#so flat lined skirt it shall be

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

Do I need more clothes? No, probably not.

But I've got all these squares now. And I did math and adjusted my skirt pattern. And the bodice pieces are already cut out.

And, and... I would have to turn these into an actual quilt if I don't, and I'm pretty much out of materials to do that.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

it's very bad no good cupcake baking time for the hotel crew (save them) (charlie did you think this throu-) (NO)

Charlie: “I have! The most brilliant plan for a group bonding activity!”

Angel Dust: “Oooh~ Bondin’ or bond-”

Vaggie: “You live here for free.”

Angel Dust: “Buy my silence, Vaggity Fair, cause’ it sure ain’t free.”

Vaggie: (groans) (slips him a twenty) “Go on babe, what’s the mission statement?”

Charlie: “We should all bake CUPCAKES together!!”

Hotel Crew: "......"

Husk: “…Why.”

Charlie: “Beeeecaaaause it’d be so SWEET!”

Vaggie: “And you also live here for free.”

Husk: “Not of my own free will I don’t.”

Charlie: “Aw c’mon Husk, please? Baking is probably KINDA like drink mixing, right?”

Husk: “It’s not.”

Vaggie: (SIGHS) (slips him a twenty)

Husk: “I’ve got cooking sherry around here somewhere, I think.”

Alastor: “How thrilling! Extreme heat sources, flammable liquids, and so many little bottles and vials that couldn’t possibly get mix up with anything in the pest control cabinet!”

Niffty: “Hee hee hee…. Rat poison~”

Vaggie: “Twenty bucks and you LOCK that cabinet, okay?”

Niffty: “Thirty and a new knife set!”

Vaggie: (has given up) “Fine.”

Niffty: “OKAY!”

Charlie: “We need to go shopping anyway. We’ll need flour and sugar and uhhhh flavory things of some kind probably and um, those little paper thingies- the cup cake… skirts?”

Alastor: “Glad to see how prepared our intrepid leader is for this marvelous expedition!”

Charlie: “Cup cake… dollies…?”

Vaggie: “I’ll handle it. You remember how to pre-heat the oven?”

Charlie: “NOT with actual fire!”

Alastor: “Aww.”

Angel Dust: (handing back the twenty) “I want a new pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. Mine broke~”

Vaggie: “I don’t want to know.”

Husk: (handing his twenty back too) “Beer.”

Vaggie: “Beer? You run the hotel BAR.”

Husk: “What, you think I nip stuff under the table at work?”

Alastor: “Oh there isn’t much thought needed when it comes to you, I’m afraid.”

Husk: “You think I LIKE that I do that? That’s the stupid hotel’s shit, can’t relax sneaking shots that aren’t mine, racking up a tab like that. This beer is gonna be only for me.”

Charlie: “Husk…”

Vaggie: “Great whatever, guilt free beer for the alcoholic.”

Alastor: “How touching. And I require-”

Vaggie: “What YOU need is a-”

Charlie: “Happy place!”

Vaggie: “-which I’m not picking up for you. I’ll get more cleaning supplies too while I’m at it.”

Charlie: “More? Vaggie, have some faith! We’re all adults here! It’s not gonna be THAT messy. We just need to measure things, maybe chop some stuff up first-”

Niffty: “KNIVES.”

Charlie: “-put all in a- blender-? A blender would work for mixing, right? Then pour the batter in the things and into the oven! Which I WILL remember to preheat this time. Without fire.”

Vaggie: “Good point.”

Charlie: “See!”

Vaggie: “We should stock up on first aid stuff too.”

Charlie: (pouting) “We’ll talk about it on the way.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, thanks for wanting to help carry groceries, but I really think we need to divide and conquer here.”

Charlie: “Huh?”

Vaggie: “Husk is already halfway to the wine cellar.”

Charlie: “He wh- Husk wait! You can’t help make friendship cupcakes if you’re blackout drunk!”

Angel Dust: “Toots that’s the whole idea.”

Vaggie: “Fifty bucks if he’s still conscious when I get back. I’ll need him in the kitchen later if we’re gonna get through this alive.”

Angel Dust: “Spend it on getting’ him a really NICE beer and you’ve gotta deal.”

Vaggie: (eye twitch) “Why is all my money turning into drugs and sex toys?”

Niffty: “And KNIVES!”

Vaggie: “The one silver lining…”

Alastor: “You know, if you won’t extend simple shopping list courtesies to me, then I suppose I shall have to go shopping myself as well.”

Vaggie: “Keep your shopping on the other side of town from me or I’m coming home with a flat screen tv.”

Alastor: (annoyed channel switch sound) “….Noted!”

– LATER –

Hotel Crew: “………….”

Oven: (DING)

Vaggie: “…”

Vaggie: “….cupcakes are done.”

Charlie: “Oh yay. Whoo. Hoo.”

Hotel Crew: “…….”

Vaggie: “If no one takes them out they’re gonna burn.”

Angel Dust: “Let ‘em.”

Husk: “Little fuckers deserve to fry.”

Charlie: (exhausted) “No one deserves to burn for all eternity.”

Niffty: “Yeah! I wanna RIP THEM APART and STAB THE CRUMBS.”

Alastor: “Well that’s two votes for burning and two for rescuing, to a certain extent. I myself would like to try out these DARLING cupcake toppers that I found while out doing my shopping completely alone.”

Vaggie: “Oh my girlfriend’s dad shut up. You won’t die just because no one was listening to you for ten minutes.”

Alastor: “In any case, that makes three for rescue and two for burn, with you as the undecided vote, Vaggie. Choose wisely~!”

Vaggie: (sighing) “Someone hand me the oven mitts.”

Husk: “They’re in the fucking blender.”

Angel Dust: “What’s left of ‘em.”

Vaggie: “Fine. Someone move the pile of dirty dishes off Charlie so SHE can be our oven mitts.”

Charlie: “It’s so peaceful under here…”

Vaggie: “The friendship cupcakes are dying, babe.”

Charlie: “UggghHHHHHH ‘kay. Coming.”

Angel Dust “That’s what she sa-”

Vaggie: “KNIVES.”

Angel Dust “-cough cough cough! I didn’t say nothin’, I got a piece of walnut shell stuck in my throat!”

Alastor: “Usual night for you then, hmm?”

Husk: “Who the fuck put in walnuts?”

Vaggie: “Who cares. If they shelled them then it’s at least better than the coconut thing.”

Charlie: “Did we add anything that wasn’t nut related?”

Vaggie: “Uhhh.”

Angel Dust “Nope!”

Husk: “Is that the only thing you were keeping track of.”

Angel Dust “Hey I know my strengths and I’m stickn’ to ‘em!”

Charlie: “Speaking of strength and sticking… um…”

Hotel Crew: “……….”

Charlie: “They’re bubbling.”

Vaggie: “Yeah.”

Charlie: “Or, breathing?”

Vaggie: “Yeah…”

Charlie: “Is that normal? It feels kinda… not normal.”

Vaggie: “It’s. Impressive.”

Niftty: “They’re ALIVE!” (knife) “For now.”

Charlie: “Well I guess we shouldn’t REALLY judge them until we’ve actually seen what they taste like-”

Angel Dust “Not it!”

Husk: “Fuck no.”

Alastor: “I’m terribly afraid that I am on a diet.”

Vaggie: “You eat rotting deer carcasses.”

Alastor: “And THEY aren’t still moving when I chow in, ha ha!”

Charlie: “Okay well, I guess I’ll just…”

Vaggie: “Wait. You’re probably immune to half the stuff that’d kill us.”

Charlie: “Right, so I should-”

Vaggie: “You’re not a good example of what happens when a non-demon princess person eats these, sweetie. If wanna test for uh, quality control, it shouldn’t be with you.”

Hotel Crew: “…..”

Vaggie: “….hand me a cupcake.”

Husk: (edges out of the splash zone)

Charlie: “You don’t have to do this.”

Angel Dust: “But you totally should! After I get my phone out though, hold on a sec-”

Vaggie: “I’m standing right in front of Radio Head over here so don’t even THINK about recording this.”

Alastor: “Aww my dear little angel-”

Charlie: “Alastor.” (calm smile) (horns out) “Her name is Vaggie.”

Alastor: “-Vaggie, yes, I would almost be willing to make an exception to my own morals for you.” (grins at angel dust) “Almost.”

Angel Dust: (lowering his phone) “I was jus’ takin’ a selfie. You know. Since I’m covered in sticky white shit anyway.”

Husk: “This fucking sucks.” (shakes his paws)

Vaggie: “No. THIS does.”

Vaggie: (bites cupcake)

Hotel Crew: “……………..”

Vaggie: “….hm.”

Hotel Crew: (STEPS BACK)

Vaggie: “It’s… well it’s kinda…”

Charlie: (cringing) “Break up worthy??”

Niffty: “PAINFUL?”

Vaggie: “It’s.. Fruity..?”

Hotel Crew: (stares at still moving cupcakes)

Angel Dust: “No. Fuckin’. Way.”

Husk: “Since the fuck WHEN did they have fruit in them?”

Angel Dust: “They didn’t! I swear I checked!”

Charlie: “Are they, um, edible?”

Vaggie: “Well I wouldn’t sign them up for a baking competition but I’m not dying either, so.”

Charlie: (excited) “So we did it? We all made actual cupcakes together?”

Vaggie: (smiling) “We did it. Mission cupcake completed.”

Charlie: “HAHA YUS!” (fist pump) “FRIENDSHIP POWERRRRRRR!!!!”

Alastor: “Now now now, no cupcake is fully complete without a lovely floral topper!”

Angel Dust: “Ain’t THAT the truth~”

Alastor: “Which I bought. Alone. Without any second opinion to rely on.”

Vaggie: (rolls eye)

Charlie: “And they’re so cute! Thank you Alastor- you picked wonderfully. Everyone, get decorating!”

Niffty: (drooping) “No stabbing?”

Vaggie: “You can poke ‘em each with a knife to check that they’re done.”

Niffty: “HEHEHEH.”

Vaggie: “Poke them with the knife ONCE Niffty- hey- NO- don’t leave it inside-”

Angel Dust: “That’s what-”

Husk: “Will be on your gravestone if she fucking hears you.”

Charlie: “Awww~ Now they’re adorable AND delicious!”

Husk: “Don’t.”

Angel Dust: “I didn’t say nothin’!”

Vaggie: “I actually kinda wish you’d go back to sex jokes instead of whatever you’re doing to that cupcake”

Angel Dust: “There’s more than one kind of oral performance in the world~”

Vaggie: “Say that and then look at what Niffty’s doing to her cupcake.”

Husk: “Unholy fucking shit!!”

Niffty: (GLEEFUL CACKLING)

Charlie: “Okay well, we clearly each have our own… unique ways of enjoying these cupcakes. Some more uh, graphic and concerning than others-”

Angel Dust: “Why the fuck are the insides RED like that?! Who put in red dye???”

Charlie: “-but the point is we all came together to make these sweets! Which. Taste like strawberries?”

Vaggie: “I didn’t buy strawberries.”

Charlie: “A-at least it and the redness go with the rose themed toppers!”

Angel Dust: “Yeah, I mean, is it weird that out of this whole maybe-living cupcake thing, the professional spun sugar parts are the ones with the funkiest taste to ‘em?”

Vaggie: “….”

Vaggie: “Alastor. Where the fuck did you buy the rose themed cupcake toppers.”

Alastor: “Hmm? Does my private, SOLITARY shopping FINALLY interest you?”

Vaggie: “Where you literally on the other side of Pentagram City from me.”

Alastor: “I do believe that is what you requested, and I, being a proper gentleman even to someone who might be considered a less than proper lady, was only too happy to oblige!”

Charlie: “Vaggie are you okay? You’re looking kinda pale.”

Vaggie: “I’m.”

Vaggie: “Alastor did you get these rose themed toppers-"

Vaggie: "-in Cannibal Town?”

Angel Dust: “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Alastor: “I did.”

Angel Dust: “FUCK!!!”

Husk: (hairball noise)

Charlie: “Oh no.”

Alastor: “Dear Rosie gave me quite the discount. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

Charlie: “Oh. Nooooooooo-”

Alastor: “I think it utterly darling of her~”

Niffty: “Alastor, hey hey!”

Alastor: “Yes, murder of my eye?”

Niffty: “I stabbed my cupcake topper heheheh WHO did I just stab????”

Charlie: “NOOOOOO-”

Alastor: “I believe it was an unsatisfactory husband by the name of Bill.”

Niffty: (grinning) “A BAD boy?”

Alastor: “Not bad enough to escape Rosie’s Emporium intact but yes, in a manner of speaking.”

Niffty: “Oooh.”

Niffty: (snatches up another cupcake and hugs it) “For my collection.”

Charlie: “GAAAHM NOT HEARING THIS! I DIDN’T HEAR IT!”

Angel Dust: “GREAT CAN YA MAKE IT SO’S I DIDN’T EAT ANY OF IT EITHER!??!”

Alastor: “Not to your tastes, Angel Dust? And here I though you enjoyed have strange men in your mouth.”

Charlie: “DO WE KNOW HIS ADDRESS SO I CAN SEND AN APOLOGY LETTER???”

Alastor: “I suppose his business card might still be in the hand Rose tore off him-”

Charlie: “AAAAAGH!”

Vaggie: “Hostia. You really can’t not be the center of attention for five minutes can you.”

Alastor: “I can, truly I can and very happily! It seems however that YOU cannot withstand the consequences of your own, short-sighted actions.”

Charlie: “Um guys-”

Vaggie: “Oh yeah? You’re not the only monster here, dumbass.”

Charlie: “We’re getting a little off topic-”

Alastor: "But as I am the only one not mired in glorious self-pity, certainly I am the most impressive specimen here.”

Charlie: “Okay this is going a bit-”

Vaggie: “Impressive HA! Fuck your empty grin and your stupid suits. You’re not even the one with the highest body count.”

Angel Dust: “Are we talkin’ sex stuff orrr-?”

Vaggie: (takes topper off her cupcake and pops it in her mouth)

Hotel Crew: “………”

Vaggie: “What?”

Charlie: “Vaggie, um. Person.” (points) “Person food.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, you know how murder crazy exorcist are. You really never thought we didn’t lick a little blood off our weapons now and then, to feel extra badass about slaughtering people sometimes?”

Charlie: (dazed) “I’m thinking about it now.” (covers cheeks)

Niffty: “BLOOD!”

Angel Dust: “Oh ew. Oh you're getting off on that- Oh that’s just-”

Charlie: “Part of her past, a thing EVERYONE has.”

Angel Dust: “BLEH.”

Husk: “Also step one to seeing her shitfaced.”

Charlie: “Ha haaa…” (claps hands) “Okay everyone- that’s a wrap on today’s bonding activities! I uh, I think we can save the clean up until we’ve all recovered from the actual cupcakes a bit, right Vaggie?”

Vaggie: (shrug) “Whatever.”

Husk: “About damn time.” (sighs) (walks out) “I’ll get the fucking vodka.”

Niffty: "HEE HEE." (carrying cupcake over her head) "TO THE COLLECTION!"

Angel Dust: “Hold up baby! I wanna get shitfaced too after this!”

Charlie: “Well I think it’s all very interesting! Angel stuff is interesting, isn’t it Alastor?”

Alastor: “Yes. Quite.”

Vaggie: “Uh-huh.” (slumps and drops cupcake) “Bill tastes boring as hell, by the way, maybe let Rosie know before she sells anymore of these.”

Charlie: “Oh? Maybe THAT’S why she gave such a steep discount?”

Alastor: “Perhaps.”

Charlie: “Awww cheer up Alastor. You can bring her some of our cupcakes as a thank you, now that we uh, we’ve um, had our fill of them already.”

Alastor: “Hmph.”

Vaggie: “Think I’ll head up now.”

Alastor: “While grabbing a drink along way, hmm?”

Vaggie: “Yeah. Why not.”

Charlie: “Vaggie-” (catches her hand) (squeezes) “-grab one for me, too? I’ll be right behind you.”

Vaggie: “…wine from the cellar then, huh?”

Charlie: “I’m having whatever you’re having.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, you hate the shit I drink.” (small smile) “I’ll get us something from the cellar. Meet you up there.”

Charlie: “In a heartbeat.”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “Alastor.”

Alastor: “Oh don’t scold me for her baggage, dear, I don’t make her carry it.”

Charlie: “I’m not scolding. I just- I get that you have this whole-” (air quotes) “-annoying big brother who hates being ignored thing going on with Vaggie, and while it IS kinda sweet-”

Alastor: (microphone feedback) “Excuse me?”

Charlie: “Could you turn it down a tiny bit when it comes the exorcist stuff?”

Alastor: “I do not-”

Charlie: “I know I know you don’t mean to make her all droopy like this, it’s boring for you, totally a killjoy-”

Alastor: “There is NOTHING enjoyable about that woman!”

Charlie: “-So maaaaaaybe back off a little when things get too serious?”

Alastor: “NO!”

Charlie: “Think about it okay?” (pats his shoulder) “Anyway, thanks for sticking around for the friendship cupcakes, see you at the next hotel bonding session, Dadastor!”

Alastor: “At the next-”

Alastor: “………”

Alastor: (hissing) “DADastor!?”

[deepspace-nasty]

lich gale is sososo sexy, i think more people should talk about him

skeletal hand tracing your back and shoulder blades, whispy hair floating around his face like smoke. voice rougher than usual, and markings from the netherese orb have clawed deeper into his skin. instead of a warm olive undertone gracing his skin, a bruising blue purple sits under it. one eye turned indigo as a proud achievement of lichdom, both eyes lidded and trained only on you. a small smirk, revealing sharper canines, beard and mustache curling around his cheeks and upper lip like a cage, keeping those canines in line.

his shuddering breathing as he smells the weave on you, almost getting drunk on the electric hot smell alone. gripping your hips, bone on skin, as he stuffs his face into your collar bone, finding the source of the weave - a necklace, enchanted by a small town sorcerer (something he could do in his sleep, he notes, ever cataloguing). catching the pendant in his teeth, and pulling, chain klinking against the movement. he inhales, and the magic arcs, wafting and snapping into his mouth and nose. he moans, eyes rolling, magic coursing though his system as he feels it empower him.

the lich kneeling between your legs, pillow under his own. your foot is in his lap, as his hands rub your calf muscles and dip lower to your ankles - all covered by smooth leather, enchanted and thick. he lifts and bends your leg to meet his mouth, unhinging his jaw. he lolls out his tongue and licks, long fat stripes along the toe of the boot. his skeletal digits skirt along the dark leather heel, and he places the toe of the boot into his mouth. tongue flat against the sole of the new boot, he closes his jaw. he sucks the magic from the shoe lewdly, and if you weren't watching him, you wouldve thought he was sucking a cock as quietly as he could.

he leans back, magic in his blood, pulsing through the orb, and sighs oh so happily. he levels you with a stare and runs his tongue along the top row of his teeth. "i wonder if there is any other magic you have parading in front of me." he leans into you, and you smell ozone, a sea breeze, the smell of a storm coming - his faint breath from his un-death skirts along your neck and ear, cold. "shall i check, my love?"

[urieskooki]

greetigns gratuitous sniiFFFF it's General Grievous Dating Sim will u please indulge me and gossip about venom and also growlers thanku xoxo i love u

KEL.... i'm so sorry u already know so much about both of these wips but i shall indulge u! i have another ask about venom so i will answer just growlers in here xoxo

gay thoughts by the growlers is window lesbians (and also an excellent song)! basically a pwp where lee and gaara live in apartments facing each other and flirt thru the windows.... and maybe do other things perhaps.... potentially... (yes) it's mostly just lee being a creeper tbh.

a snippet for u that u maybe have not read yet is below :) it's not nsfw but it is suggestive ohoho

Her neighbour's door is swung open, followed by said neighbour trudging in with yet another enormous earthen pot overflowing with trailing green vines. They wrap around her arms, long and vibrant, and Lee yearns to ask what they are, what her neighbour does with this collection of greenery, anything. Really, she yearns for any excuse she can get to speak to her. But she can't. Instead, she watches her neighbour unload the pot onto the nearest available surface.

Her neighbour stands back with her hands on her hips, contemplating her newest addition. Slightly to the left, Lee thinks, noting the slight unbalancedness of the vines. They trail down over the edge of the table, giving the table a strange heaviness when in collaboration with the countless tiny pots of succulents. Really, to Lee’s untrained eye, it needs to be more centred.

Instead, her neighbour turns to eye the fall of sunlight through her windows and instead shuffles the pot to the right. Lee decides it looks better this way. But her neighbour isn’t done - she kicks her sandals off and heads over to her window. Fearing she will be caught looking, Lee turns her head.

It’s eery, how one can feel watched even when their gaze lies elsewhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots the pale shape of her neighbours face, bleary features, all turned to Lee. Hastily, Lee shoves another mouthful of noodles into her mouth only to slurp far too many down at once. They’re a thin, tough noodle, and tend to choke when swallowed without first chewing copiously.

And Lee has done precisely that.

She hacks, coughing up chunks of food with every fist banged on her chest. This would be a humiliating way to die - in her undergarments with a throatful of poorly chewed noodles. Through the tears in her eyes, she thinks her neighbours’ shoulders might be shaking with laughter.

Lee straightens and tugs the hem of her tank top down over her panties, grateful that her flat chest won’t leave her too indecent when she lifts her arm to wave through remnant coughs. Her neighbour doesn’t wave back, but turns and heads for the door to the right. Through the crack of it, Lee spies rows and rows of forest green tile, dark wooden floors. A bathroom perhaps.

That would excuse why, despite knowing Lee is watching, her neighbour hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her loose, calf-length skirt, and drags it down. Underneath is a sight Lee struggles to avoid memorising. Soft, pale skin clad only in a pair of maroon (to match her hair) panties. Her t-shirt comes off, exposing a matching bralette and the delicate line of spine against gentle flesh. When her neighbour reaches for the clasp at the back, Lee ducks her head away entirely lest she be caught staring.

She could pretend she wasn’t - if she wasn’t certain her neighbour is looking right back over her shoulder.

[light-speed-saint]

How to make a Demon Whore

Jenni is undeniably cute in her pressed white shirt and pleated kilt as I tell her “Its not that you’re unwelcome here.” At the top of her chest, just below the graceful line of her collar bones, is a shining black name tag with white letters declaring Jenni to be Sister Robinson of the New Century Reformed Church. “Its just that I don’t think I could attend Church in good faith.” 

“Why not?” The blond waves of Jenni’s hair shift over her shoulders as she tilts her head with curiosity. 

I sigh, I don’t want to be needlessly harsh with Jenni, who is sheltered and innocent, but she has asked a direct question. “Because I’ve never seen evidence for a benevolent, omnipotent, creator god.” 

“Its not supposed to be about the evidence of your eyes and ears.” Jenni’s eyes sparkle with pious zeal, even as she chides me. “It supposed to be about faith.” 

I sigh. “But that’s the thing, I’ve never seen that faith over come my magic.” 

I can see the hope swelling in Jenni as she asks “And if it did?” 

“I mean, yeah... if prayers over came my strongest spells then, I might go to Church. Just to see what its about—” 

“Great!” Jenni beams. “Cast it on me, and I’ll show you the strength of the lord.” 

I laugh but try not to be derisive. “Its... well its more complicated than that.” 

“How?” Jenni demands with adorable determination. 

“Its.... well it’s a love spell of sorts. If it works you would be...” I pause to think. “Your will and your desire would be bent to serve me. Your mind would be empty, waiting for my command. You would be mine.” 

“Oh...” For a second Jenni seems daunted. But something inside of her, it might be faith, but it could just as easily be desire or curiosity, rallies and she tells me that “I know the Lord will protect me from the might of the unfaithful.” 

I take a moment to breathe, to sit with my thoughts and make sure that I have done nothing to force or manipulate Jenni into this position. But I haven’t. She wants to put the Lord her God to the test, and I cannot pretend I’m not interested in the results. 

---           ---           ---          

With shaking hands, Jenni reaches for the top button of her pressed white shirt. Her fingers fumble, so it takes a few tries before it comes undone. But its followed by another, and then another after that, until she can slide the fabric down her shoulders. She swallows hard, bends at the knees just a little, and slides her skirt down her legs. It takes a few seconds, but Jenni gathers the courage to peel away her tank top and strip away her bra.��  

She asks “Do I have to do this?” standing before me, clad only in her ballet flats and cute floral underwear. Her gleaming shirt, her black kilt, her cotton tank top, and her bra all lie strewn around her feet like the discarded armour of a defeated warrior. 

“You don’t have to do anything.” I tell her as my eyes roll up from her feet taking in every curve and shadow. “You’re free to get dressed and walk out the door, pretending this never happened. My spell will remain undefeated but your chastity will be unblemished.”   

Jenni doesn’t answer. She just gives a shuddering sigh of determination and rolls her underwear down her hips and then her thighs. Jenni steps free of her panties with small, delicate movements to stand completely naked and revealed before me. “Hands above your head.” I give Jenni my first command as I get to my feet. She obeys slowly, but not reluctantly. If she feels any fear its not enough to make her tremble as I shackle her hands to the brick wall. Jenni exhales a fortifying breath. Her eyes are bright with defiance as she tells me “Even bound by the chains of the enemy, I shall prove my god the stronger.” 

---           ---           --- 

The ink is cold on my fingertips. Jenni shivers as I smear it over her skin. I draw a circle, fingertips running over the solid bone of her sternum and supple warmth of her exposed breasts. Her breathing is ragged, and Jenni’s heart beats a staccato rhythm as I right the words of the spell inside the circle. It’s a little bit hard to stay focused. My eyes fall toward Jenni’s nipples as they harden; the curve of her hips as she starts to struggle. Every time she inhales, Jenni’s magnificent breasts rise to press themselves against my skin. I write the Sigil of Hekate in the middle of the circle. The long smooth strokes of cool ink send a frisson down Jenni’s spine, making her whole body tremble, but I can still feel the panicked, rabbit rhythm of her heart as I finish the last curving line of the sigil. 

I step back, take a minute to let my eyes run over Jenni’s helpless body. The way her wrists cross delicately in the shackles, and her fingers curl and twitch. My gaze flows down, over the rolling heave of her breasts savouring the cherry pink of her nipples on the pale cream of her skin. My fingers graze along the curve of her hips, making my pretty little victim whimper. I feel her quivering as my touch drifts slowly towards her cunt. She squirms and gasps as I trace along the edge of her vulva before stepping away to start the incantation. 

I speak in a normal voice and look into Jenni’s eyes as I tell her and any gathered spirits that “I claim this girl, Jenni. I cast a shadow over her mind, and chain around her heart. I dissolve her will and bind her desire to mine.” 

Jenni’s eyes light up with fear. As the incantation takes effect tendrils of ink reach into her body. They wrap around her beating heart and flow along with her blood vessels. Keen and menacing, they reach into the deepest parts of her mind. She shakes with fear as cold rivers of shadow reach into the very tips of her toes. I stroke Jenni’s hair, tell her that “I know its scary pretty girl, all that icy, sharp magic running through your body, finding your deepest places. But I know how to make you feel better.” 

I start the vibrator on a low setting, let its soft hum fill the dungeon. I take it in an arch around Jenni’s vulva, kindling the first embers of pleasure. I make another arc, a little closer but still not touching Jenni’s needy pussy. When she finally feels it against the most sensitive part of her body, Jenni moans pathetically into my ear. I tease her, moving the vibrator up and down, letting a gentle pleasure glow through her body. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” I ask before warning “but remember what happens when you give in.” Jenni doesn’t answer, just lets her jaw hang open in wordless exultation. Inside her the sharp and icy strands of dark magic become warm and soft, welcoming ribbons that encircle every part of her. Wrapped around her neurons they welcome her dissolving thoughts into their gentle heat. Around Jenni’s heart they embrace each beat and match the throb between her thighs. With every pulse of it they tell her whole body that the desire and the pleasure are okay, that she can accept this deep and soft and urgent need without fear. 

“Oh lord. Lord, please give me strength.�� Jenni prays with a halting, shaky voice. “Give me…give me strength to resist this temptation...” Her voice fades into a quivering, ecstatic moan. 

“Is it strength you want?” I ask, running my thumb along Jenni’s lower lip. “The strength to live a life of chaste obedience with no reward?” 

As I finally slide the vibrator inside her, Jenni’s shaking gets more intense. She is barely clinging to control while I work it slowly back and forth, making the pleasure burn with powerful, unrelenting heat; the last of Jenni’s will evaporates and the strands of magic laced through her body and her brain become searing ribbons of need. “I would rule you, too. But I can show you magnificent pleasures. Sensations you didn’t think you could experience. Didn’t know your body was capable of. All I need is your abject, and unconditional surrender.”  

Jenni keeps trembling. Her toes curl and her head falls onto my shoulder. I hold the vibrator inside, let a nova of ecstasy burst through her. Jenni’s whole body shakes as she begs “Please…I surrender. Please I… I need it.” Jenni’s jaw hangs open and her chains rattle as her pious will breaks and she gives herself to me. 

---           ---           --- 

Jenni is naked; chained at the wrists as I lead her across the dungeon. Away from the wall and towards the bed. She is still in her peaceful, post orgasmic fog as she walks over the clothing she stripped off. With a gentle touch on the hips, I turn Jenni around and guide her to sit on the edge of the bed. I lift Jenni’s bound hands above her head, so I can grope and fondle her breasts. I do it without pretense; it serves no purpose of other than allowing me to feel the warmth and softness of her helpless flesh. Jenni just looks up at me with her sparkling doe eyes as I use her body how ever I see fit.    

When I am satisfied with groping her breasts, I stretch Jenni over the mattress. My touch travels down the length of her thigh as I spread her legs. The soft, dazed moans Jenni gives as I run my finger up her labia and towards her clit are barely audible, but they tell me of her absolute capitulation. I cannot help but smile as I say “Now that you’ve given in to my spell, offered yourself to me, the question becomes whether or not you’re worthy.” 

Jenni manages to moan “Please..” softly from the mattress. 

“Please what, pretty girl?” 

“Please... Let me... I can...” 

Jenni’s thoughts come slowly out of her bliss-clouded mind. I decide to give her some help. “You want to be worthy?” I smile. 

“Yes.” She gasps. “Yes please.” 

“I’ll make it easy for you, then.” I tell Jenni, and let my fingers make gentle circles over her clitoris. Give my slave a warm and steady feed of pleasure. “All you have to do is beg. Plead with me to be my little demon whore, and I’ll accept you.” 

“Please.” Jenni begins “Please can I be you’re demon whore. I’ll be so good. I’ll do anything you say. Please, master. Please.” Jenni grovels with out hesitation or pride. She pleads from pure desperation, primal atavistic need. She only stops when my cock slides in, stretching her innocent little cunt and sending a blaze of pleasure through her body. She whimpers with each stroke as the pleasure gets hotter and brighter. I lift Jenni’s leg onto my shoulder, so she can take me even deeper. With a long shuddering gasp Jenni, my little demon whore, comes for the second time, all over her masters cock.

[internetgremlin-writes]

Flat Spin [Chapter Two]

Summary/Prompt: Flat Spin

1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal

2. A state of agitation or panic [informal] As the only female driver on the grid, you're fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x Female Reader

Warnings: None really, bit of swearing and drinking

Word Count: 4,200

Previous Chapters: One

Gif credit: @artemispt <3

The five minutes after you sent the text felt like it stretched on for a lifetime.

Every little sound felt like it was dialled up, your skirt catching on the rough material of the desk chair felt like it was coming through a boom box.  When your phone pinged in response it sounded like a bullet echoing through your room.  You tried to ignore your shaking hands as you picked up the phone because it was ridiculous, you told yourself.  Carlos had invited you first in his note.  

Carlos Sainz: When?

You: Now

Because what was the point in waiting around?  Plus, yet again, you were starving.

By the time you'd swapped shoes three times he was at your door.  The awkward demeanour from yesterday was replaced with a much more Carlos look, all bright smiles and white teeth and clean-shaven skin. 

"Good morning, Cariño," you weren't quite sure how to respond, but Carlos didn't give you time to worry about it, sweeping down and pressing a quick kiss to both of your cheeks.  You laughed to try and distract yourself from the blush you could already feel rising and pointed at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 

"Only just," you admitted.  He grinned at you. 

"I don't mind," he was wearing a pair of darker jeans than yesterday, with a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top and the sleeves rolled up to combat the already hot Italian morning.  "Shall we go?"

You nodded, reaching down to pull on your original shoe choice a pair of pretty white sandals without too much of a heel.  Almost instinctively, and as he was stood so close, you placed a hand on his arm to balance yourself.  You felt Carlos tense a little but he didn’t move and let you finish and stand up.  You let go of his arm pretty quickly to grab your phone and purse and close your hotel room door behind you.  Carlos walked down the hall and into the elevator beside you in amicable silence, only speaking once you'd pressed the button to take you to the ground floor and turned to face him. 

"What is a brunch?"  You tried not to laugh because Carlos was looking at you with genuine question, but you couldn't help it.  Hearing him try out the new word in his accent was sweet, even though he completely butchered it.  "What?" He questioned, searching your face with a good-natured smile as you shook your head at him.  "Did I say it wrong?" 

"Brunch," you corrected "It's like when you wake up too late to have breakfast, but it's too early for lunch so you sort of have both in one meal," 

At that point, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open onto the ground floor.  You stepped out into the lobby and turned right towards the hotel restaurant on autopilot.  Carlos caught you by the elbow, making you stop in your traps and tilt your head at him quizzically. 

"It's a nice day for a walk, no?" The sun was beating down on the road outside the hotel and you had to admit that the sun-baked city you were in looked very inviting.  So you agreed with Carlos and let him lead you out of the hotel. 

It was only a short walk down the road into the town.  It was hot, but not unpleasant and there was a breeze that brushed pleasantly against your legs.  Carlos was telling you about Imola and the surrounding area.  Since his move to Italy when he started working with Ferrari he had become a big fan of the country and was keen to share what he had learnt with you. 

"Do you wanna eat in the town then?" You asked, accidentally interrupting him midway through telling you about some of his favourite Italian food.  He looked down at you with an eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"There is a small restaurant in the town," he gestured forward to the cluster of buildings you were rapidly approaching "I think it will be very good for, ah, brunch," he deliberately put too much emphasis on the word, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he did so to make you laugh.  

"Did you sleep well?" It was an innocent enough question but he caught you off guard, and you could feel your face warming a little. 

"Yeah…" in a split second you decided to be honest. "I woke up at like 3 am on my own, totally confused," you couldn't bring yourself to look up for his reaction. 

"I didn't know if you wanted me to stay," he admitted, running a hand through his hair and adjusting the Ray-Bans on his nose.  "I thought maybe you’d prefer to wake up alone than to kick me out," you were definitely blushing now. 

"And I snore!" He said, followed by a free laugh that immediately broke whatever awkward trance you had found yourself in.  You couldn't help but watch as he dropped his head back with ease, his Adam's apple moving slightly and hair shaking out behind him as he laughed. 

"I don't believe that for a second," you said quietly.  If Carlos heard you he didn't respond.  You were preoccupied anyway, winding your way through a European high street full of prettily coloured buildings and flower boxes bursting with colour.  He gestured for you to turn down a narrow cobbled street that looked almost deserted aside from a tiny hanging sign. 

"Here," he said when you came level with the sign.  The restaurant was tiny, barely the size of a shop front but beautiful.  It was dimly lit inside even though it was midday, but each table had a candle glowing in a jar and fairy lights were strung haphazardly around.  The place was almost deserted, but even so, Carlos said something to the waiter in Italian and he led you round a corner to a table that was tucked away from the rest of the place.  He pulled out a chair for you before taking a seat opposite. 

In the low light, with Carlos watching you intently, there was a little voice in the back of your head wondering; is this a date? 

"So, what do you normally eat on brunch?" Carlos asked you as the waiter handed you a small menu each.  Of course, there wasn’t a word of English on the menu and you didn't know much more Italian than your basic hellos, please and thank yous.  Sometimes you really hated that the culture of your education had left you severely monolingual.  You explained that it really could be anything, from a full English to French toast to Belgian waffles.  He watched you speak with his full attention as you described the array of dishes you were used to, leaning forward with his elbows on the table to prop his chin on his hands.  You picked up the menu again and flicked through it whilst you finished describing the complexities of avocado toast. 

"I don't think I'm going to find anything that that here though, am I?" Carlos didn't answer you properly, instead shrugging his shoulders and grinning at you. 

"Do you trust me to decide?" You nodded without thought.  One thing you'd learnt about Carlos was that he took food very seriously, and good food even more so.  So you sat back and enjoyed not thinking, getting very easily lost in conversation with Carlos.  When it came to ordering you couldn't help but find it extremely attractive.  Carlos didn't look at the menu once and conversed with the waiter as if he was a local.  You didn't have a clue what we was saying but it sounded wonderful.  One thing you did recognise was the ice bucket that was brought to your table.  You quirked an eyebrow at Carlos 

"I thought you said cola was fine last night?" He waved you off as if it was nothing.

"No racing today.  And no head wounds.  How are you feeling, by the way?" You had wondered when the question of your health would come up. 

"Fine," you said.  Your physio had done a brilliant job with you and paired with a decent sleep you were feeling surprisingly bright following the crash.  "I have two days off training to recover from any muscle strains but I can't really feel any, and I was fine walking here," you added when you noticed he was looking unconvinced. 

You found yourself pleasantly surprised at the bottle of champagne and peach puree that was brought to your table, the waiter assembling bellinis for yourself and Carlos.  Carlos raised his glass towards you for a toast, which you met, although you had no idea what he could possibly want to toast. 

"For a fresh start," he explained.  The way he was leaning forward as he spoke, his hand so close to yours and eyes boring into yours made you think that he might have meant more than just forgiving you for the crash. 

"You said you don't know what brunch is, how did you know to order these?" You questioned, nodding to the drink in your hand.  Carlos grinned, not a hint of shame in his body language. 

"I didn't know it was for brunch.  I just like to have them," well, you thought.  That was something you certainly didn’t know about him. 

"Well I can drink to that," you returned his smile, feeling yourself truly relaxing into his presence.  

The food Carlos had ordered was heavenly, and you told him so multiple times.  There was an impressive spread of dishes, from bread and jams to cheese, to fried eggs and some small pasta dishes.  Your favourite was the bruschetta, the fresh bread toasted to perfection and topped with herby tomatoes and mozzarella cheese that melted in your mouth.  Carlos seemed to enjoy the fact that you were enjoying the food because he was taking great pride in explaining to you everything you didn't immediately recognise and once more you found yourself just soaking up every second of his undivided attention. 

Once the plates had been cleared away and your glasses had been topped up several times you were filled with a pleasant buzz and starting to really enjoy yourself.  You were propped up on your elbows, leaning forward to be as close to Carlos as you could over the small table.  His forearms were resting on the table, falling just wide of your elbows.  One of his fingers was just gently grazing up and down your forearm, sending little tingles down your spine as he did so.  The waiter came back and you decided that by the one word you did recognise, he was being asked if he wanted to order more. 

"Tiramisu," 

You were, however, a little surprised when only one plate was brought out with two spoons.  You didn't say anything because Carlos was already encouraging you to take the first bite and the way he watched you lick the spoon clean as you eagerly informed him it was the best tiramisu you’d ever had was downright sinful.  Sharing the desert had been a good idea because by the time you'd managed about a third of the cake you were completely stuffed and refusing another bite.  Carlos was only too happy to clear up for you. 

He was just finishing when you noticed the small smudge of cream clinging to his top lip.  You liked to think it was the champagne that spurred you to do what you did next. 

"You have a little-" you gestured to his lip, but before he could react you'd leant forward to wipe the cream away with your thumb.  Carlos was virtually frozen in his seat, his eyes fixed on you almost hungrily.  Before there was time for second thoughts or regrets you put your thumb in your mouth and licked the cream away.  His eyes widened as he watched you lower your hand before focusing back on your face.  You had to admit watching the blush bloom across his cheeks made you feel a little smug. 

It was probably a good thing the waiter arrived once more because you had no idea what to do or say following on from that, and Carlos for once looked too stunned to say something to you.  He mentioned something that sounded suspiciously like 'bill' so you immediately picked up your purse and began rummaging through to find your card.  Carlos looked downright horrified when you produced it. 

"No,"

"What?" 

"Put your card away," 

"Don't be silly I'm happy to split it," you started to argue but Carlos caught your wrist, his hand wrapping around it with ease.

"Put it away.  I pay today," 

"You really don't have to, it was my idea-" 

"Y/N," there was no argument in his tone.  "I took you out, I will pay," you were fast learning that Carlos was painfully stubborn and when he had his mind set on something there was no talking him out of it.  So you tucked your card back into your purse as he handed his off to the waiter. 

"Fine.  But next time I'm taking you out, so I'll pay," you challenged with a raised eyebrow.  Carlos muttered something under his breath that you didn't quite catch.  But it didn't matter because the next thing you knew he was helping you to your feet and you were realising you were a little tipsier than you perhaps should have been for early afternoon on a Monday.  You weren’t drunk, but you definitely weren’t sober as Carlos and you made your way back through the quiet alley and onto the high street. 

He swerved as he was telling you a story about his football team, his shoulder bumping against yours.  Normally you would have been able to recover quickly but with alcohol-soaked reactions you found yourself grabbing his arm for support.  Carlos looked at you for a second, before breaking into a childish giggle that had you following suit as you realised that Carlos was also pretty tipsy.  He covered the hand on his arm with his own and repositioned you slightly so you were walking arm in arm.  You were just about to leave the shaded side street when you spotted something that made you hesitate. 

Carlos stopped when you tugged on his arm and discreetly pointed to the small group of people looking up and down the busy street.  They were all wearing bright red caps and t-shirts.  You had no idea how, but F1 fans, especially the Ferrari ones seemed to get themselves everywhere.  Carlos tilted his head at you, a little confused as you were both used to high levels of attention. 

“You don’t wanna be seen with me?” he couldn’t quite keep the dejection out of his tone. 

“Erm, not like this,” you mumbled, pointing to yourself and then him.  You hated it, but being a woman meant you had to think so much harder about where you were and who you were with all the time.  When you first joined the grid there were articles published after almost every race, speculating which of the drivers you were sleeping with based on the few moments of interaction they had caught in the paddock or during interviews.  Netflix was even worse, you hadn’t seen Drive to Survive, but it was now your third season on the show and you knew from the comments fans made when you met them that your romantic interests were frequently brought to the attention of the public eye.  It was the main reason you had made the rule for yourself that you did not spend time with any drivers other than your teammate outside of race tracks and events.  And now here you were.  Out in a silly sundress in a small Italian town with Carlos Sainz Jr, you virtually hanging off his arm and the pair of you drunk in the afternoon.  You’d barely spent any time with him and the thought of it already being taken over the media made your chest ache.  You wouldn’t even get the chance to figure things out for yourself before the internet decided to do it for you.

You tried to explain it to Carlos, but you felt like you weren’t doing it justice and you managed to say ‘it’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you’ about four times before he stopped you from rambling.  

“Hey, I get it, it’s okay,”

“Are you sure?” your confidence faltered for a second. 

“I promise,” those big brown eyes were searching your face again, the humour from minutes ago temporarily vanished.  He turned you effectively and walked you the opposite way down the narrow street which opened out onto a main road, where he was able to very rapidly locate a taxi and neatly tuck you inside before himself.  The taxi dropped you off at the service entrance to the hotel and you found that you were able to duck inside with no fan spottings to have to worry about.  Carlos insisted on walking you all the way back up to your room.  You had learnt he was staying on the opposite side of the hotel and had to travel around the swimming pool in order to reach you. 

The fan sighting had unnerved you a little, so you brought him into your room to bid him farewell.  As soon as the door was closed behind you, you visibly relaxed, slumping back against the wall as you looked up at Carlos, who had taken his sunglasses off and tucked them into his shirt.  

“Thank you.  For brunch and for, you know,” you felt embarrassed that you’d had to end the morning the way you had but Carlos didn’t need to hear it.  He was leaning down to speak to you, so close to hovering over you but not quite making the step into your personal space.  The playful shine was back in his eyes and you could still feel the buzz of the champagne.  Maybe that was why he reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand hovering by your face for a moment too long after. 

“It was perfect,” your stomach flipped at the word.  Because perfect meant a whole lot more than ‘a really nice time’.  There was a definite blush on your face now but there was no way you could do anything to hide it.  Not with the intensity of Carlos’ gaze entirely trained on you. 

“Carlos…” his name was barely a whisper.  He stepped closer, a hand landing on the wall beside your head as he did so.

“Y/N,” his gaze flickered down to your lips for a split second before snapping back to your eyes.  But it was enough.  Maybe you didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the one thing you knew was that you did not want to be friends with Carlos Sainz.  You caught a quick glimpse of his tongue poking out to moisten his full lips and you were done for.  Your heart was thudding in your ears.  Without a second thought, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled.  He let out a small yelp, but you didn’t give him time to respond any further before you kissed him.

He responded immediately, his arms wrapping tight around your waist and pulling you close to him.  Your body shut down for a moment, because kissing him felt so damn good.  Like everything with Carlos he had an irresistible intensity about him, from the way he tightened his arms around you to how he nudged your head to the side slightly to gain better access.  You finally managed to let go of his shirt to wrap your arms around his neck, the kiss becoming sweeter. 

You waited until your lungs were burning to pull away.  His cheeks were flushed, pupils blown and lips a shade brighter as he stared at you like you’d just told him the secrets of the universe.  But there was a smile behind the shock.  

“Where are your plans next week?” The question caught you off guard, but you couldn’t stop the smile that was making its way onto your face. 

“I’m going back to England early tomorrow.  Spending the week at home and then I fly to Miami on the Monday,” Carlos nodded in thought. 

“I arrive on Sunday,” 

“Well I did say I’d take you out, how does Tuesday in Miami sound?” it was a little over a week away, which felt like an acceptable time for a second date.  If it was a second date. 

“I can’t wait,” you realised that you were still in his arms, his hands warm where they covered your hips.  You weren’t sure what to do with your hands so you fiddled with the small strip of excess material where his shirt buttoned.  One of his hands came up to tilt your chin up so he could press another chaste kiss to your lips.  He was like a real-life Disney Prince, you thought, and it was making you weak in the knees.  

“What are you doing?” 

“When?” He was kissing your cheek. 

“This week, later…” he kissed your lips again.

“Going home, to Maranello,” he kissed your jaw “Later is boring.  Meetings for dinner and my PT in the gym,” you nodded and he found your mouth again.  It was getting difficult to focus.

“I have to pack,” you agreed absentmindedly.  Things needed to get done today and a tipsy Carlos in your hotel room was not the way to achieve anything, well anything productive at least.  He nodded against your skin and pulled away, releasing his grip on you but not stepping entirely away. 

“I’m very excited to see you in Miami,” you agreed because already a race you were beginning to dread was becoming more and more exciting.  “Maybe you’d even like to see the golf courses?”

You sighed with a shake of your head and an easy laugh, playfully shoving him towards your door.  You knew Carlos played golf, it was difficult to not know.  He was constantly putting pictures on his Instagram at different courses across the globe and if you caught him and Lando in the same room you’d not be able to get a word in edgeways as they talked about the sport incessantly.  

“We’ll see about that,” you mused playfully.  Carlos turned to you once more.  He didn’t kiss you again but he pulled you in for a hug that couldn’t have been any different to the one he had given you the night before.  He kissed your cheek as he bid you goodbye and you couldn’t help but feel your chest tighten a little as you watched his frame retreat down the corridor towards the stairwell. 

You couldn’t process a single thing that had just happened.  Your brain felt like someone had thrown it into a blender, your mind spinning.  If someone had told you this time yesterday that Carlos fucking Sainz would be snogging you off your feet, there was no way in hell you would have believed them.  You collapsed back onto your bed and decided you could afford to avoid the tedious packing process for another hour or two by calling your best friend and giving her a play-by-play analysis of the last 24 hours.  It involved a lot of squealing down the phone and enough ‘oh my god’s to earn the pair of you a lifetime of Hail Mary’s at the Catholic church. 

You had dinner booked at the hotel with Katie later to discuss plans for the week and when you’d be reuniting with the team in Miami, so you changed into a simple blouse and jeans for that.  She was curious about what you had been up to that morning as you had failed to answer three texts from her.  You considered telling her that you’d been out with Carlos and just omitting the kissing, but you just couldn’t be bothered to deal with any lectures so instead, you said that you’d spent a quiet morning recovering from the crash and had taken yourself on a small walk in the afternoon.  It was a good lie because Katie didn’t even question your very simple order of margarita pizza and a glass of water.  Packing was really the last thing you wanted to do, but after dragging out dinner as long as you could you found yourself returned to your hotel room with no more excuses and a flight in eight hours. 

You haphazardly threw everything into your suitcase aside from the clothes you needed tomorrow and your carry-on bag that you never packed until the morning and collapsed onto your bed.  You only realised then that it had been quite a busy post-race day, you usually spent them either snoozing on planes or lounging around in luxurious hotels avoiding any sort of responsibility for as long as you could.  An old rom-com was on the TV and within ten minutes you were passed out fast asleep, a smile still on your face and the faint scent of Carlos’ cologne in the air. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Three

Check out my Masterlist here

Two parts in less than 2 weeks? Peer pressure is a wonderful thing!

In all seriousness though, the love Flat Spin Part One got was INSANE and you guys were so lovely about it that I couldn't not continue &lt;3

This part was supposed to be longer but I got entirely carried away with the brunch scene and then I realised that Miami content is also huge so I thought I'd separate them into parts two and three.

I haven't really written a date scene before so as per usual feedback is always appreciated and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!

Rage and Love

Le Gremlin

Forever Tags: @graysonmalfoy @inumorph @lokilvrr @bookgirlunicorn @thinkwritexpress-official @somanydifferentthings @faeriedelalune-blog @elthanin-sive-blog-blog @ispendmoretimehere-blog @drakesfiance @allonesharingonebreath @storm-howlett @daneel-the-sister-of-castiel @groovy-lady @skadivalholl @govazz @its-astrotea-love

F1/Carlos Tags: @imreallylosingit @serialkillertbh @sticksdoesart @lovingroscoee @agentsoybean @piceous21 @whosays75 @xscorpioxmoon @miahelen @j-brielmalfoy @honeybadger03 @teapartydreams @guccicloudz

[inkyquince]

FEMINISATION. feat Male Reader

content warning. Free use, feminisation, exhibitionism, wifeyfication, humiliation.

Shall Wifey-fy you. Sees you as their little wife. You get that role in the household they share with you. Wanted someone to look after them, cook for them, keep your living space clean, looking cute. Will allow baggier clothes that have more of a gender neutral look but would slowly push for you to wear those little checkered dresses, lingerie underneath everyday. Wants a wife, will get a wife. Comes back home, tired, and will just sink into you. Hey, you're their wife, their property, free use will be a thing often.

Will either be good spouses or strict ones. Depends. Either you're worked to the bone trying to maintain every single little thing in that house, getting up early and only going to bed after each dish has been washed up and the table prepped for breakfast tomorrow morning. That or, they want you to indulge in this life, wearing clothes they picked for you and just doing meal stuff every now and then, but you're main job is to let them kneel down and lift your skirts to go down on you after coming home. Starts investing in panties that have the back section missing for easy access to your ass, but presses your cock against your tummy, effectively hiding it. That or invests in a cock cage, just to wear the key around their neck.

Sucks on your nipples as they finger your ass, every part of your pliable and open for them. All that training, they muse as they line up their cock/strap-on to your eager hole, was worth it for a such a perfect house wife.

Dom!Kylar, Eden, Avery, Veteran Guard, Pining Sirris, (CompHet) River, Winter, Doren, Methodical Guard, Morgan, Scarred Inmate (Degrees of Lewdity), Nadia, Valdemar, Dark!Muriel (The Arcana), Diavolo, Beelzebub, Corrupt! Simeon (Obey Me), Voss Zwingli (Inky OC).

They do it to humilate you. Poor thing, shaking hands gripping your skirt. Can't even look them in the eye, poor stupid thing. As if you never expected this, as if you you didn't know the only thing you should every wear is girly dresses and panties. Either loves you in make up or wants you far more natural, teasing you about flat tits and an excited clit when nudging your crotch with their foot. Forces you to show off your lacy panties to them under the table or anytime they demand, no matter where the two of you are. Likes dresses that are overly pretty, maybe bright, unless you wanna actually be a goth gf for em, depending on who it is. Wants you to beg to be able to change out of these clothes, into your usual ones, but even as they promise that soon, soon you can take the panties off, take the bra off, they lie. You won't be able to find most of your usual clothes, forced to wear the ones they got you for hours on end, maybe having to wear them to the shops to go and buy you new clothes, thought you're the one given strange looks when you emerge in new clothes.

Calls you their pretty little princess, beautiful, their eager little cunt, their naughty pussy. Won't let up on it. More delighted if you're reluctant to show your cock, fully feeling your legs up in public, pushing up the fabric so people glancing over could see a glimpse of your cock, in their crotchless panties. Wannts to do something big, at least once. Fuck you in front of their friends, all dressed up and pretty, just so they also get to see how much you adore being treated like this.

Whitney, Alex, Bailey, Harper, Briar, Leighton, Mason, Remy, Quinn, Relaxed Guard (Degrees of Lewdity), Mean!Asra, Lucio, Dark! Portia, Valerius (The Arcana), Lucifer, Satan, Belphegor, Barbatos, Solomon (Obey Me), Arie Zwingli, Zacarie De Fay (Inky OC)

Uno Reverse time! They want to be the one pretty for you! Wants to be the one who gets to try out different eyeliners and lipstick and hang off your arm, gushing about their boyfriend.

Some of them are going to be way shyer about it, gonna need some encouragment. Too shy to even think about it at first, not used to being seen like that.

Wants to wear garters with your initials dangling off in fancy lettering, pretty panties that match their outfit, pretty jewelry (gold or silver, depends on what kind of mess they are). Depends on the person if this is for them, feeling pretty and empowered and making you shy by slinging their leg over your thigh, smirking at you, knowing you're the only hungrily between their thighs later, pretty lacy thighs clamped around your head. That, or if they're shy, can't believe they were talked into this, growing more excited as your hand drifts up their thigh.

Sub!Kylar, Robin, Sydney, Fallen!Jordan, Gwylan, Anxious Guard, Darryl, Niki (Degrees of Lewdity), Julian, Portia (The Arcana), Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus (Obey Me), Gabriel Sinclair (Inky OC)

[elvenmother]

The Art of Crossed Wires - 4 - The Date/The Not Date

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader Rating: Teen. Warnings: Swearing Chapter: 4/9 Word count: 1883

Summary: It's time for a lunch date with Marcus. It is a date right?

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes.

Part Three | Part One | Series Masterpost

Pulling out two outfits, you lay them across your bed and eyed both of them carefully. Which one you chose to wear today was dependent on the battle going on in your head of whether or not you had a lunch date or a date at lunch. One scenario meant lunch with a work colleague, while the other was a date at lunch, and both scenarios had vastly different dress codes.

The first outfit was your typical skirt and blouse that you wore variations of at work every day. Nice, but a little boring consisting of a plain white blouse teamed with a grey skirt and grey flats. The second was a dress, a little form-fitting but still work-appropriate. A short-sleeved pencil dress with a teal peacock feather design at the front but a plain black back with a pair of low black heels. 

“Cos, people say it’s a date as just a saying, you know?” You turned to your giant black and white cat, Sokka, who was sitting watching you from his seat on the chest of drawers. “So saying it’s a date doesn’t mean it’s a date date.”

“Mmurp.” Sokka slowly blinked at you.

“I know.” You nodded and looked back at your clothing choices. “But I don’t want to read too much into this.”

Sokka gave a massive yawn before turning to stare out of the window. You nodded at him as though he’d just given you some sage advice.

“You’re right.” You reached over, gathering up the blouse and skirt and putting them back in the wardrobe. “Fuck it. Even if it’s not a date date, there’s no harm in looking awesome today.”

~~~~~

The morning passed by with little excitement. Marcus was back leading the morning briefing, much to the delight of all the female team members, including yourself. And as he stood talking through the next stage of the task force's current operation, you couldn’t help noticing he appeared to be wearing a new suit. Instead of the usual greys or even browns you’d seen in him before, this was a well-fitted black suit with a crisp white shirt and deep purple tie with a delicate gold swirling pattern. This was one point in the “actual date” column. 

After the briefing, everyone had gotten on with their assignments, and you had only seen Marcus twice after that. Once when he had been chatting with your manager Bob where he had caught your eye and smiled at you. The second time was shortly before lunch when he and another agent, Fenton, had brought through a pack of files for your team. 

Finally, lunch rolled around, and just as you were logging out of your computer, you heard his voice behind you.

“Hey.” You turned to see Marcus approaching your desk with a big smile on his face. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” You smiled back, grabbing your bag and following him out towards the elevators.

“You look lovely today.” Marcus looked over at you as the two of you entered the elevator. 

“Thank you.”

“Not that you don’t look lovely every day.” He quickly added, looking a little flustered. “You do. You just look especially lovely today. Erm…” He gulped, trailing off.

“Thanks.” You let your smile grow into a grin. “You look great too. Is that new?”

Marcus ran his hands over his tie to smooth it. “Yeah, I… yeah.”

“Looks good on you.”

You watched as he ducked his head down a little at the compliment and you wondered for a moment if you’d crossed a line. But after a moment, he lifted his face to look at you again and you would see that, while he was blushing, his eyes were dancing at the compliment. 

“So, where shall we go?” You asked as the two of you left the building, looking around for a nearby spot to eat.

“I actually know a great little place not too far from here.” Marcus held out an arm for you to follow him. “It’s only a short walk, and they serve fantastic homemade soups… if… if that’s your thing. If it’s not, we can-”

“Sounds great.” You nodded as you set off.

“So, how long have you lived in D.C.?” Marcus glanced over at you while the two of you walked. 

“Not long.” You quickly counted mentally. “Around six months, almost seven. You?”

“Almost eight years now.” Marcus laughed, shaking his head. “I moved here when the task force was formed. Can’t believe it’s been that long. Wow.”

“And before that, you lived in Austin?”

“Yeah.” Marcus continued to direct you off to the right. “Yeah, I worked for the art squad there for almost twelve years before I got offered the job here. Obviously.” He left out another nervous laugh. “Did you move here for the job?”

“Yeah.” You followed him as he took another right, then a left. “My friend convinced me to apply along with her. We’d both done work for our local PD before, as well as a few local government departments. I got the job and moved here. She didn’t.”

“Oh.” Marcus glanced over at you again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. She got a great job offer abroad a few weeks after I moved. She’s living in Spain now.” You laughed. “Are we here?”

“Yeah.” Marcus smiled down at you, the sunlight hitting his eyes, turning them from their usual dark chocolate to warm amber. “Told you it wasn’t far.”

Heading inside, you were greeted with a surprisingly cosy oasis in the middle of D.C. Almost as though it had been transported from the main street of a small town somewhere, the cafe was filled with different shaped tables and mismatched chairs. At the back of the space was a counter filled with dozens of different cakes, probably homemade, while to the right of the door, a small stand held a stack of neatly printed menus.

“Shall we?” Marcus grabbed a couple of menus and headed towards one of the free smaller tables. As you approached, he pulled out one of the chairs for you to sit.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him as you sat, and he helped push the chair in slightly. “Such a gentleman.”

You watched as Marcus’ cheeks turned pink again as he sat. “Well, this is about starting over and making a good first impression, right?” He chuckled. “And my mom drilled into me how to treat a lady on a, um…”

“Well, we’re doing much better this time around.” You piped up as he trailed off, stopping short of officially calling it a date. 

“Oh yeah.” Marcus’ smile quickly returned. “We’re nailing it this time.”

“We’ve chatted about moving here a little. We’ve thrown a few compliments out there.” You started to count off on your fingers. “We already know what the other does for a living… hmmm… what’s next?”

“Hmmm.” Marcus smirked, handing you a menu. “Hobbies? Is that too cliché? Favourite things?”

The two of you sat giggling for a few moments at your own jokes as you scanned the menu. Finally deciding on both having the soup of the day, Marcus signalled for the waiter and after giving your order, you settled in for the short wait.

“Hobbies might be a fun one.” You mused. “Not too personal, but not too serious.”

Marcus suddenly put on a very serious face. “So Miss.” He steepled his fingers in front of him. “Where do you see yourself in five years?” His composure broke on the last word as he set off laughing again.

“Sounds like a job interview.” You threw your head back laughing, knocking it slightly on the high back of your chair. “Ouch.”

“I actually had someone ask me that on a date.” Marcus managed to get out between giggles. “You ok?”

“I’m ok.” You continued to chuckle. “Really? Someone asked you that on a date?” 

“Yeah.” He wiped a tear from his eye before calming. “It was kinda a weird date all round. Anyway, seriously. Only no, not serious serious, but what do you like to do for fun?”

“Well, there's the usual stuff everyone says, like reading and listening to music.” You watched Marcus nod along with everything you said, leaning forward slightly on the table as his eyes met yours. “But I really like to write. Short stories mostly.”

“Really?” His eyes lit up. “Wow. What kind of stuff do you write? Genres, I mean.”

“I’ve been trying a few different ones, but recently I’ve been writing a few more horror-based ones. Trying to keep to a theme at the moment.”

“So the short stories could go into a collection?” Marcus’ eyes never left yours. “That’s cool. Huh, smart and beautiful. What a combo.”

You knew from the immediate heat that your cheeks were bright red and you let out a shy laugh, ducking your head down as Marcus had done earlier in the elevator. “No one has ever called me cool before.” You said finally. Looking up, you found his eyes still locked onto you. Those big chocolate pools looking into your very soul.

“Well, you are.” He gave you a lopsided smile. “I think so anyway. But then again, I am a massive art nerd, so that might not actually be a compliment.”

“You paint?” You both paused as the waiter brought over your soups, and you thanked him.

“A little.” Marcus blew on his soup before taking a mouthful. “Hmmm, that’s so good. Not as much as I used to. Not felt very inspired, I guess.”

“Yeah, I get that.” You said between mouthfuls. “I had a break of almost ten years before I started writing again. Just couldn’t find the time and when I could, I had nothing.”

The rest of lunch passed with talk of creativity, finding inspiration and a promise to go with Marcus to a gallery that weekend. By the time the two of you fell out of the elevator back at the FBI building, you were both grinning from ear to ear.

“Wow, we were gone way over an hour.” You pointed at the clock mounted on the office wall. “Crap.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Marcus shook his head, stepping away from you as he headed to his office. “I happen to know your boss, and he’s cool with it.” He gave you a cheeky wink as he disappeared through his door.

Grinning, you turned to go to the main office area but found yourself face-to-face with one of your colleagues, Louise.

“Agent Pike, huh?” She smirked, eyeing you knowingly. 

“We had lunch.” You walked with her back to your desk. “That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave you a sly wink. “I can’t say I blame you. He is a snack. And dating the boss has its perks, right?”

Louise chuckled softly as she went back to work, but you couldn’t help feeling a little colder. Is that what people would be thinking? That you were dating Marcus because he was your boss? And were you even dating now?

Sure, it had been a date. At lunch. During work hours. Sinking your head into your hands, you stared at your reflection in your monitor. Damn it. What if it hadn’t even been a real date? What if this was all in your head?

Taglist: @jxvipike, @miraclesabound, @littlemisspascal, @galaxyofmando, @pintsizemama, @athalien, @zanzann, @furiousmushroom, @ghostofaboy, @thebestrouge, @janebby

[hollandsmushroom]

Yearning

Arvin Russel x Reader

I wrote this in a day, it was just me satisfying my want to soft intense Arvin smut with some slight worshipping vibes, its unedited and thats really all. Um please comment and reblog!

best, Mae xoxo

Summary: Arvin walks in on you when you were too eager to wait for him. Um then Smut ensues with no plot. 

Warning: NSFW Content, Neediness, Horniness, Smutty filth, Porn Without A Plot, Face sitting, cum play, cum eating, sex, male penetration, Oral(F receiving) I think that that is all. 

You laid on your bed, a spring breeze blowing through your window that you had propped open with a cracked wooden spoon. You held your book above your face, eyes tracing the words that lined the pages as your fingers scratched off the fabric of the hard cover, the embossed lettered creating ridges that you could trace absentmindedly. You were not taking in any of the words in front of you, no matter how many times you reread the same sentence nothing seemed to stick. Eyes continuing to act out what you so desperately wanted to be focused on but you couldn’t, your mind was on the boy that you loved, wishing so much that the lines the pans of your fingers were pressing into were those of the valleys of his toned abdomen. You knew where this was going to lead but you wanted to hold off just a little longer, yearning for it to be his hands and not your own all too familiar one, but you knew he was at working, leaning under the hood of some dirty car, probably with was a cigarette dangling from  between his thin lips. These thoughts weren’t helping your current position, it felt like your heart was beating right beneath your skin as it began to flush, heat spreading down to between your legs and you knew that you were only delaying the inevitable at this point. The thoughts of him becoming rapidly more and more filthy, how his lips would suck your clit like they did the filter of a cigarette, kissing his way back up your squirming torso to your lips, the taste of you and nicotine intermingled on his tongue, spreading across your own. You clenched your eyes closed at this point, dropping your book to the side of you, thudding next to your head as you hitched up your skirt, letting the fabric lay just beneath your chest, hands quickly sliding back down to you cunt, slipping into the front of your panties. 

Teasing yourself you traced your lips, the touch causing a shiver to run down your spine, the touch was gentle and only made you want more, slipping between your folds and tapping your clit, your body jolting at the much needed friction.

“Couldn’t wait, could ya Doll?” The familiar twang came from your door, your eyes shot open at the noise, immediately retracting your hand from your cunt as you sat upright, looking at Arvin, his jean jacket thrown over one shoulder as he leaned against your door, his white t-shirt tainted with grease. 

“A-Arvin, you’re here” you began to shift your skirt down to cover your panties but before you could he shouldered himself off of the door jam, foot connecting with the wooden door causing it to swing closed. His hand caught your fluttering skirt before it could cover your dampened panties. 

“What do you think ya doing?”

“Co-covering up” you stuttered, hand grabbing the flesh of your inner thigh, digging his dirty fingernails into the yielding skin as he pulled you to the edge of the bed. 

“Who said that is what I wanted” he hummed as his hands began to trace higher on your skin, teasing the sensitive skin like you had been doing moments before. His eyes tore from yours and bore into your covered cover, your soft white cotton panties so soaked with your arousal that they had become transparent, admiring the folds and valleys of your swollen cunt, your bud showing at the top, your lips spread as he pushed your thighs farther apart. 

He kneeled between your legs, ducking his face down low as you watched his every movement, how the short hair on the back of his neck standing one end as a shiver ran down him and to his dick as the smell of your sweet cunt reached his nose, mouth watering as he nosed against the clothed bundle of nerves, leaving the freckled tip wet with your slickness. 

“Yer already wet, Sweets, tell me what you was thinkin’ bout?” he prompted as his breath ghosted over your flushed skin. Your mind was a jumble, your libido taking over your thoughts as you ran your fingers through Arvin’s hair. 

“Lips around my sweet spot and” your sentence was caught off as Arvin gently sank his teeth into your clit through the fabric of your underpants. 

“Whose lips, darling? Better have been mind” he practically growled, a possessiveness sneaking into his bloodstream as he tugged you even closer, moving your panties to the side revealing your core in all of its aroused glory, the smell of you took him over, his vision going dark as he dove in, all tongue and passion devouring your pussy. His lips wrapped around your clit and a loud shriek of his name ripped from the back of your throat, both at the surprise and pure pleasure that took over your body at his sudden actions. 

He pulled back from you making an involuntary whine escape your lips at the loss of much needed friction. He looked up at you with eyes blown wide with desire, wanting to feel and taste every inch of you. 

“Of course they was your lips, they always are” you assured and he groaned, palming the flesh off your ass through your skirt as he returned to his place happily between your thighs, nipping and sucking at the folds. 

He pulled away once again, leaving you cold as your damp core was exposed to the air. He moved to lay on the bed, his back flat against the slightly lumpy mattress. Sitting up a little he pulled you towards him, bringing one thigh over his chest as the other stayed where it was. 

“Arv, what ya doin’?” you inquired, whimpering as his t-shirt met your core, but you didn't stay there for long, his hands grasping your butt and pulling you up even higher so your core was hovering just above his face.

“Making you feel good” he slurred, before latching his arms around your waist like a seatbelt, pressing his face deep into your cunt as he began to lick stripes through your folds, loving the reaction it spread through your body above him. His tongue pushed through your muscular hole, pushing deep inside your vagina, licking the inside as far as he could go, stretching you very slightly. 

His tongue left your insides and returned to your clit, happily sucking on the bundle making you jolt. The feeling was almost too much, your hands gripping into his hair and tugging it from the roots as you felt your orgasm beginning to build through your body. 

“Arvin, baby, ‘m close,” he sucked hard at your words, laying a light smack on your ass as you ground down onto his face, urging you to do it more, which you did, bringing you to your orgasm as his tongue slipped through his lips a flicking your clit. Your thighs began to quake as the pleasure took over, your whole body tensing as you threw your head back moans leaving your mouth as he continued to suck to sustain you through your orgasms. He felt his dick twitch at the feeling of your cum dripping down his chin, your aroma taking over the tent that your skirt had made around his head, dizzyingly arousing. 

Once you finished he let his arms unwind from around your waist letting you fall next to him on your bend, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your energy had been drained. You felt Arvin moving away from you resulting in your eyelids fluttering open, eyeing his movements as he reached behind his back he tugged on the collar of his shirt. The stained white cotton disappearing his face for a moment as it exposed his toned chest, even though your orgasm wracked your mind you knew what you wanted, to touch him. Raising your slightly tired body you managed to sit up, reaching over and tracing your fingers along his abs that you had imagined doing earlier. He tensed under your touch as it grew closer and closer to the waistband of his loose boxers that his dick was straining against. He let you pull his underpants off, his dick springing free and slapping up against his abs, cum precum leaking from the tip and leaving a mark on his bare abs. 

He put one knee on the bed, between your spread legs, pushing you back onto the bed and lifting up your shirt, your nipples hardened as your breast became fully exposed to the air, the summer breeze cascading over your chest, fluttering the curtains and shadowing Arvin’s features.  His eyes locked with yours as you began to shimmy off your skirt but his hands wrapping around yours halted your movements. 

“Keep it on” he ordered as he began to hike it back up, your slick thighs chilling as they spread apart, no longer together to keep your cum from going cold. A cringe spread across your features at the feeling. “What’s the matter, Doll?” his features taking on a look of concern. 

“S’cold, Arv” you whined pitifully, his eyes crinkled as a grin spread across his cheeks, leaning in and pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Let’s warm you up, shall we?” he cheekily suggested as his tip teased through your folds, precum spreading across your clit as he rubbed his dick against it before slipping into you, filling you to the hilt. He stilled once he was fully inside of you, letting you adjust to being full of him, brushing a stray hair that had fallen on your forehead. 

“Move, Arvin” you begged, and he rapidly began, pulling out and thrusting back in, but slower than you expected, his foreskin dragging against your walls as you could feel him twitch, his veins twitching against your tight core. Your legs wrapped around Arvin’s waist, digging your heels into the small of his back, pressing with him as he continued to push in and out of you. It was clear what he wanted, he wanted you to fall apart around him, to know that your fingers will never feel as good as his cock, how you will always need him, and maybe it was also to remind himself of that as well, that you need him. 

“I need you, Arvin” you moaned, arching your back up and pressing your breasts to his chest, nipples getting the friction that they need from rubbing against his bare skin. Sweat and passion coated you both, the throws of ecstasy enthralling you both, the world seemed to melt away, the clock on the wall became obsolete as time seemed to stop, it was just to two of you, tongues entangled as they fought for dominance, each others touch branding small littered bruises across skin. The feeling so intense you felt like you were losing your mind. 

“Arvin,” you screamed, your vision fuzzing like iron shavings at the edges as your body felt like a bonfire. “I-I’m close” you could barely speak, losing control of your body. 

“Let’s get there together farling” he groaned in your ear, picking up the pace of his thrusts bringing you across the brink of pleasure and into something ethereal, bodies entirely as one, wherever one began and the other ended was not of consequence as you fell apart in each others arms, his cum shooting out and painting your walls.

When you had both finally rode out your highs, he collapsed onto your chest, your sweat intermingling on skin, lips lazily working against each other, catching your breath as he softened inside of you. He finally pulled out of you, cum beginning to leak down and out of you but he caught it with his fingers, bringing them up to your lips and without any words you opened them, encasing his slender his fingers in your soft mouth, licking at them to make sure you got all the cum off of them before letting them go with a pop, a contented grin taking over your lips as you eyed the loving boy above you. 

“I love ya, Sweets” Arvin smiled, collapsing back onto your chest, nuzzling his face between your tits. 

“I love you too, Arv” you chuckled, fiddling with the hair that had begun to curl on his forehead. 

“Ya so needy sometimes” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut as the exertion of the day began to catch up with him. 

“Oh, ‘m sorry” you whispered, embarrassment taking over your form as you felt ashamed of your neediness. 

“No, none of that sweets” he pushed himself up, looking at your face as you avoided his gaze, his hand grasped your chin, turning your head to make you meet his gaze. “Like it when ya need me” a smile taking over your features at his softness “Just next time, wait for me, don’t need my baby being too tired to take my dick” 

“Arvin!” you cried, smacking his chest as you fell into a fit of giggles.

Taglist:

@thehumanistsdiary

[tchallasbabymama]

Don't Forget About Us

Hello, my lovelies. Here’s my contribution to @nahimjustfeelingit-writes smut challenge (the prompt is in bold!) Let’s see what Erik’s up to now, shall we?

Don’t forget to check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots. Your comments and reblogs mean the world to me, so make sure to let me know what you think! And let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my writing. Enjoy😘

Word count: 5,595

CW: smut...duh.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

Kayla sighed internally at the question and took a sip of her Pinot Grigio. She hated first dates with a burning passion, but unfortunately, that was the only way to find a man around here. She went through the motions of politely answering his questions, barely asking any of her own. She didn’t care. Even just fifteen minutes in, Kayla could tell he didn’t excite her, and she lamented the waste of a good outfit as she listened to him drone on about his life. Every now and then, he’d stop and ask a question about her, but she could tell he was only asking so he could talk more about himself.

How many siblings do you have?

What’s your sign?

Why did your last relationship end?

Her mind traveled to her ex-boyfriend, Erik Stevens. They had spent six blissful years together, and Kayla thought he was the one. She wanted them to get married and start a family, and she thought he did, too, but every time she brought it up, he’d find some excuse to change the subject. At thirty years old, Kayla wasn’t getting any younger, so she grew tired of his avoidance and eventually cut him loose. She needed more out of life, but the guy currently sitting across from her certainly wasn’t it.

“We wanted different things,” she answered vaguely and took another sip. It would be a long night with what’s-his-name. David? Devon? Whatever. At least he had money and took her to a nice restaurant.

Darryl took the opportunity to bore her with the details of his job, which Kayla already knew. He was a colleague of her best friend, Carina’s husband. They worked at the same law firm, and Carina decided to hook them up after tiring of hearing Kayla complain about dating apps. As much as Kayla hated Tinder, she would’ve much rather been at home on her couch swiping left on the cesspool of single men Oakland had to offer. Every few dozen swipes or so, she’d find a cutie, but his bio would be abysmal, or his conversation skills would fall flat.

Despite the fact that their relationship just couldn’t make it, Kayla still thought of Erik as the gold standard. Just thinking about his dimples and his struggle beard made her smile dreamily. His big, strong arms would wrap around her and hold her tight at night, and she’d trace her fingers over the intentionally placed keloid scars that held his darkest secrets. She missed retwisting his locs and the way he always smelled like sandalwood and warm vanilla. Kayla didn’t want to admit it, but she still loved him. No man could compare to her Erik.

“Hello? Kayla?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. Can you repeat that last part?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What’s got you so distracted, babygirl?”

Kayla fought the bile rising in her throat. She wasn’t his babygirl. It didn’t even sound right coming from his mouth. Maybe it was the thinness of his lips. They weren’t “white man” thin, but they couldn’t hold a candle to the juicy pussy pleasers she had grown accustomed to.

“Nothing, just thought I saw somebody I know. You were saying?”

“Just that you look beautiful tonight,” Damon attempted to flirt with her.

Kayla wanted to roll her eyes but thanked him instead and smiled politely again. Of course she looked beautiful; she had pulled out all the stops for what she had hoped would be a good night out. Kayla had squeezed her thickness into a lavender satin dress. The way the dress’s skirt cinched on the side kept it snug around her plush waist, but the high slit that traveled up her thigh was the main attraction. The strappy silver heels on her feet showed off her matching pedicure that contrasted beautifully with her glistening brown skin, and her makeup was flawless. Her outerwear for the night, a cropped fur jacket that had found its way to the coat check when they arrived, was the icing on the cake. Her outfit deserved the appreciation, just not from Deshawn.

The waiter saved her from having to focus on her date when she brought out the food they had ordered. Since Kayla knew Derek had money, she had ordered the whole lobster, and she fought her mouth from drooling too much as the waiter set it down in front of her. It laid on a bed of forbidden rice, and the side of roasted brussels sprouts and cremini mushrooms looked heavenly. The ramekin of drawn butter off to the side tempted her as it sat next to the minuscule seafood fork. She may not enjoy her company for the evening, but Kayla damn sure was going to enjoy her meal.

“Looks good,” Dominic called from the other side of the table, breaking Kayla from her trance as he cut into his wagyu beef.

“Sure does.” Kayla wasted no time before digging into her meal. Not only was it the perfect excuse to avoid conversation, but it was perfect, period.

A slight chill permeated the air as the door swung open and the crisp January air entered the small restaurant. Kayla shivered as she complained internally about being forced to sit near the door, but that shiver intensified as she heard a voice. His voice.

“Reservation for Stevens, please.”

Kayla stilled.

“Of course. Right this way, sir,” the maitre d’ responded, and Kayla heard three sets of footsteps coming her way.

--------

“Babe, let’s go!”

“Yell at me one more time, woman,” Erik warned as he came around the corner into the living room, fastening his watch.

“I swear, you take more time getting ready than I do.”

“Whatever, Mo. You ready?”

“Nigga, I been ready!”

Erik rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys. It would be a rough night, and things were already starting off on a bad foot. He and Monique had been seeing each other for the better part of a year, and he’d finally reached his limit. She was overbearing, rude, and just after him for his money, but he hated being alone, so he put up with her bullshit. His cousin, T’Challa, had tried to hook him up with a few ladies back in Wakanda when he went to visit after his breakup, but nothing stuck. Almost immediately after coming back to the states, Erik met Monique at a charity event for the Outreach Center. She had the singing voice of an angel and had been booked as the entertainment for the evening. Erik was drawn to her like a sailor to a siren, and she immediately sank her teeth into him. Past her vocal talents, Monique wasn’t really anything special. Her personality left a lot to be desired, she wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, and she just wasn’t her.

The moment Kayla ended their relationship a year ago, Erik’s whole world shattered. He had lived a life full of pain and loss, but Kayla had been his lifeline. She pulled him out of the dark and made him revel in the sunshine. Hell, she was the sunshine, but now he had settled for a UV lamp at best. Kayla had wanted a life that Erik was too scared to give her, but that fear became his downfall. He still missed her most nights. He was lonely, and Monique was there to keep him company, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore. Erik craved a connection that Monique just couldn’t provide. So he decided he had to break it off and figured that doing so in a public place would probably be best. She had a tendency to throw things when she got angry.

The car ride to Chez Martine was tense. Monique had been angry all day because Erik had taken back his credit card even though she wanted to buy a new dress for their date. Her lousy mood almost made him dump her back at his condo, but Erik kept a cool head and stayed focused on the plan. He ignored the way Monique complained the entire time she got ready, reluctantly putting on a dress he had seen her wear before. It didn’t matter to him; he knew what the night held.

When they walked into the restaurant, Erik’s heart dropped into his stomach. He’d recognize that shoulder blade tattoo anywhere. She had cut off all her hair and lost a few pounds, but he knew for sure that he was looking at Kayla. His Kayla. He forced himself to look straight ahead as they passed her table and prayed that the maitre d’ didn’t sit them where she could see him. Unfortunately, he had no such luck because the only open table for two was directly within her line of sight. He prayed again that Monique would sit on the far side of the table, but Bast ignored his pleas once more. He had to sit facing her, and as soon as he got comfortable in his chair, her gaze slyly trailed over to him. They locked eyes across the room, and Erik’s heart stopped. She was just as beautiful as the last time he saw her all those months ago, but who the fuck was that sitting across from her?

“What are you looking at?” Monique’s abrasive voice cut through his eardrums.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I know, that’s all.”

She cut her eyes at him and turned around to look as he buried his face in the menu.

“Quit being nosy,” he complained.

“I just wanna see who’s got your attention, that’s all.” Monique turned back around with a sour look on her face. “It’s probably that fat girl with her cleavage all out.”

“Mo, just look at the fucking menu and act like you got some sense.”

“Fine.”

Monique pouted until the waiter showed up, but she plastered a fake smile on her face as he took their order. As usual, she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, and it bothered him to no end that she was hellbent on spending all of his money. Of course, he had plenty, but she felt entitled to it. Kayla never cared about him being rich. Hell, when they got together, she didn’t even know he was a prince, but he loved to spoil her nonetheless. He loved the look on her face when he’d buy her things or take her on the expensive trips that she more than deserved. Kayla appreciated everything he did for her with all her heart, but she’d say the same thing every time.

“Thank you, baby, but you’re all I need.”

Erik smiled fondly at the memory of when he bought her a diamond tennis bracelet from Wakanda for their second anniversary. She was so excited to have diamonds that weren’t marred by exploited labor that she damn near dropped the box when she saw what was inside. It had been a rough year for them, what with him disappearing for a couple of months to seize the Wakandan throne and all. She certainly had plenty of colorful words for him when he came back. He’ll never forget the look on her face when he showed up at her door. He had brought T’Challa for backup just in case, but she looked right past the king as tears welled up in her eyes at seeing her Erik, alive and well.

Erik’s eyes started to get misty as he thought about the way she kissed him with so much emotion...then slapped him across the face for leaving. His gaze wandered back over to Kayla and he noticed the light bounce off of something on her arm. She was wearing the bracelet.

As if she felt his glare, Kayla shifted uncomfortably in her seat, so he averted his eyes back to Monique, who had caught him staring again.

“Why don’t you go say hi?” she asked sarcastically, making him roll his eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

--------

Erik Stevens. Here, of all places. He just had to be here.

Kayla noticed that he didn’t seem to be enjoying his modelesque date’s company any more than she was enjoying Darwin’s, and the pang of jealousy she felt at seeing him with another woman went away. She knew she had no right to feel any kind of way about it, especially since she was the one that broke things off. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

Dylan was too wrapped up in his steak to notice her wandering eye, but it seemed that Erik’s food was as uninteresting as the woman across from him. Kayla watched as he half-heartedly pushed it around his plate, but he certainly kept his favorite whiskey coming. She wanted to chuckle but didn’t want Daniel to think he had anything to do with her levity. They were both drowning their dissatisfactions in their alcohols of choice, and Kayla got a phantom taste of Uncle Nearest 1856 on her lips as she watched him take a sip. When he set the glass down and licked his lips, Kayla felt flush. She missed those lips…

“So, how about dessert?” Damien asked as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “I hear their creme brulee is amazing.”

“Uh, sure, why not?”

“You know,” he began as he leaned in and reached for her hands. She allowed him to take them, but the softness of his hands disgusted her. No callouses, no roughness, not even a firm grip. “I’ve had a great night. I’d love to see you again.”

Kayla chuckled nervously, unsure of how to proceed.

“What are you doing next-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

A shrill voice pierced the air as Erik’s date bolted up from her seat. Desmond, and the whole restaurant, turned around to see what was going on, and Kayla took the opportunity to remove her hands from his.

“Keep your voice down,” Erik sneered through his teeth. “We’re in public.”

“So?! You bring me out here just to dump me? To dump this?!” she gestured at her slim figure, and he rolled his eyes.

“You ain’t even all that,” he waved her off. He was tired of playing nice, and Kayla could see the exasperation written all over his face.

“Excuse me, miss-” the waiter attempted to calm her down, but the crazed woman cut him off.

“Stay out of this!”

“I’m so sorry,” Erik mouthed to the poor man who would absolutely be getting a monstrous tip later.

“Oh, you’re sorry for him, but not for me?”

“Mo, just sit down. We can finish our meal like adults-”

“Fuck you, Erik.” She threw her dirty martini at him, soaking the front of his all-black ensemble.

Kayla could damn near see the steam coming out of his ears as his apparent ex stormed out of the restaurant. Erik locked eyes with her across the room, and when he saw the concern written all over her face, his softened.

“Whew, poor fella,” Dexter commented as he turned back around. “Where was I? Oh-”

“Excuse me, where’s your restroom?” Kayla interrupted him as their waiter walked by.

“Right down there.” She pointed at a set of stairs off to the side, and Kayla thanked her as she slid out of her seat.

“I’ll be back, Darius.”

“It’s Denzel.” He deflated.

“Fuck,” she froze. She had been sure it was Darius. “Still, I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” he responded, obviously upset by her slip-up.

Kayla hurried off down the stairs and leaned against the wall as she waited for either of the single-use restrooms to open up. She took a deep breath and opened her clutch, reaching in to pull out her phone with a shaky hand and typing in his number. It was one of the few she had memorized, just in case.

“You ok?”

Her thumb hovered over the send button, but she couldn’t press it. Her heart nearly thumped out of her chest at the thought of starting a conversation with him, but something within her said that she should. It would be weird not to say anything after all that, right?

“Hey-”

“Shit!” Kayla dropped her phone when his silky baritone graced her ears.

“My fault, ma.” Erik leaned over and picked the phone off the floor, checking it for cracks. He saw she had typed a message out to him and smirked before handing it back to her.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem. And, yeah, I’m ok.”

“Huh?”

Erik pointed at her phone screen.

“Oh! Right. Um, well, that’s good to hear.” Kayla attempted to push her hair behind her ear out of habit, forgetting she had just cut it all off a week ago.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ok? You don’t seem to into ole dude out there.”

Kayla sighed and rolled her eyes, “Oh, him.”

“Damn, it’s like that?” Erik laughed, and she slapped his arm. That slight contact was enough to spark a flame in them both, and Erik’s face turned serious. “For real, though, not going well?”

“Better than you, it seems,” she quipped as she eyed his wet shirt. That was a bad idea because his first three buttons were undone, and she caught a peek of the raised scars that she missed so much. And that broad chest, and the chain with his father’s ring that he always wore. He’d let her wear it from time to time, and she always felt like it was such an honor. He trusted her enough to let her wear it. He loved her enough to-

Kayla pried her eyes away and made yet another mistake: she looked up at him. Those eyes still looked like sweet, sweet molasses, and even though his locs were braided back, she could tell he was letting them grow out. She momentarily wondered who was retwisting them nowadays, but her train of thought was cut short by the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. Kayla’s mind went blank as she inhaled slowly.

“Heh, yeah. That was...that was pretty embarrassing. Not even gonna lie.” Erik looked away shyly, unable to hold her gaze.

“I guess you’ll need to find a new date spot, huh?”

“Nah, I think I’m good on dating for a while.”

“Same,” Kayla sighed. “Dating sucks.”

“Yeah…”

One of the bathroom doors unlocked, and a middle-aged white man stepped out and passed them on the way up the stairs.

“Well, I should-”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Kayla walked towards the bathroom, but before she could reach the door, she felt a light tug on her wrist. His touch still gave her goosebumps, and he noticed her raised skin as she turned to face him.

“I just, uh...it was nice seeing you, Kay-kay.” Erik smiled at her, and she nearly melted. She missed when he called her that, too. “You look good.”

“Thanks, E.” She smiled back. “So do you.”

He let her go, and Kayla disappeared into the bathroom. When she closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath to center herself. After all these months, Erik still took her breath away. He clouded her senses and scrambled her mind. Even as she took care of business, her brain replayed their short interaction on a loop.

Kayla locked eyes with her reflection as she dried her hands. How could she go back up there to- what’s his name? Oh, yeah, Da- Denzel. That’s it, Denzel. How could she go back up there to his mediocre company when the man she still loved had made her feel so alive with just one touch. That was the magic of Erik, his magnetism. When they were together, she couldn’t help but be drawn to him, even when she wanted to slap him across his beautiful face. Those were some of the best times, though. If she was angry at him, he knew exactly what to do to calm her down. To put her in her place. To remind her-

Kayla’s daydreaming was cut short by a knock at the door.

“Occupied!”

It came again.

“I’ll be out in a minute!”

She reached for another paper towel to dab off the sweat that had started to pool on her skin at the thought of Erik’s dominance when the door opened.

“What the f- Erik?!”

He pushed inside the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

“You need to start locking doors, Kay.”

“I- what do you want?”

“I want to talk to you,” he spoke as he moved closer to her.

“Here?!”

“Yeah, here,” he chuckled.

Kayla rolled her eyes and tried to push past him.

“Now is not the time or place-”

“When is?” he blocked her exit, and she crossed her arms in defeat, looking up at him through her lashes as she leaned against the sink. “Look, I just need to say something real quick.”

“Fine,” Kayla sighed and gestured for him to continue. She knew there was no use fighting him. She wasn’t leaving that bathroom until he was good and ready.

“Kay,” his voice softened, and she looked away only to have her face pulled back in his direction. “Kay-kay, look at me.”

She made the mistake of doing just that, getting lost in his eyes again.

“I miss you,” Erik murmured.

“Erik-”

“Look, I know, ok? I know. And I’m sorry, Kay. I really am- no, look at me. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you...but I miss you, girl.”

Kayla’s eyes welled up with tears that she tried her hardest to blink away, but one had the nerve to fall. Erik wiped it away, and the next one, and the next one. A sob wracked Kayla’s body, and he wrapped his arms around her body.

“Don’t cry, babygirl. I know you worked hard on your makeup.”

Kayla laughed through her tears, but the emotions washed back over her, and she buried her face into his chest. It was already soaked with gin, so what harm would a few tears do?

He held her and rocked her softly from side to side as she cried, and after a couple of minutes, she found the will to look up at him again. His cheeks were wet, so she reached up and swiped her thumbs over them as she held his face in her small hands. He nuzzled into them and kissed her wrists.

“I miss you, too, E,” she croaked.

“I know, babygirl.”

He leaned in to kiss her forehead, and she closed her eyes as his soft lips caressed her skin. They stayed intertwined for who knows how long until Erik felt Kayla begin to pull back. He looked down at her, and the two of them locked eyes. Before they knew it, their lips had met in the middle in a passionate embrace. They got lost in each other for a moment until common sense returned to Kayla, and she pushed him off.

“We can’t-”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because what, Kay?” Erik’s voice rumbled as he closed what little gap was between their bodies. He left soft kisses on her temples before working down to her cheeks, then her jawline, and eventually the column of her neck. She let out a soft whimper when his teeth grazed the crook of her neck but pushed him back again before he could continue any further.

“Erik, I...I still love you, and-”

He attacked her lips with his, hands feverishly gripping her waist as he pushed her further into the sink. She had nowhere to go, and she was ok with that.

“I...love you...too...babygirl,” he whispered between kisses.

Kayla’s mind went blank as he lifted her up on the counter and pressed himself between her legs. She could feel him, all of him, and damn did she miss that monster between his legs.

“Erik,” she moaned as he nipped at her earlobe. He still knew how to play her body like a violin.

“Mmm, say it again.”

“Erik!” she squeaked as she felt his strong hands grip her thighs.

“Just like that,” he groaned, and she flooded her already wet panties.

“Baby-”

He connected his forehead to hers and stared deep into her eyes. “You miss me?”

“Mhm,” Kayla nodded with her lip between her teeth.

“I miss you, too, baby. I think about you all the time. Every day,” he pecked her lips, “every night. I miss everything about you, Kay-kay. Your off-key singing, your horrible cooking-”

“Shut up,” Kayla giggled as his hands traveled up her dress.

“Your body…fuck I miss this body. I miss how you smell, how you taste...how that tight little pussy feels wrapped around my dick.”

Kayla widened her legs for him as his fingers found their way to the seat of her panties, stroking up and down her slit. Erik kissed his way back down her face and over to her ear, his warm breath sending chills down her spine.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself? Because I do. You’re all I see when I stroke my dick...wishing it was your hand...your lips...this fucking pussy.”

Erik pushed her panties to the side, and his nimble fingers circled her clit. Kayla let out a small moan that was music to his ears, making fingers move faster and her breath grow shallower with each rotation.

“Answer me.”

“Mhm.”

“Come on, babygirl, you can do better than that. You think about me when you play in your pussy? This pussy right here?” he asked as he slapped her vulva, her wetness sticking to his hand.

“Y-yes, baby-”

“Uh-uh, you know who I am. Say it,” Erik commanded as he snuck three fingers inside her wetness, making her moan loudly in his ear. “Shhh, you gotta be quiet, babygirl. You don’t want people out there knowing how much of a slut you are, right?”

Kayla shook her head no.

“That’s what I thought. Now, I asked you a question, Kayla,” he reminded her. His gruff voice made her weak, and the fingers that were steadily speeding up inside her certainly didn’t help. “Answer me. Who am I, babygirl?”

Kayla tried to hold out as much as she could. She didn’t want to say it, too proud to give in, but the way he was currently stretching out her pussy and curling his fingers inside her made her cling to his shoulders. The bastard knew what he was doing, and she didn’t want to let him win. But then, he played dirty and bit down on her neck. She cried out, and when he pulled back to look at her, the ferocity in his eyes drove her up the wall.

“I said, who the fuck am I, Kayla?” Erik growled. His hand sped up, making her weak with every thrust. She couldn’t hold it anymore and came undone around him, her mouth betraying her as his name fell from her lips.

“Daddy!” she gasped as her pussy spasmed, and he chuckled darkly.

“Damn right I am,” he kissed her lips, “now gimme that pussy. Daddy missed his pussy.”

Kayla heard a rip and felt the cool air between her legs as he tore through her panties to get to her treasure trove. She reached down between them and grabbed his clothed erection in her hand, making him groan as he bit down on his luscious bottom lip. She undid his belt buckle and slowly unzipped his pants before reaching in and pulling out his throbbing dick.

The longing in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, so he pushed her legs back and tapped his head on her clit.

“You want daddy’s dick in you?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered.

“Good.”

He pushed in and groaned at the feeling of her pussy walls gripping him as he sheathed himself inside her.

“Fuck, you feel like home.”

Kayla moaned into his neck in response and wound her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he stroked into her slow and deep. She couldn’t form words. He felt so damn good inside her that Kayla’s brain had short-circuited. Erik’s dick hit spots that she could never find herself no matter how hard she tried. Even in her dreams, he drove her body wild. She had spent the last year trying to find somebody, anybody who could make her feel that way, but nobody could compare to Erik Stevens.

Erik and Kayla panted heavily into each others’ mouths as he made love to her body, and as soon as Kayla started to tense up, his thrusts grew harder.

“I-I-”

“I know, babygirl. Daddy feels it,” he groaned as he nipped at her bottom lip. “Cum on my dick like a good girl.”

His words sent Kayla into overdrive, and her body shook as she spilled over him. Her spasming walls hugged him tight, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, begging him with her eyes.

“You feel amazing,” she moaned.

“Mhm. I know them other niggas wasn’t hitting it like this. I just know it. Look at you, cumming all over daddy’s dick. Look at it!” He grabbed her chin and made her look down at her throbbing pussy as his dick slid in and out of her.

“We look so good, daddy!”

Erik slammed into her, and she bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming. He gave her his all over and over, rocking the countertop in the process.

“We’ll look even better if you let me cum in this pussy. Mix my cum with yours-”

“Yes!”

“Yes?” He chuckled. “You want it that bad, huh? Nasty ass, in here getting fucked while that bum ass nigga’s waiting for you upstairs.”

“Mmm, I want it.”

“Want what, babygirl?” Erik teased as he brought his thumb to her clit, strumming it slowly as he thrust into her.

“You. I want you to cum deep in me.”

“Shit,” Erik groaned. “You want it deep in there?”

“Mhm. Put it where it belongs, daddy.” Kayla licked up the side of his neck, making his knees buckle. “Cum in your pussy.”

Erik lost all sense of control and pounded into her tight pussy, somehow getting even deeper in preparation for his release. Kayla held on tight as she felt him begin to spasm inside her, and she released around him again as his deep moans tickled her ear. Erik thrust extra deep and held his dick in place as he emptied his balls into her warmth, whimpering lightly as she rubbed his back to soothe him and bring him back down.

“I missed you, babygirl.”

“I missed you, too, daddy.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other until their breathing slowed. Erik was the first to move, slowly pulling himself out of Kayla as she whined at the loss of contact. He kissed all over her face before planting a slow, sweet kiss on her lips.

“I can’t let you go again, Kay-kay,” his voice cracked as tears threatened to fall from his eyes again.

Kayla pulled him back in and kissed him so deeply that she nearly lost herself in him again, but he pulled away and looked her in her eyes.

“I’m serious, girl. I’ll do anything. I’ll marry you, give you as many big-headed babies as you want. Just, please, Kay-” she cut him off with another kiss to shut him up.

“We should go back to my place and talk,” she whispered, and Erik’s face lit up. Something about the way she said it, the way she kissed him, the way her body still responded to his...it gave him hope. Kayla smiled at him and pecked his lips once more before hopping off of the sink. He had to catch her because her legs were wobbly, and she stumbled a little in her heels.

“You aight?” he laughed.

“No, nigga,” she slapped his chest, and the two of them got caught in a laughing fit. They had really just fucked in the bathroom at Chez Martine. Kayla was on cloud nine until a thought occurred to her, and her face fell flat. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Erik’s face turned serious, and his eyes scanned over her body, looking for whatever the problem was.

Kayla started giggling again, and he looked confused.

“What is it?” he asked, barely able to keep a straight face. Her laugh was always so infectious…

“Demetrius.”

“Who?!”

“My date.”

“Girl, don’t worry about him. He probably thinks you dipped out anyway.”

Kayla shrugged and fixed her dress as Erik stuffed his shirt back in his pants. They checked their reflections in the mirror, and Kayla was pleasantly surprised that her makeup was still intact thanks to that setting spray she had splurged on the other day.

“Ready?” Erik asked as he admired her beauty. Kayla nodded, and he unlocked the door, opening it to find Duncan leaning against the wall with a sour look on his face. Kayla’s eyes blew wide as she tried to figure out what to say to her date for the evening.

“Heyyy, um…”

“Denzel,” he seethed.

“Yeah, sorry. So, um, we’re-”

“Sorry, bruh,” Erik clapped him on the shoulder, “but we heading out. Bathroom’s all yours, though.”

Erik pulled Kayla along, and she sent Deion an apologetic glance before following Erik up the stairs. It seemed the whole restaurant knew what had occurred, but neither one of them cared. They were just happy to be around each other again. It had been entirely too long.

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me,@toni9, @bribrisback, @impremenior, @blacklytical, @uzumaki-rebellion, @honeyandpeaches, @cecereads209, @wakandama2,

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry VIII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, abuse of power, these men ain't shit.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Lord Barnes goes over the edge.

Note: Well, I hope you guys enjoy... it gets intense.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

As the tune wore on, your jaunt was not so fun as Lord Barnes circled the boards like a wolf. He caught your eye between the bodies of dancers and his scowl assured you of your error.

You hadn’t thought a dance would be so offensive. It was innocent. You thought it would be more remiss to ignore the attendees around you and draw suspicion to yourself as an outlier.

You were wrong. Again.

You found yourself stumbling as the song finally ended and you righted yourself as you came face to face with Peter. You did your best to muster a smile and your voice, “I fear I drank too much wine, my lord, I should be in need of relief.”

He grinned in humour and bowed his head, “as you will,” he stepped aside, “if you return and require a partner, I’ll be here, likely in a more dire need for the same.”

“Thank you but I would spare your toes for the tournament,” you said, “pardon.”

You looked around as you delved into the crowd. Lord Barnes was by the doors, intent on you as he pointed over his shoulder and raised a brow. His jaw was tense with his distaste and for a moment, he looked past you to the boy who you’d just been twirling with. He turned and left the feast hall and you scurried to follow. The longer he waited, the worse his wrath would be.

You reached the doors and dove out into the corridor. It was colder than the hall, empty and shadowed as lines of flame limned the stones. You looked back and forth but did not see Lord Barnes. Your lips parted in confusion as you spun.

Had he left you entirely? This could be your chance… his anger might have led to the exact carelessness you needed to elude him. You set off down the corridor, though you had no sense of where the exit would be, and your slippers slapped on the floor.

At the first corner, you were stopped suddenly and nearly wrenched entirely off your feet. You were swept into the next hallway and slammed against the wall so that the breath was knocked entirely from you.

You stared up in fear at Lord Barnes as he dragged you along the stone and pushed you into an alcove, your feet leaving the floor as your shoulders were crushed between the frame.

“My lord, I was only just looking for--”

“Do not lie to me,” he hissed, “first you would dance with a stranger, a man who is not me, and then you would attempt to flee at my absence.”

“No, no,” you pleaded.

“Yes,” his hand went to your throat and he shoved you against the back of the alcove, your legs dangling as you were perched in it, “you would and now you would lie to me.”

“Please, I did not know where you went--” you gurgled as his fingers tightened and your eyes bulged out painfully as tears gathered along your lashes.

“I did not want it to be like this,” he spat, “I…” his chest rose and fell as he puffed with anger, “I wanted…” he turned his head as he struggled to contain himself, “I wanted it to be different.”

He stepped closer so that he was flush to you, holding you in the alcove as he stood between your legs. His hand slipped down to your bodice and crawled over the embroidered satin. He tugged mercilessly at your skirts until you felt the cool air against your legs. You squirmed and whimpered in fear.

“What are you--”

“Quiet before I choke the words from you,” he snarled.

He pushed his hand under your shift as it bunched beneath your skirt. His fingertips grazed roughly along your cunt and prodded against your entrance. His trespass was sudden and painful. You cried out and he quickly muffled your voice as he crashed his lips into yours.

He forced another finger inside of you as you were crammed painfully into the alcove, there were several along the corridor, most decorated with some statue or vessel. His fingers moved in and out of you. It hurt as he sank to his knuckles and pulled back only to ram them back in. It was as if he wanted to hurt you.

“Sweeting,” his lips dragged across your cheek as you turned your face away from him, “I did wait… too long… you forget your...place.”

He tore his hand from you sharply and his nails scratched your thigh. He fumbled with the front of his breeches and wiggled his hips as he freed his length from the layers. You writhed and grabbed at the frame of the alcove as panic crept up your spin.

“Please, no, no,” you begged, “Lord Barnes, please--”

“Quiet!” he growled again, “be quiet.”

You whined as you felt his smooth tip against your folds. You clawed at his shoulders and squeezed him between your legs helplessly but you could not push him away. He slid his pulsing head down your cunt and you kicked the wall desperately. He lined himself up with your entrance and lingered there.

He raised his head and his eyes bore into you hotly, “look at me,” he whispered and you shook your head, “I said look at me!” His voice rose and you snapped your head towards him. You peered up at him as your lip quivered and your eyes watered. He thrust into you in a single, agonizing motion.

You exclaimed and his hand rose swiftly to cover your mouth. He moved his hips carefully and rocked your body in the tight alcove. You clenched his left arm, the fake one, and slowly he built his speed, each tilt coming sooner and deeper than the last. Each making your muscles tighten and sending waves of pain through every inch of flesh and bone.

“I didn’t want this,” he said again, “not like this,” he grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his cheek to yours, “you did this. You.”

“No, no, no,” you trembled, “I didn’t--”

His fingertips pinched your neck and you moaned as he continued to hammer against your walls. You began to sob as you couldn’t bare the torture of it. Your fingers curled around his shoulders as you tried to urge him to slow down but he only sped up.

You could hear the distant music around the corner and the gale voices of the dancers. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back as he jolted your body in the alcove. His groans filled your ears and seeped deep into your soul. He dipped his head down onto your shoulder and pounded into you until your hips felt they would shatter.

He stammered and his motion stuttered. He tugged at the back of your hood as he spasmed and a warmth erupted inside of you. He stilled and wiggled his hips until you winced. He heaved and slipped out of you with a twitch. He pulled the kerchief from his pocket and kept his mess from leaking down his breeches as your skirts fluttered back down to your ankles.

You fell out of the alcove to your feet and your legs collapsed. You landed in a heap of satin as his seed trickled out between your thighs. You were revolted by the sickly sensation. You hung your head and blotted your tears with your sleeves.

He grabbed your elbow and lifted you to your feet. He looked you over before he fixed your hood and your skirts. He tutted and straightened your right sleeve. He stepped back and peered down the hall.

“We will be missed,” he said, “we should return.”

“My lord, I--” you gulped as he glanced at you meanly.

“Go and dance with your boy,” he sneered, “but you will remember,” he spread his hands over the front of your skirts and gripped you through the fabric, his fingers bent between your legs, “who you belong to.”

He ripped his hand away and shoved you down the next corridor. You caught yourself against the wall as the slickness continued to drip down your legs.

“Go ahead of me, I will wait so that it is not conspicuous,” he ordered.

You didn’t look back at him as you nodded and walked on. You neared the door and pulled back the hem of your skirts. His seed leaked along the trim and stained the fabric. You let go of your skirts and marched forward into the din.

As you saw Peter, you made yourself smile, but it was just as hollow as you were.

🏰

Your first dance with a boy, that was supposed to be a happy occasion. It was soured by your first intimate encounter with a man. Your entire body was corrupted by his intrusion and your mind was his captive. You could think of nothing but him and what he’d done.

That night when you retired, Lord Barnes led you back to his chambers and took you a second time. That time, he laid you down and fucked you until you screamed. When he was done, you rolled over but it wasn’t long before he pushed you flat and sated his whims again.

That last time, he did not leave you. He stayed inside of you and slept atop you. You just stared unseeingly at the canopy. You didn’t weep or whimper or whine. Your being was numb though your body was wrought.

When he woke, you knew only by the roll of his hips. As he began again, you closed your eyes and focused on breathing. It ended and he climbed off of you. You murmured as he left you tender and raw. You didn’t move as he sat on the edge of the bed and huffed. You listened dumbly as he relieved himself in the pot.

“You forced my hand,” he said evenly, “all you had to do was behave. I…” he washed himself briskly from the basin with a cloth, “I did want it to be nice for you. I wanted to be nice to you,” he began to rant and tossed aside the cloth, “I wanted everything for you, sweeting, but you have only met my love with blatant disregard. You are ungrateful and unkind to me and I will not bear it any longer. So I shall be the same until you can learn to treat me otherwise.”

There was no point in arguing. “My lord,” you conceded and blinked away the tears.

“You should wash yourself,” he bid, “and--”

He was interrupted by a knock. He looked at the door in detest then back to you. He raised a brow and found his robe hanging from the knob of the wardrobe. He covered himself and snapped his fingers at you.

“Cover yourself and don’t move,” he commanded as he went to the door and the pounding came again.

“Barnes,” a deep voice called, “you will be late. My armourer will not wait on you--”

Barnes swore under his breath and steeled himself. He opened the door, just slightly and looked out. “Your majesty.”

“What, no golden carpet to welcome me? Not even a bow?” the king chuckled, “oh do let me in, I’ve seen worse parts of you.”

“Steve--”

“Rogers I did send ahead of us to warn Stark of your late coming. We broke our fast for full an hour waiting on you.”

The man pushed inside without invitation and Barnes could only step back and watch him. King Samuel, the regent you’d only ever heard rumours of, stood before you in pinched scarlet satin and gold lace. He stopped short as he spied your face above the coverlet and his surprise quickly turned to a wry smirk.

“I see,” he said coolly as he faced the duke, “well, I require no apology, the excuse is good enough.”

“I’ll dress and meet you there--”

“Ah,” King Samuel raised his hand to hush the lord and he turned to you again, “my lady, I am unfamiliar with you. Granted, I’ve been presented with so many of my nobles these last weeks I swear I’ve met many of them three times over and not known it.”

“She is of a lower house, hardly significant--”

“Oh, but I care little for her lineage, she is a prize indeed,” he leaned on the bedpost and eyed the outline of your finger beneath the blankets, “shapely…”

“My sister would surely delight in those words,” Barnes snipped sharply.

“My wife does know I am loyal regardless of my empty words,” he did not look away from you, “my lady, I understand you do not rise out of modesty. It is, however, a pleasure even so, to make your acquaintance.”

“Your majesty,” you answered in a dazed squeak and offered your name.

“Daughter of some lord of Charos,” Barnes filled in the lie.

The king gazed at you a little longer and reluctantly returned his attention to the duke, “ah, I see you’ve quickly forgotten that pet Rogers spoke of.”

“Rogers? What did he say?” Barnes frowned.

“So it is and you lie to your liege,” Samuel taunted, “I can hardly hold you in ill esteem for the indulgence but I will not bide fibbing. She’s marvelous, I’d have her myself if I was not so smitten with Rebecca, my love, my light--”

“And my sister. Please, I cannot hear again of her breasts.” Barnes uttered, “she is a maid…” he admitted, “Would that Rogers could hold his tongue.”

“Or his drink,” Samuel added, “I shall await you in the corridor but not so long that you might trouble her so please, for me, resist the temptation.”

“Your majesty,” Barnes said tersely and walked the king to the door, “I will be swift.”

“You better be,” Samuel warned, “or you will be sparring without a chestplate.”

[kerie-prince]

clumsy

Hermione Granger x fem Slytherin!reader (fluff)

requested: (@chokemepansy) im terrible at requesting because i blank on ideas BUT anything for hermione please <3 take your time ily 💓

warnings: a single curse word, but mainly just soft hours

summary: Hermione has her very first date with you at Hogsmeade (song inspo from Fergie's Clumsy) (pardon my lame ass summary)

a/n: ty for requesting, luv 🥺 hope you like it! i made the reader slytherin just bc of you <3 and yes, i put in an outfit inspo but it's not like the cringy ones from wattpad

(gif not mine, cred to owner)

You came to love the smell of parchment and books. The sound of pages being turned, the feeling of a new book in your hands. You loved them because it made you think of Hermione.

Merlin, you were infatuated with everything about her. The excitement in her voice when she talked about her favorite books, the small paper cuts on her fingers from turning the pages – she didn't mind them as it was normal for her – and the look on her face when she received praise from professors.

She was all you thought about and you wanted to go to the top of the Astronomy Tower and yell out "I LOVE HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER" for the whole school to hear. And you were positive she felt the same. Hermione would refuse to let go of your hands when you walked together from class and on some occasions, you'd catch her staring at you during study sessions. Just like she was doing now.

"Miss Granger, for the last time, I am asking you what are the contents of polyjuice potion?" Snape was hovered over her desk. Hermione jumped in her seat and turned to face the brooding professor. Your Slytherin housemates who sat at the back of class laughed at her startled state as she named the contents. You looked back and glared at them all. When Snape left your table and continued his lecture, you leaned closer to Hermione and whispered as low as you could, “Are you okay? You seem kind of distracted,” you noticed.

“Y-yes, I'm fine,” Hermione stuttered. Snape excused the class and Hermione waited for you to be done packing your things just so she could hold your hand to the Great Hall. “Are we still going to Hogsmeade on Saturday?” you asked.

“Harry’s got detention with McGonagall for ‘ accidentally’ turning Crabbe into a water goblet in class,” Hermione used her free hand to make air quotations, “and Ron’s busy with Lavender that day.” She had a sad look on her face, thinking that they wouldn't be able to go to Hogsmeade after all. You picked up on it and had an idea. “So, just the two of us then?”

Hermione’s chest became warm, “Okay. It's a date.” Your eyes slightly bulged out and to Hermione, you had an indistinguishable smile, “I mean, not like a date date, but a girls date.” You weren't sure if she meant it like that, but you laughed at her stumbling her words. The always composed girl becoming a cute, blubbering mess for you. Not that you knew for sure it was because for you but you’d given it a lot of thought.

She never held Harry’s hand like she did yours unless he was upset about something and she was comforting him. And she certainly never held Ron’s hand. Nor does she ever hug him knowing Lavender would go ballistic. Not that she’d ever want to. He was her best friend, yeah but she had never gotten used to it. They both had an unspoken thing to not hug.

“Sounds fun,” you chirped, “can’t wait for it.” You gave her a lingering hug before going to your table. You sat in between your best friends Pansy and Daphne. Pansy had a smirk on her lips once you were in her line of sight, “Did you finally tell Granger?” You knew what she was talking about and nudged her arm with your elbow, “Shut it.” The two girls chuckled and gave each other knowing looks. “I might tell her on Saturday,” you disclosed.

They had matching shocked faces; for nearly a year, they’ve watched you pace around their shared dorm debate with yourself whether or not to tell her about how you feel. You’d have a sparkle in your eyes every time you talked about her and nearly spent every day with her. They weren't upset about it. In fact, they couldn't wait to see you two together. But you were unexpectedly insecure by thinking of the worst case scenario in which she’d reject you.

“That’s great, Y/N/N. I’m so happy for you. I know everything will turn out well,” Daphne supported. Pansy nodded and pointed to Daphne as to say ‘Me too’. You grabbed the hands of both girls and held them tightly, “Thanks, girls. I love you guys.” You wrapped an arm around both of them and brought them in for a hug. Daphne returned it while Pansy made a fake coughing sound. “I can’t b-breathe,” she exaggerates. You held on for a couple seconds more before letting go and started eating. “Okay, so how is this happening?” Pansy asked.

“We’re going to Hogsmeade together on Saturday,” you inquired. “So the whole lot is going as well?” Pansy was talking about Harry and Ron of course.

“No, just the two of us alone,” you replied, taking a bite of the chicken on your plate.

“You mean, this is a date?” Daphne exclaimed. “We’re going to help pick an outfit, no questions asked.” She had a stern look that dared you to talk back. As sweet as Daphne is, once her mind is set to something, she doesn't budge. You accepted it and was met with her usual warm smile. Inside, you were ecstatic and couldn't wait for Saturday. Your crush has gone on for too long, and you were tired of waiting.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

Your dorm mates got you up at the crack of dawn. And by crack of dawn, it was actually 10 am at most. They made you change into every outfit they picked out which totaled in 8. You appreciated everything they were doing, but some of the outfits were too much for a day in Hogsmeade. Daphne picked out tennis skirts with cropped argyle sweaters. Pansy picked short dresses that stopped at your mid-thigh and black wool turtlenecks to go over them. They had completely different aesthetics which is what probably made them perfect friends.

You settled on something casual; a thick striped long sleeve polo with light blue jeans and white trainers. It was going to be a nice spring day and you didn't want to wear something that would be too short and you get cold later. Daphne did your hair in two French plaits and Pansy did your makeup modestly. Once you were done, it was noon and you rushed to meet Hermione for your ‘girl date’.

She took the air straight from your lungs. She looked more breathtaking than the night of the Yule Ball. You distinctly remember being incredibly jealous of Viktor Krum and beat yourself up for not asking her before he did. But now, if he was here, you were sure that the famous Quidditch athlete would be jealous of you.

Hermione’s usually wild hair was tamed into smooth wavy curls that framed her delicate face. She wore a floral print button up that was definitely new as you’ve never seen it before. Or did she save it just for you? Her navy jeans hugged her ankles and she donned light pink flats. And probably for the first time since the Yule Ball, she had mascara and lipgloss on. Casual, but perfect.

Your face was flushed, and you weren't sure if she was also blushing or if maybe she was just wearing blush. “Shall we?” You reached out to grab her hands – her soft hands – and waited for her response. She didn't say anything when she laced her fingers with yours and started walking on the path to Hogsmeade. Hermione was about to say that you looked pretty when she tripped over a small rock on the pathway. “Are you okay?” you expressed concern. She was still holding onto your hand as she steadied herself up, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

You snorted and had to hold the butterbeer in your mouth, “Ron did what?” Hermione laughed as she told you how Lavender exploded on Ron for forgetting their anniversary and when he tried to make it up by giving her chocolates that he got from his older brothers, Lavender instantly grew a huge chin that drooped over her neck. Ron had gotten so mad at them and in unison, they told him ‘Why’d you think we’d ever give you real ones?’

“So that’s why no one has seen her for a couple days!” you noted. She was nodding as she laughed. You could only imagine what it was like to see it in person. Poor Lav. You went back and forth talking about whatever went on since the last time you were together.

Hermione went on talking about a new book she read about over the winter holiday. The way she expressed her emotions and passion for it made you fall for the Gryffindor girl more. When you hadn't said anything, she stopped and lowered her head, “I’m boring you, aren't I?”

You sat straight in your chair and fumbled your words before reaching out to grab her hand from across the table, “No, no, no, of course not. I could never be bored of you, I love you.” Your eyes widened. You didn't exactly expect to let it slip out like that, but you studied her reaction to see if you could leave it at that or otherwise. She sat still with a poker face. “Y-you’re my best friend, Mione–”

“I love you, too,” she confessed. “Huh?” Please, please, please tell me I heard her right. You didn't get to fully process what she said because after a few seconds, she gathered all her courage and reached over the table to give you a quick peck on your lips. It would've been a sweet moment hadn't she accidentally knocked her glass over in the process. Everyone in the Three Broomsticks had their eyes on you, Hermione’s face beet red and lowered out of embarrassment. You tried cleaning the mess and out of nowhere, Hermione ran out. Fuck this you thought as you ran after her.

“Mione, wait!” She hadn't gone far and luckily for you, she listened. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes averted from yours. “Where are you going? Aren’t we on a date?” Confidence had finally kicked in when you asked her. Hermione’s breath hitched. She couldn't see anything in your face that showed you were joking. Because you weren't. “Yes,” she grabbed your hands and started walking towards the other shops in the small village. Until once again, she nearly fell back when she nearly slipped over another rock on the ground. You supported her back up and giggled, “You’re so clumsy.”

—

requests open!

[swtki]

My Game - Spencer Reid x Reader

This is a part 2 to Teachers Pet

SUMMARY: After Y/Ns little test, she takes Dr. Reid up on his offer. She also takes him back to the apartment. 

WARNINGS: 18+ CONTENT, SMUT, FEM READER, PROFFESOR-STUDENT, TEACHER REID, ORAL (FEMALE RECIEVING), PENATRATIVE SEX, SEMI DOM-SUB

It had been three days since Dr. Reid emailed me. I hadn’t texted him yet, too afraid of not knowing what to say. When I pulled that little stunt at his desk, I expected nothing to come of it. Just seeing his cute and pink face was enough of a reward. But it was obvious to me in the days following, he wanted to cross his finish line.

My phone sat comfortably in my hands, the series of numbers lining the top of my screen. I had not an inkling of an idea of what I would say. Should I go casual? Professional? Sexy? I mean, did anyone ever know how to aproach their crush?

Y: It’s Y/N, sorry I took so long. I’ve been kinda busy.

S: No worries, I was beginning to think I had read the room incorrectly. What are your plans for Saturday night? Theres a great Italian restaurant next to where I’m staying in DC.

Y: That sounds wonderful, actually. I’ll meet you there at 7?

S: Perfect.

I reluctantly pulled my figure from the sofa, and soon eagerly jumping into the shower. When the water hit my face the entire day melted away, and left only the anticipation of that night. I felt so special, I mean I was living my most vivid fantasies and not every woman gets to do it with a genius professor.

With my makeup carefully applied, and my dress matching my shoes, I started down the stairs. As my heels made a clicking noise, I started to feel a familiar flutter in my stomach. I was nervous; First date nervous. Though I had met him many times, and most recently met his body with mine, the event of a first date was a pâté of emotions.

The door of the restaurant was cold against my hand. I didn’t expect a high end dining experience, and when I walked in the entry way I was glad it wasn’t. The entry way was filled with cozy items. The faded rose pattern on the wallpaper complimented the display of family photos.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a tall brunette man, it was a table for two.” I said to the hostess. She paused for a second, tapping on her tablet as she checks the current table descriptions.

“Ah yes, party of two for Reid?”

I confirmed and she led me through a hallway to our left, which led into a small dining area. The room walls were a burgundy color, illuminated by the candle sitting at the head of each table.

I thanked the woman as I walked toward Spencer. He looked a tad bit cleaner than usual, his hair was combed and tucked away behind his ears.

“Oh, here let me get that for you.” He rose from his seat and rushed over to the chair across from him.

“How gentleman like, Doctor.” He laughed and we both took our seats.

“Please, call me Spencer.” His form was more relaxed than it usually was in class, giving him a calmer and peaceful demeanor.

Dinner progressed, a glass of wine was nursed, and he insisted on paying our check. Though I had been on dates before, this felt like my first real adult date.

“How did you get here?” He inquired as we stepped onto the rough parking lot terrain.

“I took a cab, I’m thinking I may catch the train though.” I said. His mouth spread into a displeased expression.

“Nonsense, please let me drive you home. I would hate for those statistics we learned last week be applied in this manor.” I laughed and rolled my eyes. I hesitated to answer for a moment, instinctually I looked down and shifted my weight on my feet. The thought of him driving me home could end up in a number of ways; Mostly good. But, if I did take the train, it would end in a few ways; Mostly unmentionable.

“Alright, since you asked nicely.” His cheeks grew red as he avoided eye contact with me. I knew right then where our night would likely head.

“Would you like to come up? We can have a drink if you aren’t hell-bent on going to sleep before nine-thirty.” I joked with him.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to feel forced into anything because I know that theres a certain expectation when-“

“Spencer, if I didn’t want to fuck you, I wouldn’t have asked you up.”

Sure, having to say it in blatant terms is less than sexy, but thats what I adored about our dynamic at that point; I led the relationship.

I leaned into my fridge, purposefully bending over so my skirt lifted to show my ass.

“Well...fuck,” I said, “As it would turn out, someone stole my wine bottle and filled my fucking vodka bottle with water.” I stood up and shut the door, walking over to the counter inches away.

“One time I took the drink turn when it came to our friend-team-dinner-night, the bottle was forty dollars, which granted is the cheap wine more or less. To this day I still have no idea who stole the bottle, because I wanted to take it home.” Spencer reminisced. I laughed at his unusual way of trying to understand.

“Wasn’t really mine to begin with,” I started walking over to the sofa where he patiently sat. “I’m not of legal drinking age. But of course it tastes better when its forbidden, everything does.” I stepped in front of the man, his knees only an inch from my shin. "Can I touch you, Spencer?” I said in a soft voice, the lids of my eyes relaxed in a sweet shift.

“Y-yes.” He gasped, obviously so turned on by the way I stood over him, in power of him. I threaded his hair through my fingers and tugged back, pushing his head as far up as I could. His eyelids fell and he was no longer looking at me.

“Look at me, sweetheart. I want you to see everything.” He opened his eyes, his irises were colored with lust and desperation. I connected our lips in a long a sweet kiss. Rather than just having a mess of tongues, the kiss was filled to the brim with emotion, of pleasure that this was happening again. His lips were slightly swollen when I pulled away to unbutton his shirt. While I fiddled with the garment, he put his hands on my hips firmly.

“Can I- can you sit on my lap?” he asked, a red tint forming on his face. I smiled and obliged, sliding his shirt off of his lean torso. I started kissing him once more, this time I made sure to press my dripping panties against the large tent in his trousers.

“Would you like to take this to the bedroom?” I ask,hands resting comfortably on his neck.

“Please”, I stood and laced our hands together, leading him to my bedroom. Once we both entered through the doorway, I pushed him onto the bed, he fell softly.

I reached my hands behind my back to unzip my dress, as I felt it fall past my legs and onto the floor, I saw his eyes scan every detail of my body.

“One might say you were planning this.” He eyed my matching lace set.

“Wanted to make sure Spencer Reid had the best.” I replied, climbing on top of him so that I would be straddling him. I felt his hands connect to my waist as we kissed, his hands were warm and excited me even more. He pulled away, quickly pressing his lips to my neck and collarbone. My breath hitched in my throat as he bit down lightly on the skin. “Lets get these off, shall we?” I motioned to his pants, which had to be killing him right now. While he does that, I reach into my drawer and retrieve a condom, laying against the plush material of my pillows after I set it down on the table.

He gets on top of me , pressing his lips with mine as he rubs the back of my bra, signaling he wants me to take it off. I ,of course, reach back and unhook it, tossing it onto the floor. He grabs my tit while dancing his tongue with mine, making me more wet than I thought was possible. Usually, these actions signified a need for control, but when Spencer did it, it was like a desperate sixteen year old boy. Its clear he needed me.

“Can I...” he nods down to my cunt, still covered by the thin material of my panties.

“Can you what, Spencer?” I lace my fingers in his hair and pull, earning a soft groan from the man hovering over me.

“Can I please eat you out?” He begged. I smiled and pushed his head down, spreading my legs when his face met my stomach. He started by taking his thumb and rubbing over my clothed pussy. I bucked my hips, desperate for more friction. “Is it okay for me to take these off?” His eyes met mine, searching for confirmation. I smiled and nodded, moving my hands to stroke his hair rather than tug at it.

As his fingers latched onto the last piece of fabric that covered me, instinctually I pushed my hips upwards. He looked at me, silently asking if taking the garment off was still okay. When I bit my lip, a rose hue covered his face. He was flustered by me, by the escalation of us. But nevertheless, he slowly pulled off the last piece of modesty I had.

To re-assure him, I lightly tugged at his hair. Thankfully, he took the hint and licked a long stripe on my clit. My voice was caught in my throat as he continued making flat-tongued movements. I felt his hands slowly wrap around my thighs, pushing my heat into his face more than it already was.

He devoured me without hesitation, but when he pulled away for air he replaced it with two fingers and then when my stomach tensed and my eyes rolled back into my head, he used three. I finished with his mouth sucking on my bundle of nerves and his fingers buried inside me.

“Do you want to keep going?” He raised his head up and his thumb stroked my thigh, which he was still grasped onto.

“Yes, God yes please, Spencer.” I whined, the high fading away. He stood up off the bed and removed his strained boxers. He was beautiful; His lanky form was now a lean masculine type. I smiled at him, to which he obviously thought he was being laughed at. He couldn’t make eye contact with me, resulting to the floor instead. “Spencer,” I crawled towards the edge of my bed and placed my hands on his shoulders, “You are so gorgeous, the reason I’m smiling is because you always hide it in those sweater vests.” he relaxed.

“Thanks” he mumbles, still avoiding my eyes.

“Now please, come back here and let me take care of you.” He climbed back onto the bed while I rested against the pillows. He was nervous, and obviously he wanted to do it right. I could see his hands shaking as he unwrapped the condom and put it on.

“You’re sure?” He asks, the tip of his cock resting on the top of my inner thigh. He was easily six inches, my hand could probably wrap around and be too small.

“Yes, please fuck me.” He slowly inserted himself into my dripping cunt, causing me to let out a lewd string of words. Once again, my hands flung to his hair and tugged harshly, causing his arms to almost buckle beneath his own weight. I could feel his pelvis against mine, his muscular bottom torso pressed up against my clit. “Move, baby, its okay.” I reassure him. His hips pull away from mine, then snap back with a nice pressure. He quickly started to pick up his pace, small grunts escaping through his clenched jaw. “Do you like the feeling of your pathetic little cock inside my cunt? I bet you feel like a special little bitch now.” I moaned into his ear. “Well, are you going to tell me how much you enjoy my cunt?”.

“God, yes! I love it so fucking-“ his moan paused the sentence and he focused on getting his movements right.

“So fucking what? Go on, finish the sentence baby.”

“So fucking good, I love being inside of you so much!” He was practically whimpering in pleasure.

“Be a good boy and make me cum all over that pretty little cock of yours?” I struggled to contain my moans, I could not fall apart this quickly.

“Yes I will!” His fingers reached down to rub my clit, impressively keeping a steady rhythm. I felt the knot in my stomach becoming hotter and hotter as the minutes passed by.

“Oh my god, such a good- oh my god!” my eyes rolled back into my head as the impact of my orgasm was full forced. When my head cleared, I tugged on his hair, pulling his head so he could look me in the eye. “Gonna cum soon? Are you going to cum all inside of me?” his thrusts got off beat, he was close.

“Yes, I’m gonna-“

“Ask permission to cum, Spencer.”

“Can I please cum inside of you? Please?” He whines.

“Of course you can, baby.” With that he makes a strained moaning noise and his hips slowly stop moving. We’re both panting, while he flushes the condom I walk into the bathroom next to him. I turn to the shower and twist the hot water knob.

“We might as well get clean together, yeah?” I said.

“Yeah.” he smiles and kisses me once more.

[jjungkookislife]

“Ah, Mr. Kim”

pairing: ceo!Jungkook x secretary!reader

genre: smut/18+ only!; CEO au

wc: 3.7k

warnings: cursing, dress code violations, hr!namjoon, soft!dom kook, sub!reader, subspace (reader),   spanking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), squirting, I think that’s it?

date: July 1, 2020 

Namjoon sat in his office, his coffee mug in his hands as he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his mahogany desk. He was sleepy, hoping the coffee would give him a push in fully waking up before the day officially began.

His eyes roamed to the clock in the center of the office just outside his glass walls. He could see the open offices, employees coming in slowly. The usual early birds are already at their tables, sitting in front of their computers with their coffees nearby.

Namjoon didn’t pay them any mind, not today, or any day for that matter. Today, he had dragged himself out of bed an hour earlier to get to work before you did. He figured he could catch you this time before you sat at your desk that was just past the glass double doors.

A moan of delight escapes him as he takes a long drink from his coffee, setting the mug carefully on a coaster as his eyes light up when he spots you.

Bingo!

Namjoon is quick to get to his feet, nearly tripping over them as he opens his office door. A Cheshire Cat Smile on his lips. He’s got you now!

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N!”

Your face sours, a scowl on your lips for a second before you compose yourself. A sordid wide grin appears on your face as you turn to look at Mr. Kim, head of HR, and pain in your ass.

“Ah, Mr. Kim!”

“Good morning,” Namjoon grinned. He’s got you. There’s no escaping this time.

“Good morning to you too! Such a pleasant surprise, isn’t it? So glad you could join us early birds. I rarely see you until lunchtime. What’s the special occasion?” You ask with a tone that borders on sarcasm. Namjoon smirks.

“I wanted to make sure everyone was falling in line as usual,” Namjoon answers as he reaches into his pocket to take out his notepad. You resist the urge to roll your eyes; he may as well get that damn notepad surgically attached to his hand at this point. Or maybe he should start charging you to replace them when he runs out of complaint forms.

You’re sure your boss, Mr. Jeon, has a budget specifically designated for this purpose.

“Everything looks wonderful from where I’m standing,” you quip in a sugary tone, accompanied by you batting your lashes. Your fingers move to the necklace laying flat on your chest. The action draws Namjoon’s gaze to it. You’ve undone three buttons of your blouse and by the height difference between you and Namjoon, he can see right down your shirt. There lies the problem.

His eyes take in your appearance fully, a dissatisfied sigh escaping his lips as he takes in the tight skirt that rides up on your thighs. Namjoon wonders if you tire of getting written up? Or do you get a thrill out of it? He doesn’t fully understand why you’re still employed if he turns in each of your write-ups to CEO Jeon at the end of every week.

Perhaps you’ve found a way to intercept them.  After all, you are Mr. Jeon’s secretary. It could explain why you’re still employed, at least. With no proof though, his hands were tied and his notepad was marred with your name, imprinted on every blank page underneath.

Maybe he should get a stamp made of it? It would certainly shave off a few seconds per writeup.

“I’m sure it does but from where I’m standing, there are several dress code violations. Shall I write each of them down or just give you another copy of our dress code handbook?”

“Nah, I end up putting them back in your filing cabinet at the end of the day anyway. Why don’t you just write your warnings in advance and just stick it to my desk every morning? Save both of us this awful confrontation that seems to be a power trip for you. Face it, Namjoon, I’m not going anywhere. See you later!” You call over your shoulder as you walk off to your desk to begin your workday.

You smile devilishly when you hear Namjoon huff, stomping to his office, stopping to stick your warning onto your computer. If he didn’t pick on you every day, you’d almost feel bad for him.

“Good morning, sir!” You hear your colleagues greet your boss. You rise from your seat, your tablet in your hands as Jeon Jungkook makes his way to his office that is located right across from your desk.

“Mr. Jeon,” You greet him with a smile he doesn’t return. You sigh as he walks past you into his office, motioning for you to join him as always.

Jungkook takes a seat on his plush leather chair, not surprised to see his morning coffee steaming on his desk. You shut the door after you, looking across the open floor plan, past your desk, to see all your coworkers have shown up on time. Off to the right, you can see Namjoon’s office. You stick your tongue out at him before you see someone rush past. You’d always found it uncanny to have this two-way glass. But Mr. Jeon enjoyed watching his employees from his desk but didn’t want them looking in.

Jeon has a fair share of admirers of his own, mostly on your floor, and they’d often gawk at him when he had simple glass walls. Lots of men and women were disappointed to see him renovate his office.

“I’m waiting,” Mr. Jeon chimes from his seat, taking a sip of his coffee, not bothered by the intense heat of it.

“Sorry, sir. I have your schedule and I have updated it on your phone, tablet, and all your computers. You have a meeting in fifteen minutes with Ms. Lee then after, you’re due on floor three for a meeting with the marketing team that should run you into lunch,” you look up from your tablet, straightening your back and meeting your boss’s eyes.

Jungkook’s stoic face has nerves bubbling in your stomach before you clear your throat and look back down at your tablet.

“You have a conference call after lunch, then a meeting with IT, and Mr. Kim has asked to meet with you at 4:30, pending your availability.”

“What does Mr. Kim want to discuss?” Jungkook asks as he sits up straighter. He looks at you with his penetrating gaze before he looks to the right to see Namjoon’s office. “Is there a problem on the floor?”

You freeze, forcing a smile, “I’m not sure, Sir.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “I can’t meet with him today. Please let him know he can email me and I will eventually get back to him. Clear my schedule and yours for tomorrow afternoon. I’m having a lunch meeting with Mr. Min and I’d like you to accompany me to take notes.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?” You ask as you finish typing on your tablet. You bite your bottom lip, ignoring the erratic pounding of your heart. Jungkook leans back in his chair, spinning around to face away from you.

Jungkook hums to himself before spinning around to face you again. You rise from your chair, waiting to write whatever he’s about to instruct you to do. Jungkook admired your efficiency, you rarely made a mistake, and you were someone he trusted to the fullest extent. He honestly couldn’t function without you, and he knew you were aware of that fact. However, he didn’t understand why you were still nervous around him after being his employee for years, but he couldn’t lie; he enjoyed watching you squirm under his gaze.

He took in your outfit, licking his lips as he got an eyeful of your thighs; there’s no way your skirt wasn’t in violation of the dress code. Your top alone was worthy of two write-ups, one for being extremely see-through and the other for it being unbuttoned so low.

Jungkook didn't care though, as long as you did your work correctly, he could let it slide. Namjoon, however, was another story.

Jungkook watches you squirm in your spot, a smirk pulls at his lips as he leans back in his chair.

“That will be all for now, Ms. Y/L/N.” He shoos you off with a wave of his hand. You nod as you make your way to the door, aware of his heated gaze following you out.

Jungkook chuckles as he shakes his hair out of his eyes. He finds himself watching you from his office for a moment, captivated by your beauty. Then, he spots Namjoon across the office and he rolls his eyes before he takes another sip of his coffee.

You're busy on your computer when Jungkook's office door opens, but you immediately scramble off your seat to hand him a thick folder he's to take with him to his meeting.

“Thank you, Ms. Y/L/N. I will be in contact shall I need anything else. Tell Mila to take my file to the marketing team before it starts,” you nod as he walks out of the office, past the double doors and onto the floor. You plop down into your chair and sigh in relief.

You spend the rest of your day avoiding Namjoon and that godforsaken notepad of his that you would gladly ram up his nose.

The next week seems to fly by until Friday rolls around. You’ve spent most of your week trying to avoid Namjoon and his notepad, but he’s still caught you at the most inopportune times.

Monday morning, he caught you while you were making Jungkook’s coffee in the lounge. Tuesday, he caught you by the vending machine and you’re a hundred percent sure your snack got stuck because of Namjoon’s presence. Not even kicking the machine would release the sweet goodness of your treat.

Wednesday he caught you by the copy machine, and just yesterday, he walked by your desk after lunchtime to stick the write up on your computer monitor. You figured such direct action was because you had kept putting off his meeting with Mr. Jeon, but in all fairness, your boss was the one canceling the meetings, not you. Not that it mattered to Namjoon, who was adamant in hand delivering all your warnings to Mr. Jeon.

Today, Jungkook had you clear his afternoon, which meant canceling another meeting with Namjoon. You didn’t care; you were glad to be going home early, seeing as Jungkook had also had you inform everyone to go home by noon. People were radiating with excitement, but you knew you’d have to stay behind and make sure Jungkook was ready to go for the weekend before you’d be able to go home.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Namjoon greets gruffly as he appears at your desk. You roll your eyes at him, a deep, frustrated sigh escaping your lips as you look up from your monitor.

“Mr. Kim,” you scoff. “You know you had to head home ten minutes ago, right? Mr. Jeon doesn’t like it when his employees linger when he’s been so generous in giving you all the afternoon off.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll only be a minute,” Namjoon spits through his teeth as he clutches the thick manilla envelope in his hands before walking past you to knock on your boss’s door. You press the button on your intercom, “incoming!”

Mr. Kim looks at you over his shoulder and glares, but you shrug and go back to your work as the door opens and Mr. Jeon stares blankly at Namjoon.

“I’m sorry, did we have a meeting scheduled?” Jungkook’s brows furrowed in confusion as he looks over at you. You shrug, making a face before Jungkook steps aside to let Namjoon into his office.

You finish your work, shutting down your computer and grabbing your purse before rising from your seat. You undo another button, smiling to yourself as your bra becomes visible once again. You hike up your skirt a tad more before you round your desk.

Your intercom comes to life, “Ms. Y/L/N, would you be so kind as to join us in my office?”

“Yes, Mr. Jeon. I’ll be right there,” you answer back as you open the door and step inside. Namjoon huffs as he takes in the adjustments to your outfit before turning to look at Jungkook with an incredulous look on his face.

“What can I do for you, sir?” You ask in a saccharine tone that has Namjoon muttering unintelligibly under his breath. Both you and your boss ignore him.

Jungkook licks his lips as he takes in the amount of exposed skin you’ve displayed. He fights the urge to smirk as he clears his throat to look at the folder on his desk.

“It has come to my attention that you’ve received an abundant amount of dress code violation write-ups,” Jungkook looks up at you and you nod in confirmation.

“I see.” Jungkook looks at Namjoon. “I’ll be handling this on my own, thank you. You may go home, Mr. Kim. Enjoy your weekend.”

It surprises Namjoon how suddenly he is dismissed, but he rises from his seat, not sparing you a glance as he walks out of the office. You grumble to yourself as you cross your arms under your chest, jostling your breasts, an action Jungkook doesn’t miss.

Without a word, Jungkook shuts the folder Namjoon has presented him, tossing it in the trashcan by his desk before he rises out of his leather chair to walk to the door. He locks it before he walks back to you.

“Every week it’s the same thing, Ms. Y/L/N,” Jungkook tuts, shaking his head in disappointment. Your eyes follow him until he’s leaning against his desk with his hands in his pockets. He shakes the inky strands out of his eyes so he can see you better.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you apologize. “Maybe you shouldn’t pick outfits this revealing for me.”

Jungkook chuckles, “but where’s the fun in that? I can’t hold you or kiss you at work as I can at home. The least I can do is pick out a sexy outfit.”

“Do you know how many write-ups I’ve gotten since I’ve let you pick my outfits?”

“613 according to Namjoon,” Jungkook laughs loudly, his nose scrunching cutely and his bunny teeth on display. His eyes crinkle at the corners and you laugh with him.

“He will wonder why I’m not being reprimanded, Mr. Jeon.”

“Who says you’re not?” Jungkook’s gaze darkens as he takes his hands out of his pockets and pulls you close. His hands feel feverish on your hips as you look up at him.

“Jungkook!” you gasp, scandalized.

“What, baby?” Jungkook hums in response as he kisses your cheek before trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck.

“What if we get caught?!” You hiss. That earns you a spank, a sinful moan escaping your lips.

“We won’t. Why do you think I gave everyone the afternoon off? It’s been too long since I’ve fucked you in my office, hasn’t it?” Jungkook tongues his cheek before he instructs you to place your hands flat on the desk and bend over. He’s amused to see your skirt ride up, your panties peeking out.

“You’re so beautiful,” he muses to himself, his large palm caressing your thigh. His touch sends tingles down your spine as you feel his fingers brush your cunt. “Wet too.”

“Jungkook, let’s go home and fuck there or at least in your car,” you say but you moan when he pushes your panties aside and his fingertips brush your clit.

“Are you capable of waiting until I get you there?” He hums, his lips lilting into a slight smirk.

“Yes.”

Spank.

“You know, I don’t like it when you lie to me, baby. Now, if you truly want to wait until we’re in the car or at home, then we will, but I need you to be honest with me, love. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” you respond as you push into his palm. Jungkook chuckles, squatting down to be at eye level with your cunt before he presses a kiss to the back of your thigh.

“Do you want to wait until we get home?” He asks, his hands moving off your body. You immediately miss them, wishing you had said nothing at all. Everyone’s gone for the day. His office door locked. Plus, you’d be able to see anyone approaching through his glass walls, so why not?

“No, I don’t want to wait,” you swallow as you look at him from over your shoulder. His eyes seem to ask if you’re sure and you respond, “I’m sure.”

“You can tell me to stop at any point and I will, okay, baby? This is about you, not me.” You nod at his words before you feel his hands on you once again, but now they’re squeezing your thighs and ripping your panties off you.

“Jungkook!” a shrill shout escapes you as you glare down at him, he has the sense to smile sheepishly at you in apology.

“Oops,” he giggles, melting away any anger you had.

“It’ll be oops when I do the same to your boxers,” you mutter under your breath; however, your boyfriend hears it and it earns you a firm spank that has you grunting.

“What was that, love?”

“Nothing,” you answer, smiling before hearing him mumble, “I thought so.”

Jungkook plants soft kisses on your inner thighs, his fingers circling your entrance, teasing you just enough to watch you squirm. You plead with him softly, moaning when he finally pushes in. You’re unsteady in your heels, but Jungkook’s grip is firm enough to keep you from falling.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs, his tongue dipping into you. You curse, aching for more before he pushes his fingers in further, curling them while his tongue teases your clit.

Your head falls forward, your hair framing your face as you feel his tongue add pressure to your clit. His lips suckle it, his teeth pull on it gently and it’s easy for you to lose yourself to his touch. Jungkook knows your body well, knows what gets you to scream his name and what gets you to beg, what gets you to cum, and what gets you to see stars. He’s prideful in that, prideful in his skills to get you off quickly or to get you to hold off. He finds his pleasure in yours, dictating what you experience. Having this control excites him, his cock straining in his pants as he licks up your arousal, listening to the sweet symphony of your moans as they fill his office without a worry in the world.

“Jungkook,” your thighs tremble, your boyfriend’s tongue eliciting more dulcet moans from your pretty lips. His ministrations never cease, his fingers and tongue working your body until you’re at the brink of orgasming.

“Yes, baby?” he asks; you know he’s grinning proudly.

You can’t even speak as pleasure overwhelms you, bubbling in your stomach until it bursts throughout your body. Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise as your pussy clenches around his fingers before you squirt.

“Fuck,” you grunt, eyes fluttered shut as your body trembles. You grip the desk tightly, exhaling deeply before your legs give out. Jungkook catches you, holding you as he stands up before he sets you on his desk.

“Well, that was something else,” Jungkook chuckles as he stands between your legs, not caring about the mess on his floor as he cups your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Are you okay, baby?”

You look up at him, blinking as you nod, “I’m okay.”

Jungkook smiles warmly, pecking your lips before he takes the handkerchief out of his pocket to clean up your thighs and in between. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he carries you to the couch, “wait for me here.”

Your eyes follow him as he steps into his bathroom, cleaning up the mess you’ve made on his floor and desk before he cleans up in the bathroom. He opens one of his desk drawers, taking something out before walking back toward you.

“Baby?” Jungkook’s voice is soft, his hand on your thigh as he drops to his knees to help dress you in a fresh pair of panties. You blink owlishly at him, lifting your hips to allow him to put them on you completely.

“Yes?” you murmur as Jungkook sits beside you before pulling you onto his lap. He holds you, kissing your temple repeatedly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Lightheaded,” you giggle as you feel yourself slowly come to. Jungkook rubs your back, nodding before kissing your cheek.

“Do you want me to get you some water or something?” Jungkook looks over at his mini-fridge, wondering if he could reach it without getting up. You nod, so he reaches over, opening the door and taking out a bottle of water. He opens the bottle, ignoring how the fridge door closes as he holds it in his hands before bringing it to your lips.

You try to hold it yourself but your hands shake, spilling some on your blouse.

“Let me,” Jungkook says as he holds it, allowing you to have a few sips before he sets it down by his feet with the lid screwed back on.

“Thank you,” you whisper, nuzzling your face into his neck, inhaling his soothing scent. Jungkook holds you, stroking your hair.

“We’ll head home in a bit, okay? I’ll draw you a bath and we can order in, how’s that sound?”

“That sounds wonderful, baby,” you agree as his arms tighten around you. You look back at his desk, heat rushing to your cheeks as you think about all the possibilities.

Jungkook seems to notice your gaze on his desk, shaking his head and chuckling, “next time, baby. Next time.”

next >>

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[ladywhistleclown]

Anthony Bridgerton x F!Reader: Stairs Solve Problems

Summary: You try to teach Anthony to loosen up at a party, your way.

A/N: imagine the stair sliding scene in Ella Enchanted except with Anthony. Thank you for your time. Yes this is self indulgent. Enjoy.

Word Count: 2467

Warnings: Fluff, Anthony and Reader are childish, they also constantly banter at each other but it’s Bridgerton so-

—

“If Anthony keeps making that absolutely dour face through the rest of the party, it'll stick that way.” You grumbled, Benedict laughing loudly in response as you tossed another glance at the sour viscount.

While you had made your best attempts at mingling and partying, even gracing a few with dances (a regret, to be sure), He hadn’t moved from his spot against the wall in the last hour, deflecting mamas and maidens alike, content to stand and scowl at the masses.

“Ah, well. He must be in a mood.” Benedict said in a way of explanation, taking another sip from his liquor. You rolled your eyes, turning to face away from Anthony and his harsh glare.

“If he can’t even smile, how will he ever get a wife?” You tsk, shaking your head with mock disappointment, causing Benedict to snort and nearly splutter up his drink.

“How will he ever get a wife at all?” He countered, dabbing a bit of his spilled alcohol off of his jacket. “With an attitude like that, not even the mamas will approach him before long.”

“Perhaps I should go cheer him up?” You suggested, turning back to look at him. He was still glaring, although it looked like it was now directed in your particular direction. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, and you looked away quickly.

“If you dare.” Is all Benedict graced you with, his mischievous grin growing wider as he slipped past you and into the gallery.

Artists! You thought, shaking your head. Anthony was a close friend, but you had meant to approach him with Benedict. You were close enough to know his ‘moods’, and how to steer clear of them.

It appeared though, that as he continued to stare sullenly, that you were the only option.

Sighing, you leveled your chin and swept up to him, trying to appear both as regal and ridiculous you could, a smile bubbling through your composure as you dipped into the clumsiest, lowest curtsy of your life in front of him.

Hopefully, Whistledown, whoever she was, wasn’t looking in your direction tonight.

“A dance, My Lord?”

“I believe it is customary for the man to ask the woman, no?” In spite of himself, he smiled, both at your request and theatrics, and you knew you had won already.

“Very well. I shall wait for my invitation.” You replied promptly, demurely folding your hands and continuing to stand in front of him. He chuckled, realizing you wouldn’t leave until he gave you what you wanted.

“I don’t dance.”

“This is not a waltz, My Lord.”

“I do not dance at all.”

“Not even my way? Away from...prying eyes?” He swallowed, shaking himself from the cesspool his thoughts had gone into the moment you had stepped closer, dipped your voice low to speak to him.

Of course, he knew you would never proposition him like that. You were devoted to your social standing, even as you hated it, and would never do something as silly as tempt a rake upstairs, unchaperoned, and away from a party.

So clearly, you were up to something else.

“Your way?”

You grinned.

—

Somehow, you had tempted a rake upstairs, unchaperoned, and away from the party. With pure intentions, of course, but the ton would view it the same either way.

If they find out, you reminded yourself, leading Anthony up the grand staircase in the deserted main hall. which they won’t.

Once you reached the top of the stairs, you stopped, turning back to face the floor below. Anthony stopped too, puzzled.

“Here we are, My Lord!” Your giddy voice only confused him more, as did your bright, excited smile when you glanced up at his face.

“The landing?”

“Hah! No, the staircase! Well, the rail.” You explained, patting the polished metal rail on the left of the staircase, gleaming from a fresh polish.

“I’m not quite sure I follow you, Lady.” He admitted.

“I always do this when I’m in a sour mood, and it appears as though you could use it just as well.” Before he could open his mouth to protest, you continued, “It’s quite fun. Just try?”

He sighed. He could never resist you, even less when you pleaded with him, and so he nodded quickly. He doubted whatever you had planned with the stairs would bring him much respite from his plaguing thoughts of Siena, but it was worth a try.

If for no other reason, to make a childhood friend happy.

“Alright. What is it you’ll have me doing?” You squealed at his assent, gripping his hand and pulling him closer to the rail.

“Sliding down the rail.”

“What?”

“The rail. It’s very long, and the curve makes it even more fun to slide down. Have you never done this in your own home?” You cocked your head to the side, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Of course I had, when I was a boy. This is for children.”

“Anthony.”

“My Lady-“

“You promised you’d try.” You reminded, crossing your arms. You wondered if stomping your foot would be too reminiscent of a petulant child, and decided against it. Acting like a little girl wouldn’t help your argument now.

He stared, before finally shaking his head and moving to sit on the rail. He glanced up at you obediently once he had settled on it, and you smiled in encouragement.

“I must admit, this isn’t what I had in mind when you said ‘private dance’.” He laughed lowly.

“Rake.” You shot, but there was no venom behind the word, no malice. An almost practiced response.

“This won’t break, will it?” He changed the subject, glancing down at the rail beneath him. It seemed sturdy, but just because it could hold a maiden didn’t mean it would hold him.

“No, of course not. Now, slide down, and I’ll come down after.”

“I suppose you expect me to catch you?”

“It’s half the fun, Anthony.” Exasperated, you gently shove his shoulder. “Now, slide.”

“You’re very pushy.”

“I like to think of it as determination. Slide.”

Finally relenting, Anthony used his hands to push himself off, sliding easily down the waxed metal, following the curve of the grand staircase and landing neatly on his feet at the bottom.

Anthony tried to be a serious man, at least in society. Brothels and opera houses aside, when it came down to it, he thought he did a pretty good job of carrying himself through society as a Viscount and head of his family.

Yet, as his boots made contact with the marble floor with a loud click, indicating that he had landed, he was laughing. It was fun, although he was loathe to tell you that you were ever right (you’d never let him forget it), something about the nostalgia, laughs shared between brothers as they took turns bothering the help by ruining the perfectly polished stair rails.

It already had him forgetting, smiling, laughing.

You smiled, hearing his laughter from the landing of the stairs. I told you, you thought smugly, kicking off your flats and gathering your skirt as you sat on the rail, shoving yourself off. You giggled the entire way down, waiting eagerly to see Anthony around the curve, hopefully ready to catch you.

It would be very unbecoming to leave a lady to topple off of a stair rail. Though, perhaps it was more unbecoming to sneak away with a man to ride on stair rails and then demand he catch you.

Luckily for you, Anthony had no intention of letting you fall, catching you just as you rounded the curve of the stairs and hit the end of the rail, spinning you around in his arms and laughing along with you.

“I told you it was fun!” You said indignantly, clutching at his waistcoat before standing and righting yourself.

“You were right, of course. Again?” He was already rushing upstairs, leaving you smiling brightly below. His bright face and demeanor reminded you of the boy you knew before, not a Viscount or leader, or even a rake, but Anthony, mischievous and fun loving and sometimes a bit foolish.

You followed him up the stairs, hiking your skirts to run faster. He was already situated on the rail, and the moment he saw you had reached the landing, he pushed himself off, laughing and whooping. You followed shortly, and he caught you again, spinning you around before setting you down and quickly jogging up the stairs.

You must have gone down dozens of times, completely having forgotten the ball in favor of your childish game. Anthony didn’t mind, and neither did you.

At least until you came down, and after righting you, he grinned and said, “I don’t think I can go again, My Lady.”

“Why not? Must you leave?”

“We are ruining our clothes.”

“What?” You raised your eyebrows, and in response, Anthony turned around, revealing his issue.

In a thick, horizontal line, exactly the size of the rail, Anthony’s breeches were fraying and tearing away. It would only take one more slide to rip them entirely away, not that they could really be worn acceptably at all now.

You laughed loudly, and he turned around again, laughing with you. You had expected him to grow embarrassed or angry at your giggles, but it appeared as though the rails truly had loosened him up, willing to laugh at his misfortunes.

You were glad.

“Oh dear, that certainly is a problem! A funny one!” You snorted, patting his shoulder.

“Indeed. Although, I don’t regret the actions that led me to it.”

“Of course not! It was recommended by me, after all.” You turned, inspecting your own skirts. The metal had left dark stains on your gown, and the edges were ragged from your repeated trips up and down the stairs, often tripping over them in your haste.

“Mother will be furious.” You sighed, “Well, at least it is not a hole.” You glanced up at him again, barbing him with a sweet smile.

“Funny.” He rolled his eyes, although when he looked back down to you, they were...soft.

“Thank you. For trying to help me with my troubles.”

“Oh please. You’re my friend. Was I supposed to let you suffer in silence at the party?”

“Most would.”

“I am not most, My Lord.” He started, lips parted slightly in retort, and then froze. You had always been one of few to help him, to listen to his troubles with Siena and his mother and Simon, a shoulder to cry on for comfort and a beacon of advice for help.

In the cold, calculated world of the London Elite, you were one of few who were genuinely kind, accepting, helpful.

How had he not seen it before?

“No, you are not.” He said simply, quietly. Before you could question his meaning, the doors to the main hall opened.

“Lord Bridgerton?” You gaped as your mother stepped in, Anthony quickly turning to the door and folding his hands behind his back to hide his wardrobe malfunction. “...Daughter?” in a much more shocked tone. You shrunk away from Anthony to face her.

“Mother. Anthony was upset, so I was...helping him. We slid on the stair rail.” You admitted. It would be a flimsy excuse if it weren’t true, and you were terrified she wouldn’t believe you.

Honor was everything in the ton, and being caught alone with a gentleman would destroy yours.

“It’s true. We were...reliving childhood.” Anthony chimed. You shot him a grateful look, surprised that he had chimed in for your benefit.

Strangely, your mother simply smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “Of course. I remember how many gowns you ruined doing just that. And I can see the smudges from here.” She commented, pointing at your gown, where a large, darkened patch of your petticoat had smeared onto your sleeve.

“My apologies.” You mumbled.

“No need, dear. I suppose we must leave early, no need to raise suspicions, and your gown is in tatters anyway. I cannot let you enter a ballroom in it. I’ll call for the carriage. Wait here.”

And with that, you and Anthony were left alone together. You slowly turned to him, and judging by the expression on his face, he was thinking the same as you

“That went remarkably well.” He said, holding back a laugh “I thought she would kill me.”

“Oh, if anything, I’d be the dead man.” You scoffed. “I’m shocked she left us again, as well. She must be scheming something.”

“Our marriage?”

“Hah! You cannot be serious. She’d never let me marry a man who would slide down stair rails with me!”

You both laughed again, and your mother peeked in.

“Carriage is ready my dear. Make haste.” You nodded, turning to Anthony.

“I’ll take my leave, then. I had fun, Anthony. Thank you for indulging my foolish whims.” You curtsied, properly this time, and he smirked.

“Of course. Call on me the next time you have a whim. I’d be happy to join you.” He gave a short bow of his head, and you joined your mother at the door, disappearing behind it.

Once you were in the carriage, your mother sighed sweetly. You prepared yourself.

“Ah, young love! How fun!”

“We are friends, mama.”

“Oh please. Men don’t ruin their breeches for just anyone.” That made you laugh. And maybe, just maybe, you hoped she was right.

—

Anthony had no choice but to retire early, calling a carriage and going alone. He could explain to his family later, he was sure they were used to his disappearing act. A smile on his face, he floated about the house, going about his nightly duties, his mind only on you, your kindness, and your constant chase for fun.

It wasn’t until he had finished changing his breeches and settled into his office chair that he realized that for the entire night, he had completely forgotten Siena, entirely focused on you and your antics.

The next morning, Anthony requested that the stair rails in the Bridgerton home be well polished every morning. For no particular reason, of course.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

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

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

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

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

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