sequins brushing lightly against your thighs.

As you bent down one final time, reaching for the nylons, came his voice. “Leave those.”

After a small sip, he pat his thigh twice with his free hand; the sound of his palm snapping against the taut fabric atop his thigh echoed in the room. For a brief, insecure second, you were frozen. A deer in the headlights. Except the headlights weren’t headlights, they were the eyes of the hungriest tiger you’d ever seen and you’d already succumbed to your fate the moment he locked the door.

“Come to daddy.”

You shuddered in response, your tummy doing backflips like an acrobat in a circus act. His words held such command and purpose, you had no choice but to saunter over to him, swaying your hips a little more than you usually did. He seemed to enjoy that; a tiny smirk played out over his mouth.You pressed your knees against his, struggling to not come undone at the contact. With a deep breath, you manoeuvred yourself in between his parted legs.

“Good…” He replied. “Atop my thigh, my pet.”

With your flesh turning a deep shade of red, you walked over his thigh, resting one knee on the edge of the cushion. You felt the air on your cunt, the chill of the room touching the wetness and making it tingle. You looked down at his groin. The fabric was pulled taut. You could make out the faintest outline of a swelling cock underneath —

You snapped your attention back to him, embarrassed. He downed the rest of his drink, set it carelessly on the table next to your still-full champagne and lifted his hand to your legs. The pad of his middle finger caressed the back of your knee, sending a shockwave through your entire body. No man had ever touched you like that, the sensation was erotic and overwhelming to your core. Inch by inch, his fingers trailed higher.

You reached for the champagne, and despite the sting in your nose, you downed the entire glass, setting it back on the small table.

“Lower.” He commanded, amused.

You obeyed, bending your knees.

“Lower.” He repeated.

He’d lined it up perfectly; James pressed that same finger into your slit as you lowered, wiggling it further in, then flicking it up to your clit. You let out a shrill mewl. Your knees nearly buckled as he circled the bundle of nerves, bringing the sensitivity higher. You squeezed your eyes shut as hot, salty tears bit at the corners. Your muscles had begun to quiver, overwhelmed by the strain of hovering over his thigh. His skilful fingers manipulated your cunt, simply playing with your wetness.

James abruptly yanked you all the way down, forcing you into a straddle. Your cunt was spread, pressed tight against his thigh and you needed no instruction on what to do next.

“Ooooh,” he growled, watching your hips as they ground your weeping cunt against the expensive fabric of his suit pants. “Good girl. Your desire is intoxicating… show me how much you want me…. yes.”

James chuckled, knowingly. Despite your best effort in trying to suppress your moans, he saw through the act. The skin of your neck had flushed red. Your soft jaw hung slack, tiny little moans floating out every time he touched you. Your sweet little eyes rolled back into your head every time he so much as flexed his thigh muscle. He knew the effect he had on you. Every slight movement from him ground against your cunt, sending shuddering waves of heat into your core.

“I said,” he started, gripping your jaw hard between his thumb and pointer finger. “Show me how much you want it, my dear.”

You winced, but allowed instinct to kick in. You began bobbing up and down on his thigh, whimpering as the wet spot on the fabric spread. The slick glistened on the fibres as you ground back and forth. Eventually, the friction of dry against wet lessened, and you found a rhythm, bouncing. His leg bumped into your sensitive, aching clit over and over again.

As you rode his thigh, James gripped your dress at the shoulders, kissing up along the curves of your arm. There was a warmth on your skin, a tugging, though you were too deep in the sensations to pull away. A cacophony of ticking began; tiny beads scattered across the floor, bouncing and dancing into crevices where they’d never be found again.

When you finally glanced down, a look of shock painted across your features. Your dress had been ripped at the seams, the delicately beaded fabric now hanging limply at your hips in a mass. James looked on, adoringly, his hungry, inky eyes dancing over your exposed breasts, and the way your nipples had hardened in the slightly colder air.

“What’s wrong, my dear? Are you frightened?” He asked. The lilt in his question was too revealing, but alas, who was he to deny the delicious aroma of fear?

“Who me?” You laughed breathily, like a fool. Sweat pooled in the hollows of your collarbone. No time like the present, you thought. You’d reached the point of no return, and surely if you didn’t say something now, he’d find out when he took you. “Oh, no, it’s just that… I’ve never been with a man is all.”

The realisation swept across his face, the expression telling all the tales of how he felt about being the first man to have a woman. “Aaahhh…. And do you…. wish to be…?”

“With you?” You swatted the air dismissively. “More than anything.”

“Brave. Brave girl.” With that, he scooped you up in his strong arms, and got up from the chair. You wrapped your legs around his torso as he carried you effortlessly to the table. The journey was short, and before you knew it, your bare back was laid on cool wood. Your legs hung off the edge, and with one strong yank, James pulled the tattered dress from your hips, tossing it heedlessly behind him.

“Knees up — heels on the table.” He then ordered, sternly. Pulling your knees towards your chest, you adjusted yourself on the table and swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable. Short of hearing the snap of latex gloves, you were left feeling like you were about to be examined by a doctor.

James disappeared from your view then, sinking down below the edge of the table. With nothing to look at, you gazed up at the ceiling with wide eyes, anticipating the next move. When it came, you let out a yelp, your legs closing on either side of his head. James had pressed his lips against her, peppering little kisses against your centre, and after a moment or two of that, opened his mouth to slip his tongue deliberately along the folds. The sensation of his tongue darting out to taste you was enough to send you to the moon, but he continued, delving further into you. Your legs opened again, exposing more of your aching cunt to him.

You felt his nose press into the mound of flesh as he flattened his tongue on your clit, lapping at it hungrily. Your body responded by squirming, a desperate whimper pouring from your throat. His hands were suddenly on your pillowy thighs, holding you tight where you were. With a vibrating groan, his tongue abruptly changed techniques; he began flicking the tip of his tongue into the underside of your clit. Your moans - though they were teetering on the edge of screams — bounced off the walls of the empty room.

In a delirium of ecstasy, you’d gripped the hair at the crown of his head, pulling it hard. He grunted into your pussy, sending vibrations deep into your core. His hand came down on the side of your ass with a resounding slap. You shuddered violently, your sopping cunt clenching tight against his chin, wetting it as your first orgasm came in sudden waves. James slipped his tongue deep inside of your entrance, feeling the pulses as they gradually subsided. Before pulling away to look at the flower in front of him, and what he’d done to it, he let out a throaty, pleased growl. A small puddle had formed on the table, your slick arousal leaking from the hole like sweet nectar dripped from the centre of a fruit.

“Ahhh…” he exhaled. “Divine.”

His eyes darting to the side, James made a mental note to have Miss Evers re-polish the table. After this, it would certainly need it.

The way he gazed upon you, seemingly satisfied with just how wet you were drove your head into the table with a thunk. You arched your back with a whimper, somehow still unsatisfied. From the side, came his voice. “Use your words, my darling.”

Your eyes snapped open, startled that you hadn’t heard him move around. You swallowed, looking up at him piteously. For a moment you dug deep into your own mind, battling with coherency to find the correct words. And, disappointingly, all you could muster was: “I… want more.”

“Yes….. yes, you do.”

Gently, with two fingers, James pulled your jaw towards him, moving your head so that your cheek laid against the table. There was a certain predatory nature in his gaze as he looked at you. “Open up,” he demanded, his thumb prodding your lips. “That’s my girl…”

He smeared his thumb along your warm, strong tongue, depressing it and feeling around the rest of your mouth. He glided over your smooth teeth, digging the fleshy pad into the decently sharp points of your incisors.

“Don’t bite me… too hard.”

With that, he began unbuckling his trousers with one hand, sliding the belt from its loop. You watched intently as this handsome, charming stranger handled himself; taking himself out his undergarments and his trousers, roughly adjusting his cock so that it was free for your devouring. He closed his hand along the length, pumping it several times. A generous droplet of precum leaked from the red, sweating tip and before it had time to string away, he guided his cock to your mouth.

He smeared your lips over the head, coating it in his own dripping seed. His hips then bucked the length into your mouth, bringing a whimpering gag from deep within your throat. Gentle, he thought. With the way your mouth eagerly worked him, doing your best to suck and lap at his aching cock, that thought was whisked away seconds later.

Wet sounds filled the room as James fucked your pretty little mouth, your lipstick smearing waxy, blood-coloured streaks on the shaft of his cock. In your peripheral, it was quite a gruesome sight, but he seemed to enjoy it, tilting his head to watch.

You closed your lips around the tip as it slid out, letting your tongue flatten on the underside of it. You felt every throbbing vein, but every time your tongue or lips grazed that one, the protruding one, James making sounds that you’d only ever dreamed of hearing a man make. It was a breathy, higher pitched moan, or a choking gasp, and each time he did, the corners of your lips curled up into a smile, delighted with eroticism. You pressed your tongue hard into it, sliding it up and down. From this angle, you realised, you couldn’t do much else… but perhaps that’s how he’d wanted it.

You remembered his previous mention of biting, so thinking that it was something he favoured, you began toying with his sensitivity by grading your teeth along his shaft. He hissed, ceasing his thrusts to crane his neck back, revelling in the amalgam of pain and pleasure.

“Harder,” he demanded.

You furrowed your brows in concern, daunted by the new territory that lay ahead. You closed your mouth a little more, the ridges of your teeth gently clamping down on his swollen cock. Suddenly, James gripped your face hard, squeezing your cheeks together like a fish. You winced as he leaned forward to hiss in your open mouth, his demeanour suddenly callous and dreadful. “I said not too hard.”

He released it sharply as you did, and punishingly bucked his hips into your wanting mouth. His thrusts were quick, and marvelled at the tiny, pathetic gags that broke from your throat every time he hit the back of it. You were so delicate, but so… willing.

Suddenly, he pulled his cock from your lips with a sick, filthy slurping sound, and holding it in his right hand, moved back to the head of the table. His breaths were ragged, hungry. You blinked away the tears that had accumulated.

“You nearly ruined my makeup…” You whispered, wiping the slimy collection of drool and precum from your chin.

“I’ll do more than that.” Gripping you at the knees, James yanked you down the table’s length, your ass slipping easily against the polished wood.

Briefly, you felt the velvety hot tip of his cock teasing your cunt. He slid it between your wet folds, exhaling loudly at the slickness that greeted him. He teased you with a thrust of his hips, the tip of his head slipping slightly. You whined as he pulled away.

“What did I say about words?”

Like a toddler throwing a tantrum, you moaned shakily, gritting your teeth. “Don’t do that…”

“Do what?”

“Tease me…”

“Oh, but it’s fun. I’ll do so until you beg for it.”

“PLEASE!” You howled a moment later, taking fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him closer. You wiggled your hips at his groin, your cunt trying to find his cock desperately. You writhed around like a cat in heat, whimpering and leaking more cum onto his expensive mahogany table. In one of your hip sways, the hot tip brushed past your entrance, leaving a springy line of pre-cum in its path. In response, you rocked your hips against his, trying to pull him in further. The sensation had you gasping, rolling your head from side to side. “Please, please, please, I simply mu—

Your screams faded away into the back of his mind, dull and muted like they came from behind a brick wall. James watched your lewd, begging performance with a bemused smirk, chuckling through closed lips. Every anguished whimper, every desperate plea that his lack of action brought forward from your lips seemed to send you closer to the edge of madness. He enjoyed that. Too much, perhaps.

He reached up, running a single finger down the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse throbbing away beneath the skin. Such liveliness, such… James swallowed, suppressing the dark sludgy desire that clawed at his insides. His urges had been worse and worse lately, and now with the hotel open… Not now… not with her.

“What do I need to say?”

“Nothing more.” James took hold of his cock, stroking his fingers over the tip, dragging the slickness along his shaft. He exhaled, lining himself up. At first, James popped only the tip in and out, playing with his food. Each thrust, he slipped a little farther in. Out of the kindness of his heart, James was gradually getting you used to the feeling of fullness, but once he felt your slick walls, he grit his teeth. He had told you that he was a gentleman first and foremost, but… such is life. He swiftly sank his hard length into you with little friction. You were soaked and all it took was one determined thrust.

For a moment, you felt nothing but a searing pain as the thickness of his cock stretched your cunt wide open. Tears welled in your eyes, a cry bouncing against your rolled lips. The stinging was replaced with a dull ache, and finally, a warmth.

“My, my…” He admired. “Taking it so well already.”

You nodded feebly, doing your best to muster a smile amidst your punishing euphoria. Had you not been as wet as you were, it would’ve been excruciating. And when he started pounding, it almost was.

James must’ve sensed your discomfort because he brought his hand to your pussy, his thumb circling your clit. Mercilessly. You cried out like a wounded animal and that seemed to only drive him to continue, stroking his finger down length of your pussy before returning his attention back to the bundle of nerves. Your hips swayed back and forth on the table, desperately trying to get away from the pressure that was blossoming deep within your cunt, just above your bladder. It felt like a tangled mess of fire, and your whole centre was aflame.

You shakily lifted your head, watching as his pelvis smashed into yours, over and over again, his cock slipping easily from your aching, drenched cunt. Your hands climbed his torso. You fiddled with the buttons until his shirt hung open lifelessly, like two ghosts on either side of his body. He moaned as your fingertips explored his stomach, his ribcage, and then curled around the small of his back, forcing their way up underneath the restraint of his clothes. You felt uneven skin, the way that flesh raised once it had healed over deep lacerations.

James suddenly picked up speed, drilling into you harder and that released something in you. You felt devious, immoral, and wanted to howl like a banshee. In fact, you did. You let out a shrill, dirty moan, the kind you heard coming from those brothels as you passed them by. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes before streaming down your temples, disappearing into the hair that laid on the table. Your fingers flexed, nails digging into his back and leaving crescent-moon shaped indentations amongst his scars. Feeling your clenching, he growled and lolled his head back in ecstasy.

You pulled your leg up, pressing your nylon-covered toe against his jawline and gave it a little push.

You heard his breath hitch.

You pushed harder, craning his neck off to the side. His moan said more than any words could’ve. With a devious smirk, you drug your toe down the length of his throat, pressing hard into his windpipe.

James jerked his hips harder and harder until you felt his cock twitch inside you, hot and angry, the first spurt of his orgasm planted deep inside you. He then backed his hips out slightly, just enough for the thick ropes of cum to cover your cunt. His cock bumped into your clit with tiny thrusts, forcing every last milky drop onto you. James straightened up, clenching his fists tightly.

“Ravished. Deflowered. Desecrated!” His words echoed loudly off the walls.

His arms came down with a loud thud on either side of your head, his shirt acting as blinders. There was nothing else in that moment; just you and him and the way he’d claimed you, taken every ounce of innocence you had left.

His hands traced along your collarbone, up the sides of your neck. The black thoughts wormed into his brain, screaming for sating attention. Which weapon would he use? Where he'd cut first - an artery? Arterial blood was always so… satisfying. Would her screams be as such? The final moment, the look in her eye? Perhaps, he could hear those desperate, soprano shrieks if he just…

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

Your lids peeled open, one by one. The blazing light that filtered in through the crack in the deep red curtains burned. You hardly remembered being in a hotel room… alone, and the hotel room you remembered wasn’t the one you were in now. This one looked more or less like any new hotel room that you could’t afford. Moving yourself into an upright position, you let out a depressed bleat… the headache. How much champagne did you have last night? You couldn’t remember.

Sleepily rubbing your eyes, you stumbled towards the door. “Just a minute!”

You were completely nude. That wouldn’t do to answer the door in. Panicked, you looked around the empty hotel room, considering the bed sheets for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Praising the gods for the robe that had been hung on a hook by the door as you slipped your arms into it and hurriedly tied it round your waist. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the framed photo near the door; your hair was a wreck, makeup smeared, and there were the faintest whispers of new bruises along your collarbone and neck.

The doorway was empty, as was the hallway.

Except for the box at the floor.

Despite giving a complete stranger your virginity last night, you had more sense than to bend down and open a foreign box. Clutching the robe at your chest, you began gingerly prying open the edge of it with your foot, wiggling your big toe underneath the fine cardboard until the lid popped off.

Inside, carefully arranged and wrapped in delicate pink tissue paper, laid a dress; a dress that was terribly similar to your own, but considerably more expensive. Atop it, a package of fine silk nylons. And atop those, in exquisitely elegant penmanship, a handwritten note lay. It read:

Thank you for a splendid evening, my dear. My deepest apologies about your dress — please accept this as a replacement. As for the flowers, it only seemed fair, considering the circumstances.

xoxo James P. March

You picked the box up, again checking the hallway to see if the deliverer was there. Still, empty. With a sigh, you shut the door, leaning against it. As you leaned there, holding the box in your arms, the corner of it digging into the middle of your neck, you winced at a sudden pang of soreness.

Your eyes drifted to the clock on the nightstand. “Nearly noon!? Oh, RATS!”

You pushed yourself off the door and changed hurriedly, throwing the robe off your shoulders and onto the floor. Mother! Mother would be furious and nothing was more terrifying than her rage. You’d rather be chopped up and filleted than have to deal with Mother’s anger, even as an adult. You pulled the nylons up as far as they could go without clips, and snatched the mink stole off the bed.

You threw open the heavy door and turned to your left, hoping for the best. You began running as quickly as you could down the lengthy hallway, barefoot. The straps of your shoes were hooked around your middle finger. With no markers, and no indication of where you were going, anxiety climbed your throat. Somehow though, after winding back and forth and up and down for what felt like hours, you managed to find the lobby.

As you emerged from the hallway, it was considerably less busy than last night. Where the band had been, waiting chairs and tables had been placed, a courtesy for guests waiting to check in. The cleaning team of the Hotel Cortez was marvellous, you had to admit. As you ducked your hips away from the edge of a chair, you spotted him. James March was leaned against the bar, chatting gayly with the bartender. The bartender nodded, swiping a rag over the spot directly in front of him. A glass of bourbon sat in front of James, perspiring. Much like you were. So it hadn’t all been a dream. He looked the same as he had last night, no hint of a hangover or fatigue. Just… charming. You inhaled and headed for the door.

“A perfect fit!” He called out from the balcony, his glass raised in a cheers. A few guests turned, searching for the voice. You jumped. The man had a talent for startling you — you’d give him that. You turned, your brows upturned in the middle, asking silently for clarification.

“The dress!”

“Oh! Yes! It does…. Thank you! It’s beautiful, Mr. March!”

“How’s your neck!?” He asked, lowering his head slightly.

The question threw you off. “….fine, but I really must be going, Mr. March! Bye!”

“Come back to the Hotel Cortez any time, my darling! As my guest.”

James watched you hurry out the door, knowing that if you did come back for a second time… it would be the last time.