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deandoesthingstome · 1 year

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Holiday Angel

Pairing: CEO!August Walker x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 18K; Um. You’re welcome? Get some snacks and water.

@fvckinghenrycavill asked nicely, so I'm releasing this earlier than planned. Also, I think @mayloma might be waiting patiently?

Warnings: age difference (m 40′s, f 20′s; it’s your best friend’s dad for god’s sake), mention of cheating, mention of phone sex, masturbation (f), light!dom (m)/sub (f), praise kink, lingerie, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, p in v sex in various positions, protected sex, light bondage, spanking and ass play; if this doesn’t sound like something you’d be into, I won’t be offended if you scroll on by

A/N: Let's be clear: I've only seen MI:Fallout once. I really only know August from Tumblr. This is an AU, where he is not a traitorous anarchist. I also am not comfortable writing a strict dom, so please take a softer August than you may be used too. Additionally, you are a US college Junior in this story (21-ish). Don't worry, I'm not 21 either. Trust me. It's okay. This is a fantasy.

I've also been extremely self-indulgent here. You're gonna see some names you might recognize. You might wonder what college you go to, where in the US you are, or what year it is. I have taken many liberties. Please absolutely enjoy them. (And if anyone was following along with this post, you may notice a scene change. Trying out my inclusivity options.)

And I have a Spotify playlist I used for various scene inspiration if you're interested.

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker (could anyone really tie him down?), but I do own these words and this story. Do not repost as your own. Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are more than welcome. It’s how I get my nourishment.

Header by me. Dividers by the ever wonderful and giving @firefly-graphics.

You dropped the Blue Book for your last final on Professor Marshall's desk and skipped out of the room with glee, suppressing the urge to turn back and grab one more mental image of the grumpy professor for the road.

Christmas break was officially on!

Gemma was waiting in the loading zone outside McKinney Hall, her brand new Audi packed with both your bags and ready for the five hour road trip home.

"Bitch, what took you so long?" she teased, knowing you were actually a little early. You had breezed through the test and ran back to the dorms to meet her. She handed you your favorite iced coffee indulgence, a special treat for making it through the week.

"Let's hit it!" you shouted, turning up the volume on the Spotify playlist Gemma had primed and ready to go.

You swapped driving duties halfway, stopping at a drive-thru to grab french fries to supplement the cut fruit and snacks you packed for the trip.

"God, I am craving salt right now!" Gemma exclaimed.

"Auntie on the way?" you sympathized.

"Yesss," Gemma groaned. "And Mikey wants to meet up first thing when he flies in on Sunday. God I hope she gets lost on the way!"

"How's that been going? Long distance and all."

You were glad you and Gemma had decided NOT to room together again after the fiascos of Freshman and Sophomore year. It was only through the saving grace of several grueling classes that kept you library or study group bound for a good portion of the time that you had been able to overcome the petty drama.

It was Gemma's father who had actually suggested she move off campus alone this year and you were pleased to find a lighter class load that allowed you to spend more quality time with your childhood best friend without wanting to rip her face off every five minutes. He was so wise, that Mr. Walker.

But living apart kept you from knowing every single detail of each other's lives, so the drive was a perfect time to catch up on the minutiae.

"It's been weird, honestly. I mean, hooking up last summer was totally unexpected. I can't believe he finally let Chelsea go, but what a fucking night that was!" Gemma squealed as you tamped down your jealousy.

Everyone in high school had the hots for Mike, and you were no exception. But Gemma caught his eye at the last hurrah before heading back to college this past September and, well, girl code. Even if your tastes in men hadn’t already started changing, he was off your list forever now. Especially because he had actually seemed hellbent on making a true go of it with her, promising nightly calls that unfortunately turned weekly as the semester dragged on.

"He's seemed a little distant lately. Distracted. That missed call on Halloween really had me questioning everything he said about giving us a shot. But he's been making it up to me. The phone sex..."

"Stop. Please. I don't want to hear about him slapping one out over the phone," you laughed.

"He sounds so sexy when he comes. Long distance or otherwise."

"Ugh, god. Stop!"

"What? Like you don't love it too! What's up with you and Charlie?"

"Fuck him,” you scoffed. “D'you know, I caught him with Brigette?"

"Your roommate Brigette?"

"Yup. Right before finals started. I need to find a new living situation for next semester, stat!"

"God, why didn't you say something??? Are you okay?"

"I'm surprisingly fine. Things hadn't been so hot lately and honestly, I just don't think he's for me."

"What, missionary all the way?"

You both laughed until the tears were running.

"You should've seen his face when I asked to be on top once. It was like I killed his dog or something."

"Jesus, yeah. You're better off. You need a real man," Gemma declared.

You laughed again, but it came out with a hitch in your throat. A real man was right.

"What was that?" Gemma asked.

"What was what?" you feigned innocence, and held your breath.

"You laughed like you're hiding something. You got a thing going with one of your professors?"

You exhaled as normally as possible. Easy enough to fib your way out of this one with an opening like that.

"God, nothing's going on. But have you seen Professor Marshall? I alternately congratulate and kick myself for choosing a criminal justice major. That man is so fine to look at," you let out a whistle. "It's distracting!"

"So I've heard. Think it's too late to switch majors?"

"Why would I?"

"Not you, silly! Me," Gemma laughed.

"Your father would be so disappointed if you didn't finish your business degree. Who's he gonna leave the company to?" You winked at her, knowing she wanted nothing to do with it. She was only playing along, hoping to find a college boyfriend that would be able to keep her in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed.

You didn't think Mikey was it, but hey. Neither your circus nor your monkeys. You chatted for a bit longer before Gemma dropped into a light sleep. Girl could never last in the car as a passenger on long drives. The hum of the road put her out if she wasn’t in charge of driving.

While she slept, you thought about Mr. Walker.

When did this infatuation start? You’d met Gemma, and by extension Mr. Walker, in 5th grade after your parents had moved across town and into a new school district. Mrs. Walker had already passed and you don’t know why Gemma’s father never remarried, but you also never saw or heard about him bringing a woman home to meet her.

In high school, when you really started paying attention to boys, you began to notice how good looking Mr. Walker was. But the most you ever hoped for was to meet a boy who would grow up to be as handsome. It wasn’t until lately, when some of your college professors had piqued your interest, that you began to fantasize about him, too. This might be a long week.

You pulled up the scenic drive and parked in front of the Walker residence around 8pm. Gemma blinked her eyes opened and stretched before getting out of the car.

"You sure it's okay I stay here until my parents get back?" you leaned over the gear shift to call out the door. "I can't believe they scheduled a whole house reflooring right before Christmas and then skipped town on me to boot."

"It's totally fine. Dad's probably gonna be busy 24-7 at the office so we'll have the run of the house. And thank God for heated pools!"

You kept your mouth shut, knowing if you showed any interest at all in why Mr. Walker would be so busy this close to the end of the year your face would probably melt off from the heat you felt every time you thought about him lately. Let alone the image of him in swim trunks in the pool. Or not in swim trunks.

Gemma leaned back into the open passenger door and you snapped out of it.

"Coming?"

You turned your whole body to open the driver door, desperate to hide from her the wanton desire you were sure adorned your face. Coming, indeed.

You both grabbed your bags from the back seat and headed up the pristine sidewalk towards the stately mid-century modern mansion Gemma called a "house". The thing could host a Hollywood premiere party and was decorated with such understated glamor you wouldn't be surprised if it would play backdrop to such a party one day. Or maybe a movie set.

The tall, rich wooden door had a thin vertical metal handle stretching from a quarter of the way down the right side, stopping a quarter of the way up from the bottom. A warm glow streamed through the large panels of windows stretching across the front of the house and exposing the elegantly decorated Christmas tree in the front living room surrounded by sleek, minimal furniture.

When Gemma finally tapped in the key code and opened the door, you stepped into the flagstone entryway and smiled at the white lights nestled in the pine garland covering the banisters of the floating stairs leading up to the master bedroom and sitting area loft, then down to the basement holding several guest rooms, the fitness and media rooms, as well as Gemma's room.

Another couple guest room suites could be found on the main entry level along with the custom gourmet kitchen and pantry, dining area, mud and laundry rooms. You knew Mr. Walker's home office was somewhere on this level as well, though you'd never dared venture down the hall to find it. He’d always made it very clear it was off limits.

You were dying to sink into the oversized conversation couch that surrounded the sunken floor of the family room in the back of the house and stare off into the fire or out the back windows onto the deck overlooking the pool but Gemma called for you to follow her downstairs first.

"I have to get out of these clothes and then we'll DoorDash."

"No need, sweetheart." Your heart stopped as you heard the deep voice call from upstairs. "I made dinner, it's just warming in the oven. I'll get plates ready for you both, so hurry settling in."

"Dad! I thought you'd still be at the office!" Gemma exclaimed, dropping her bags and heading to the landing to give her father a hug and turning her head away to accept his kiss on the cheek.

"Well, I couldn't let you two eat cold takeout. They can never keep it warm on the drive out here." He turned, letting go of Gemma and opening his arms to you in what should have been a normal welcoming gesture if you hadn’t just been fantasizing about him half the ride home. "Good to see you again."

You suppressed a flustered squeak and pressed your lips together to stifle the drool, thankful Gemma was now behind her father and couldn't see your face as you reached for the hug. But he could. Did. For sure. Fuck.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Walker. That's very kind of you," you managed to reply while trying not to inhale his scent too deep.

"It was nothing," he let go of you and stepped back, slipping his hands slowly into the pockets of his dress slacks.

Were you staring at his muscular forearms, visible below the line of his crisp, white rolled up sleeves? God, you were. Get a fucking grip.

"We'll be right back, Dad. Thanks."

Gemma led you downstairs and sent you off to your regular overnight room down the hall from hers. You were grateful both rooms had their own bathrooms so you didn't have to pass her on your way to splash cold water on your face.

How were you going to survive these next few days before your parents came back with your aunt, uncle, and cousin for Christmas? Gemma wasn't wrong about needing a real man. You'd put up with immature boys all through high school.

Once you started college, a series of gorgeous, educated older men led your lectures over the last few years and your desires had slowly shifted. It really was no problem that Charlie had cheated on you. Perfect opportunity to drop him and move on to something more meaningful. And hopefully someone more experienced.

Has Mr. Walker been in your sights all along? No. No way. But here he was now. It wasn't right to think about him this way, but fuck he looked good tonight, that fluffy curl hanging down and that porn 'stache. What else could you call it? He even had a little of the scruff you'd really enjoyed seeing on Professor Marshall. You wondered how it would feel between your... You heaved a sigh. This can not happen.

You splashed another round of cold water and then dried your face, swapped your jeans for light cotton joggers, and then climbed the stairs to join Gemma and her dad in the dining room.

"There you are," Mr. Walker announced, standing at the head of the table with a bottle in his hand. "We thought you'd gotten lost." He flashed what felt like a knowing smirk as you froze in your tracks.

"Dad, don't be daft. She knows her way around the house." She turned to you from her seat to the right of her father and motioned to your usual guest spot across the table from her, to the left of Mr. Walker.

"Oh, let me have my fun, Gemma. Would you girls like some wine?"

"'Girls', dad? Really?"

"What would you prefer?"

"Ladies?"

Mr. Walker chuckled as he picked up the bottle and poured two glasses of wine.

"Right then. There you go, ladies."

He tilted his head to the side and glanced at you as he split his arms and passed the glasses over by the stems. You did your best to grab the bowl, but his fingers shifted up slightly as he released your glass. You heated again as they brushed the back of your hand and you took a sip immediately, trying to cover the pleasure that had to be apparent on your face.

You set the glass down and picked up your knife and fork, preparing to dig into the plate of luscious looking food in front of you. You took a bite and tried to suppress it, but a groan slipped out of your mouth as your eyes rolled closed. You closed your lips and chewed the fork-tender meat, marveling at it melting away in your mouth. When you finished swallowing, you opened your eyes to find Gemma staring at you, mouth agape.

You turned your head to find Mr. Walker's piercing blue eyes trained on yours as he leaned casually against the arm of the oversized dining chair.

"Enjoying it?"

You blinked and remembered where you were, who you were with.

"Mr. Walker, these short ribs are divine!" you declared.

"Jesus. You act like you never ate a home-cooked meal before," Gemma snapped.

"Sorry, I just," you shook your head to clear the fog. "I mean you’ve always been a great cook, I've just never tasted anything like this."

"It's good, right?" Mr. Walker asked. “I’ve been expanding my repertoire lately.”

"It really is. Oh my god I'm so embarrassed! Gemma, I'm sorry. That was..."

You stared at her across the table with a silent plea, your eyes begging her to say something, anything. You were about to give up completely when Gemma burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face.

"You absolute freak!" she laughed and you let out a breath and laughed with her.

You kept your shit together during the rest of the dinner for the most part. But Mr. Walker poured another few glasses of wine and you could feel yourself getting tipsy.

"I think I need to head to bed, but do you need any help in the kitchen, Mr. Walker?" you asked.

"No, but thank you for the offer. Be careful down those stairs." Did he wink at you?

"See you in the morning!" Gemma called, with a lightness that told you she had well and truly forgiven the awkwardness of just an hour or so ago.

You peeled off your thin sweater and discarded your bra, leaving just a lacy camisole and your joggers. You pulled back the thick pile of covers on the bed and were about to climb in, when a wave of thirst overtook you.

You opened the bedroom door and stepped softly into the hall. The Walkers always kept a mini-fridge stocked in the media room down here. You froze as you entered the doorway.

"Oh, Mr. Walker! I was just..."

"I thought you might want a bottle of water for your nightstand."

You exhaled a small laugh as you both spoke at the same time, but then froze again as you watched the way he held the bottle. Low, at his hips. One hand on the base, the other fiddling with the cap.

" Wh..where's Gemma?" you practically whispered, unable to get your voice to cooperate suddenly.

"She's finishing up the dishes. I’m sure she'll be right down," he replied with a firm, confident tone. "Did you want this?"

He gave a slight nod in the direction of his hands, where you saw he was now tipping the bottle back and forth, before finally offering it to you with an outstretched arm and hand gripped firm around the plastic form.

"Here. Take it."

You nodded and reached for the bottle, once again trying to avoid his touch. Once again finding your fingers brushing against his.

“There you go.”

Your stomach dropped along with his voice as you realized what a terrible idea staying here was. There was no way you were going to be able to hide your desire from Gemma if her father was going to keep acting like this. Time stood still while you tried to move something, anything. Your eyes away from his. Your mouth to say thank you. Your feet to head back to your room.

"Let's get you back to bed," he stepped forward, turning you with a hand on your shoulder, then sliding that hand down your side to your waist and guiding you down the hall.

He stopped at the door frame, pressing you gently into the room. You almost moaned at the loss of his touch as you stepped out of his reach and sat on the edge of the bed, finally finding your voice.

"Thank you, Mr. Walker."

"Sweet dreams." He absolutely winked at you. Fuck.

He pulled the door shut, leaving you all alone with the crazy feelings stirring inside you. This is your best friend's father. You reclined back in the bed. Snap out of it. Girl code isn't just about boyfriends. Pulled the covers over you. Besides, he's like, twice your age, at least. Stared at the dark ceiling, while your fingers shifted under the covers and down your belly. But the way he looked at you tonight. Slipped a hand past the waistband of your pants. He wasn't just being polite. Tentatively touched the heat between your legs.

He was flirting, there was no denying it. Maybe you could have written off the hand brush at dinner, but he was showing off with the bottle of water. He wanted you to look.

You swirled a finger gently through your folds, gathering the slick and spreading it around. You thought about his mischievous grin, his tailored pants, and his strong hands before plunging two fingers deep inside, pulling them back out slowly to circle your clit.

"More," you whispered to yourself, then obliged with fingers deep again, arching your back for better positioning.

"Right there," you moaned quietly, letting the fantasy circle around your head. You pumped in and out, curling deep to find your sweet, spongy spot while you toyed with the idea of letting him touch you.

"Please," you begged, pressing a thumb against your clit, twitching with anticipation. You couldn't wait any longer.

You pulled your slick fingers from your clenching walls and focused all your attention on your clit, rubbing tenderly while you imagined his mouth on you.

"God, Mr. Walker!" you gasped, finally reaching your peak. "August," you whispered, rolling to your side and clasping the blanket close around you while you worked to slow your heart rate before drifting off to sleep.

You woke late on Saturday. It was 10 am when you looked at the clock. The floor to ceiling blackout curtains had really done their job.

You skipped the shower, even though you craved one after the long drive and your private activity the night before. Instead, you just washed your face and wrapped a thin robe around yourself before heading up to find breakfast. Gemma was sitting at the kitchen counter typing away on her phone, empty cereal bowl in front of her.

“Oh, good. You’re up! And you didn’t shower already, perfect. Grab a bite and then let’s hang in the hot tub this morning. I have a kink in my neck from that car ride I need to work out!”

You poured yourself a bowl of cereal and mug of steaming coffee and took a seat in a low back leather barstool next to Gemma. She let you eat in silence while she finished her text conversation.

“Ugh,” she exclaimed, slamming the phone on the counter. “I can’t believe Mike got put on shift at the end of finals week.”

“That why he couldn’t get home already?”

“Yeah, says it’s like a right of passage for all new bartenders at the club. Business is light, but they schedule you with a threat that you’ll lose shifts the following semester if you don’t stay to serve the stragglers and the few locals who pop in the bar once the college crowd clears out for break.”

“But he’ll be home tomorrow, right?”

“Yep. You done?” She watched for your nod. “Well get changed and let’s hit the tub.”

You headed back downstairs to your room and fished your bikini out of your luggage. After changing, you threw the curtains aside and pulled open the sliding door leading to the heated pool deck. Gemma must have had her suit on under her robe because she was already soaking by the time you stepped outside.

You slipped into the bubbling water, immediately grateful for the suggestion. The warmth began to work on your own tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding and you let out a little moan.

“I hear you on that,” Gemma stated. “I hate long car rides! They fuck with my spinal alignment.”

“Yeah, this water feels so good.” You closed your eyes and tilted your head back against the side of the tub, sinking as deep as you could without dipping your face in the water. You snapped up when you heard the splash and blinked your eyes open to see a figure skimming under the water from the far deep end of the pool to the shallow end closer to where you sat in the hot tub.

When Mr. Walker popped his head above water and hung on the side of the pool to say good morning, you were ever so grateful for the steam hiding any lust in your eyes.

“Hey dad.” Gemma turned from her spot to face him.

“Are you ladies getting in the pool this morning?” he smirked.

“No, I think we’re just gonna soak and then go veg in front of the TV for a bit,” she replied, hanging off the side of the hot tub.

“Alright, well, I’m headed out to check on a few sites this afternoon. Should I plan on you for dinner or have you made other arrangements?” Mr. Walker asked.

“Dinner here sounds great, dad. Thanks.”

Gemma turned back to you as you watched Mr. Walker duck back into the water and begin a series of laps. You fluttered your eyes closed so she couldn’t see how blown your pupils were, watching him first speak with Gemma and then propel his body through the water. God, he was practically naked over there. You were practically naked over here. You leaned your head back again to pray for relief.

When you both felt loose and relaxed enough, you climbed out of the hot tub, grabbing an oversized towel from the lidded basket next to the pool to dry off. You were just bending over to reach your lower legs and feet when you heard the splash of footsteps on the pool stairs.

“Right then, that’s me done. And don’t you two load up on snacks while I’m gone. You’ll spoil your appetite.”

You held your breath as he leaned next to you to grab a towel, another mysterious smirk on his face as he rose to face you. You stood and pulled your towel up your body, pretending to wipe non-existent water from your face just to avoid any further eye contact. His body was amazing and his wet swim trunks were clinging to his thighs. If Gemma caught you staring, you were done for.

When it felt safe, you lowered the towel from your face and watched him pad up the staircase leading to the main level before entering the house. Your heart was beating a million miles per hour, but luckily Gemma was already heading inside herself.

You showered finally, then donned some comfy loungewear and joined Gemma in the media room where she’d already cued up Netflix.

“Ready to binge The Witcher?” she asked. “They just released the new season last night.”

“Ugh, that man could raw-dog me all day and night!”

“Where is the lie???!!!???” she laughed with you.

You grabbed some water from the mini-fridge, doing your best to ignore the scene from last night that popped into your head as you settled into an oversized, reclining theater seat. Gemma paused the autoplay on the third episode and asked if you wanted some lunch. You were hungry, alright. But yeah, a sandwich sounded good.

There were still at least 3 more episodes of the season left, when Mr. Walker called down around 6.

“I’m starting dinner now. It’ll be ready shortly.”

“We’ll help,” Gemma called and flipped off the tv. You both headed upstairs to the kitchen. Gemma began to set the dining table, so you sat at the kitchen counter and asked what you could do.

“You could prep that basil for me,” Mr. Walker replied. “Here, like this.”

You watched rapt, as he proceeded to show you how he wanted you to tear the leaves gently into small pieces. When he was sure you had it right, he drizzled some olive oil in a large shallow saute pan and waited for it to warm before tossing in two packages of gnocchi.

He stirred them around for a few minutes and when he was satisfied by their state, he ladeled them out into a serving bowl. He scooped out a few and offered them over the counter to you and Gemma. You each plucked a warm, crispy potato pillow from the spoon and you sighed when you popped it in your mouth, happy that Gemma was making the same noise and you wouldn’t be called out this time. Something about food with Mr. Walker was becoming increasingly sensual to you.

He added some more olive oil and then butter to the pan, waiting for it to melt before pouring in the heirloom cherry tomatoes he’d asked you to dry off from the colander in the deep sink. He sprinkled in some salt and gave them a quick stir, then turned to the open the fridge, pulling out a bottle of wine.

He poured three glasses set on the counter and pushed two towards you and Gemma with his fingers pressed on the base of the stems. Then he raised his own glass.

“I’m glad you’re home, sweetheart,” he tipped his glass to Gemma, and then toward you. “Both of you, of course.”

You took a small sip, watching over the rim as he did the same and you held your breath while your eyes trailed along his throat as he swallowed, hoping Gemma didn’t notice you staring.

The three of you chatted amicably, while Mr. Walker stirred the tomatoes in the pan until they began to burst, at which point he dumped the crispy gnocchi back into the pan. You watched in awe as he lifted the heavy pan with one hand and gave it a good toss, shifting it back and forth with subtle little wrist flicks that nestled the gnocchi into the simple sauce. Then he stirred in some fresh mozzarella pearls and some of the hand-torn basil, giving you a wink of thanks, before popping the whole thing under the broiler.

He asked Gemma to carry the salad and offered you the last pour of wine before sending you off to the dining room with a fresh bottle. Seated at your usual spot, you piled a moderate amount of the bubbly dish onto your plate, inhaling the heavenly scent of basil and tomato. Mr. Walker raised an eyebrow as he held a small bowl of shaved parmesan in your direction. When you nodded, he held the dish for you while you sprinkled the cheese over your plate, eyes watching you the whole time. The fact that he simply turned and handed the bowl to Gemma to let her hold it while she sprinkled her own cheese was not lost on you.

The white wine wasn’t affecting you the way the red had the night before, so once dinner was over, you and Gemma helped clean up and then headed downstairs to finish out the season before going to bed.

You woke yourself up in the middle of the night with your hand down your pants again, teasing your slit while you recalled the dream.

A rugged man with long silvery hair helped you down off his horse and led you to a blanket in a clearing near a steamy pool of water. From a small bowl, he plucked a tiny ripe tomato with his fingers and gently pressed it into your waiting mouth. You sighed as the tomato burst when you bit into it and shivered when he bent over to lick the juice running down your chin with the tip of his tongue before pressing you to your back and holding you down with a heavy kiss. You whispered his name into the night once again as you came.

“August.”

In the morning, you peeled the covers back and stretched your way out of bed. The pleasure of the mid-slumber release you gave yourself last night still tingled in your mind. You showered and dressed, then climbed the stairs again searching for Gemma and hopefully breakfast, missing that her door was still closed. You stopped short seeing Mr. Walker alone in the kitchen.

“Good morning. Did you sleep alright?” He spoke with a suspicious tone. It was like he knew. How could he know?

You swallowed and tried to find your voice. “I did. Thank you.”

“Coffee?” He held the french press up and grabbed a mug when you nodded. “I have a frittata here, too, if you’d like some.”

“Yes, please. Smells amazing,” you inhaled and closed your eyes slowly, remembering the meals from the last few nights as well. “You’re a really good cook, Mr. Walker.”

“I certainly try,” he winked at you. “So what do you two have going on today?”

“I don’t know. Mike gets in this afternoon and I think Gemma wants to meet up with him.”

“Will you be joining them?”

You blinked and swallowed. How do you tell a father that his daughter is probably going to be getting railed six ways to Sunday tonight, so no, you wouldn’t be joining them?

“Uh…”

“Morning!” Gemma’s cheery greeting broke the tension and you were thankful you didn’t have to tell Mr. Walker that the reunion tonight was for Gemma alone. She gave her father a peck on the cheek and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Gemma, sweetheart, are you meeting Mike tonight?” Mr. Walker asked.

“I am!” she grinned.

“Alone?”

“Yeaahhhh…” she answered, just short of shy. “Sorry dad, I probably should have said something earlier. But you can handle a night without me, right?”

Mr. Walker stared at her for a moment and suddenly all the tension was back in the room. He had to know what was going to go on tonight. How could he not?

“I’m sure I can figure something out. But please, be safe.”

You pursed your lips and widened your eyes as you turned away from them. Was he saying what it sounded like he was saying? Did he have no illusions about the extracurricular activities of his one and only daughter? Sure, she was of age and he had to know what she got up to away from home, but still. If you had to tell your parents you were going to be skipping a night home with them to get it on with your boyfriend, you’d probably melt into the furniture.

“Always am,” Gemma exclaimed cheerfully.

“Alright, well, I’m off. I have some work to finish up here and then a few more site visits to make today.”

“On a Sunday, dad, really?”

“We’re very close to closing this deal and it has to be done before the end of the year. I want to be sure the due diligence is correct so I don’t get stuck with a billion dollar dud when everything is said and done.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“About the things I care about, why wouldn’t I be? You two have fun today. Gemma, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Not before you get home, unless you’re not going into the office tomorrow?”

“To be determined.” He gave you both a short goodbye wave and headed out.

“Awk - ward…” you sing-songed, once you were sure he was out of range.

“Ugh, I know. He’s not stupid. I mean, he knows I’m active, but it’s still a little weird being so forthcoming with him about it.”

“Has he ever had anyone…” you asked before you could filter the thought.

“I mean, you’re here all the time when I’m home. Have you ever seen him bring a woman around? I know he’s dated over the years, but no one’s ever good enough for him. They never last so he never wants to introduce us. It’s a little sad, really.”

You nodded in agreement.

“Do you want to have a swim and sit in the hot tub for a bit again this morning? Mikey’s flight gets in at 3, so I was hoping you and I could head into town for lunch and maybe some shopping and then you could drop me at his place and drive my car back here. Unless you want to meet up with anyone, of course.”

“Sounds perfect. I’m honestly just looking forward to another veg fest tonight.”

You changed into your bathing suit and slipped a robe over top, then met Gemma on the heated pool deck.

“I can’t get over how warm it is right now! Clearly no hope for a white Christmas.”

“I know! Air’s still a bit chilly, but yeah, sucks. I’d love snow for the holidays,” you replied, dropping your towel on a lounge chair and untying your robe. You slid the fabric off your shoulders, and stepped down the stairs into the warm, salt water pool. You let your body acclimate a bit before dipping your head completely under and pushing off the bottom to glide to the far side in one breath. When you surfaced, you grabbed a hold of the side of the pool and realized Mr. Walker was standing at his office windows, staring down at you.

He held your gaze for what felt like a moment too long, then turned away, presumably toward his desk, but impossible for you to see his face. Which, to be honest, was fine because for a minute it felt like he was going to burst through the windows and eat you up.

The splash as Gemma broke the surface next to you snapped you out of your reverie and she tugged you back from the side, urging you into an easy lap race. You swam back and forth the length of the pool about twenty times before stopping back at the shallow end.

“That all you got?” Gemma called, crawling away toward the deep end again.

You stared after her, but let your gaze raise to the windows. His window. You could see nothing inside from this far away, the light tint blocking everything. But you knew he was there. Was he still sitting at his desk, typing a memo? On the phone, arranging an international meeting? Or was he back at the window, watching you with his hands in his pockets, struggling not to touch himself? Or fuck, maybe he was touching himself. You sank under the water before Gemma could reach you again.

“Hot tub?” she asked, when you bobbed to the surface.

“Hot tub,” you agreed.

You lounged in the even warmer, bubbling water for another 15 minutes or so, sending the last of your finals week jitters packing. This semester was over. Your relationship was over. There was nothing more you could do about your performance for either scenario. So you closed your eyes and let it all go with a sigh.

“There you are.”

“What?” you opened your eyes as Gemma spoke.

“You’ve been on edge. I know you said you didn’t care about Charlie, but something’s been bothering you. You just look so much more relaxed now. You good? Still okay about the plans for tonight? I don’t mean to leave you all alone, but…”

“I’m gonna be so good, Gem. Don’t worry about me. Let’s go. I want to see if that pop-up shop is still around. They have the cutest jewelry.”

“Yes!”

You found the store you were looking for and bought a few new pairs of earrings. A long, thin drop chain pair and some geometric hoops, asking the clerk if you could wear the gold bar threaders out of the store. You also found a necklace for your mom and some jade bracelets for your aunt. Christmas shopping halfway done.

Gemma pulled you into a lingerie shop next.

“I wanna get something sexy for tonight.” She tried on a few outfits and picked out a few for you to try on too.

“This is silly. I don’t have anyone to wear this stuff for anymore.”

“Oh, just wear it for yourself. Don’t you just feel luxurious in silk?”

You agreed and bought the dark blue, high cut silk romper with black lace trim and white flower print. It was maybe the sexiest thing you ever owned. And you were single. Awesome.

You and Gemma walked arm in arm to your favorite lunch spot, grabbing a table on the heated patio. You giggled conspiratorially together about how her evening with Mike would go, making sure you cut her off before she got too graphic. You did not want the details. Those were private, no matter how much Gemma liked to brag.

You hit a few more shops after lunch, nabbing a new sweater for your dad, a book from your uncle’s favorite author, and some art supplies for your cousin. You just had stocking stuffers left, so you hit up the candy shop after dropping Gemma at Mike’s.

You pulled Gemma’s car into the garage and let yourself into the basement to drop your bags down in your room, figuring you would just stay hidden and out of Mr. Walker’s way for the evening. But your stomach rumbled and you realized lunch had been hours ago.

Before you could make it upstairs, you were distracted by the sounds of grunting and staccato smacks. You peered into the gym to find Mr. Walker throwing jabs and punches against a heavy bag. His back was to you and your mouth watered as you watched his shoulders and traps tense and ripple with each hit. From the amount of sweat dripping down his back and soaked into his tank and shorts, he’d clearly been at it for a while. He was shifting his feet back and forth in a little sparring dance and you were about to get caught out as he rotated around the bag. But you simply couldn’t move.

Mr. Walker had just pumped his arms preparing for the next hit as he rounded his target. He grabbed the bag to still it when he noticed you staring.

“Everything okay?” he asked, chest heaving.

You cleared your throat and suppressed the urge to turn and run.

“Everything’s, uh …just fine,” you smiled at him. “I was just on my way to grab a bite and heard the ruckus in here.”

“Sorry to sidetrack you.” He trained an intense stare on you, head tilting to the side. “But I was just about done anyway. If you don’t mind waiting, I can whip up something after I grab a shower?”

“That would be amazing, thank you Mr. Walker. Anything I can do to help get ready?”

He strode toward you now, grabbing a towel from the bench to wipe the sweat from his face. You watched rapt as a damp curl bounced back into place on his brow.

“If you want to open a bottle of wine, feel free, but no need to do any heavy lifting in the kitchen. I’ve got it covered,” he winked at you with a devilish grin. Suddenly his hand was at your neck, fingers gently caressing the chain hanging from your ear. “Are these new?”

You swallowed and nodded, unable to respond.

“They’re pretty.”

“Thank you,” you practically whispered, trying not to sink to the floor before him.

You excused yourself and made your way back upstairs, wanting to simply escape his commanding presence and seek out a snack to tide you over.

“Don’t spoil your dinner,” he called to you in the kitchen, his footsteps heavy on his way upstairs as well.

You sat with the banana you’d plucked from the fruit bowl and pondered the scene.

Would he strip down in the bedroom or the bathroom? Would he stand under the rushing water for a bit and let the warm water loosen his muscles, hand against the wall, head hanging down? Did he touch himself? He had to touch himself, but did he use a bar or gel? Loofah? Washcloth? Or was he just running his hands all over his body now? How did he dry off? Towel over his head to shuffle those curls? Or bend over and get the legs, drying up the body first? Maybe he started with a swipe across his chest? Did he wrap that towel around his waist or just bare-ass it into the closet for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt? Barefoot? Slippers?

“Are you going to eat that?”

You jumped and dropped the banana that you hadn’t even taken one bite of to the counter.

“Oh, Mr. Walker, you startled me,” you gasped.

“You did seem rather in deep thought there. Anything I can help with?”

Why you expected him to be in a ratty pair of sweats and a t-shirt you’d never know. Mr. Walker had donned an elegant pair of loose linen pants and simple cashmere turtleneck sweater that did nothing to hide the muscles he’d been training just half an hour ago. He looked delicious.

“Here,” he reached for the as yet unpeeled banana, “let’s just put this away and get you something more substantial, okay?”

You made some light small talk about your recent semester and watched as he breezed around the kitchen, pulling out packages from the fridge and heating pans on the stove. In a mere matter of minutes he had turned a burner on to boil water and chopped asparagus, tomatoes, broccoli, and yellow peppers. When the water bubbled just right he tossed in a bag of fresh cavatelli. He asked about the rest of your Christmas plans while he sauted the vegetables in a fragrant lemon sauce. After draining the pasta, he tossed it in the pan along with a bit of pasta water, stirring to thicken up the sauce before adding some lemon zest and grated parm. Boyfriends? He asked as he ladled heaping portions into two wide flat bowls and set one down in front of you at the island.

“Thank you, Mr. Walker,” you said as you picked up your fork. “No, not anymore.”

“Please,” he rested his fists on the counter across from you.”I want you to call me August.’

“Okay. August,” you replied, as a jolt of pleasure raced through you straight to your cunt.

“Good girl.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, hoping it was masked as the enjoyment of the bite you took. August Walker wanted you as much as you wanted him. There was absolutely no doubt. When you opened your eyes, his icy blue stare greeted you while his mouth pulled into a sly smirk.

He lounged against the counter across from you, dish in hand, lifting bites of pasta to his mouth and chewing while he listened to you try to explain why it simply wasn’t working out with the men at college. It seemed to you that his breath got deeper with each failed relationship.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, licking an errant drop of sauce off the corner of your mouth. “It just feels like they aren’t really into it.”

“Into what?”

“Well, me. I guess. Into what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

“Something more…” you took a deep breath to stifle the jitters. You were about to proposition your best friend’s dad. “Passionate.”

His eyes widened ever so slightly, brow raised in surprise as if he did not expect that to be your answer. He set his plate down, abandoning the last bite, and slipped his hands in the pockets of his pants. And watched you watch. Yeah. He knew. Saw it the minute you walked in the house two days ago.

You dropped your fork to your plate and slid your chair back, standing to move around the island.

“Can I help with the dishes?”

“Are dishes what you really want to be doing right now?” he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Not really, no,” you stepped closer, heart pounding in your chest. “August.”

He pulled his hands from his pockets and placed them against your cheeks, fingers wrapping around the nape of your neck, but with no pressure at all.

“So, listen. I want you to be really sure about this,” his eyes darted back and forth as he searched yours for any hint of doubt, even as you nodded. When he found none, he bent to kiss you. It was gentle at first, a simple touch, then a swipe of the tongue to ease you open and slip in. The mustache tickled your nose and the scruff felt exactly how you imagined, how you wanted it. You let your mouth fall open and welcomed the gentle probing of his tongue.You whimpered when he pulled away.

He considered you then, for what felt like an eternity before he placed a thumb on your lips and tugged down to your chin then slid his digit into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue to gather whatever moisture was available. You closed your lips around his thumb and rolled your eyes back up to him, sucking slowly on his thumb and daring him to pull it out.

He huffed and sneered and pulled his thumb from your lips and tilted your mouth back up to meet his lips crashing down on yours again. When he released your mouth, he licked his lips and then turned you so he could guide you out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs to his bedroom. He sat you on the edge of the bed and you stared up into his ocean-deep eyes.

“My god you are an angel, aren’t you?”

You shivered and gasped, then released your breath slowly. He smirked again.

“You like that? When I call you an angel?”

“I really do,” you whispered.

“Good. Then whenever you’re with me, alone, you are my Angel. Is that okay with you?”

“It is.”

He smiled at you then and pulled his sweater over his head leaving him bare chested in front of you. You raised a hand as if to drift your fingers through the bed of fur covering his chest and tapering down to his stomach. But he stopped you. Grabbed your wrist with one hand and tilted your chin to him with the other, holding your gaze steady and peering deep into your soul to confirm his observation. It was written all over your face. You wanted him to tell you. You wanted him to give you permission. You wanted to hear him say yes. So you asked.

“Can I touch you August?”

“Yes, Angel. You can.” He released your hand and face and you proceeded to touch him. You slid your palm up his stomach to his chest, your fingers snaking through his hair. He heaved a sigh, then placed his hand on your wrist again and pulled you up to standing. You peered into his eyes, bit your lower lip and slid your palm back down, turning your hand so your fingertips hit his waistband first, sneaking under the fabric.

“You sure you’re ready for that right now?” he asked, placing his hand on your wrist for the third time this evening. “I think you might want to rethink that.” He put your hand over the bulge in his pants so you could feel not only how hard he was already but how large. He was silently asking you if you’d ever had a lover whose cock was as big as his and you paused for only a beat.

You knew exactly how you wanted to start. “I’m a thousand percent sure,” you grinned salaciously up at him.

His nod was practically imperceptible, so determined not to let you see how your eagerness was affecting him. How would it look if he were losing all control?

You licked your lips and brought both hands to the drawstring tie, loosening it slowly, then dragging the fabric carefully over his engorged cock. You sat back on the bed as you pushed his pants down his legs, never once letting your eyes leave his.

Not until you were ready to take him in hand did you drop your eyes to drink him in. It was the most glorious sight you could imagine. Long, thick, hard. Jumping slightly as you touched the underside with your fingertips, then settling the weight into the palm of your hands. He had not been wrong at all. No other man you’d been with could compare to his size. And you had absolutely no doubt he knew exactly how to wield it.

You were hypnotized. Even if you’d wanted to look back into his eyes to ask permission before you took him into your mouth, you simply could not tear your gaze away. Your hunger evolved into something more now, and you leaned forward, tucking your tongue under the head while your lips wrapped around him.

You knew there was no way you’d be able to take his full length inside your mouth, but you wanted to try. Wanted to show him you were willing. You gathered your spit and let it glide your mouth over his cock, past the bulbous head and as far down the veiny shaft as you could manage. With a hand firmly gripped around the base, you held him in place while you moved your mouth up and down, letting your tongue drag and circle. You could do this for hours. He might have let you. But the minute you let his tip hit the back of your throat, causing a small gag reflex and a few tears to well in your eyes, he pulled you off.

“Not yet. I’ll have you undone, but not yet.”

You blinked the tears of pleasure quickly away, confused. Charlie had always loved to come in your mouth, knowing an early release would allow him to last longer with you.

“Was it not alright?” you questioned, unsure now if all those boys had been lying when they said you were the best.

“Oh, Angel. It was divine. Do you see how fucking hard I am for you? And you’ll do that again for me. I’ll insist on it. But I want to drink you in myself, first.”

He asked you to undress. You were suddenly reminded of your spur of the moment purchase and would give anything to put yourself on display in it for him. He sensed your cautious excitement, but mistook it for hesitation.

“What is it, Angel? Are you having doubts?” he asked in a gentler tone than he’d been using since you arrived in the bedroom.

“No, August. Nothing like that. I just, well…”

He furrowed his brows at you and urged you to finish your confession.

“I mean, I want this, but I really wasn’t prepared for it to happen. And it’s embarrassing to say, but I have something I’d love to put on for you. Can I do that?”

His relief shifted to a wolfish grin, as he nodded and shifted out of your way. “Please don’t take too long.” He took himself in hand and began to slowly stroke. “I don’t want to take care of this myself.”

You nodded eagerly and rose to stand before him. It took every ounce of restraint not to sprint from the room in an effort to return to him as quickly as possible, but that didn’t feel dignified. You weren’t going to start acting like a schoolgirl in front of August Walker.

Your legs carried you purposefully through the house to your room where you undressed, put your hair up, and quickly showered. After drying off, you fished the romper out of the shopping bags on your bed, tore off the tag carefully, and stepped into the silky piece. Gemma was right, it felt so very luxurious.

A shock of cold rushed through you. How would you ever face Gemma after tonight? It wasn’t as if you’d been scheming for this to happen. But you weren’t saying no, either. You wanted this so badly. Another deep breath. You’d just have to deal with the consequences later. There was no way you were stopping now.

You searched through your luggage for your long, white crochet cardigan with the front tie. You decided to brush your teeth quickly and took a few extra minutes to dab some of your favorite perfume along your neck and wrists. A makeup touch up seemed useless at this point, but you did fix your hair.

You took a final look at yourself in the mirror and blew out the breath you found yourself holding. This was happening.

You climbed the stairs with purpose, noting the low seductive music drifting from the top floor. You smiled at the thought that August liked to use sound to get into the mood as well. You stopped at the door to his bedroom, just as he was coming out of his own en suite, clothed now in a pair of dark blue silk pajama pants that did little to hide his ongoing erection.

“Oh Angel. I thought you’d gotten lost again,” he teased. “Come. Let me look at you.”

He reached out his hands as he moved across the room toward you. He grasped one of your hands and raised it over your head, twirling you around once slowly then dropping your arm as you came back around to face him and tracing his hand down your throat and chest, toying with the bow at the front of your sweater.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

You nodded, wide-eyed, hoping he really loved it as much as he seemed to.

“Well, don’t you look good for me?. It’s a pity this won’t stay on long.” He pulled on the strings and slipped a hand inside the sweater, grazing your side as he wrapped his arm around your back and pulled you close for a withering kiss. He palmed a breast with the other hand, rubbing against the hard nub straining through the soft fabric. He pressed the small of your back and moved you inches closer to him, his stiff cock jutting against you.

As he released the kiss, he pushed the sweater off your shoulders and let it drop to the floor behind you, once again taking up your hand and pulling you with him as he moved back to the bed. This time, he sat, legs spread wide so you could step between them.

“This really is very pretty,” he toyed with the thin straps of the romper, sliding a finger under the lace and brushing his knuckle against the top of your breast. “Would you like to keep it on a little longer?”

“I would.”

“Very well then.”

He pulled the straps down your shoulders a few inches tempting you with a state of full undress, then replaced them and moved his hands to your hips, smoothing them around to cup your ass and squeeze. He kept one hand on your lower back, pulling the other back around to the front before pushing a hip just off-kilter. You were now on a slight diagonal to him and that allowed him to more easily slide his hand off your hip and down into the crease of your thigh before he slipped a finger under the silk to trace along your folds.

You watched his eyes darken as he discovered the moisture already accumulated, waiting for him. You bit your lip as he turned his gaze to your eyes.

“You are already so wet, Angel. You’re hungry for this aren’t you?”

“Yes, August. I want you.”

He kept his eyes glued to yours as he dipped two fingers inside your core and you gasped.

“And I want you to fuck yourself on my hand. Will you do that for me Angel?”

Your whole body was buzzing now. No one had ever prioritized your pleasure like this. If you’d had your mouth on a boyfriend’s cock, that’s where it was staying until he came in your mouth or pulled out and slipped inside your pussy. But giving you control of your own orgasm? Exhilarating.

His fingers were curled inside you, stroking and stretching you, smoothing along your walls and seeking out the most delicate spaces as you began to shift your hips against his hand. The heat spread through your body, you relaxed and sank your weight into his hand, your cunt swallowing his fingers deeper. You swept a hand under the curve of your tit, squeezing gently at the hardened nipple while you grabbed a hold of his wrist with your other hand. Using the leverage of his grip, you rocked back and forth into his palm, tossing your head back when he graced you with another curl of his fingers. He had found your spot and was going to exploit that fact, teasing you with a gentle press before spreading his fingers wide inside you.

“Please, August,” you begged.

“Please what Angel?” he smirked. “This is all you.”

You hauled your head back to stare down at him while you undulated your hips, searching for a way to position his fingers where you needed them again.

“Would you put another finger in? Please August?”

He smiled and obliged and you shivered with pleasure, finally beginning to feel the fullness and pressure you needed to reach your peak. If you could just…You snaked your hand around his wrist, moving so you could drag your thumb down beside his and urge it up to the top of your clit. You pressed his thumb into you, guiding his motion and pulling away only when you were sure he would continue on his own.

With his thumb brushing over your pearl, you rocked harder on his fingers, shifting his hand so he had no choice but to curl up into your spot and you held his hand firm in position when he did, praying to all the gods you knew that he would remain right there for just this moment longer.

He stood as soon as you came apart, catching you with an arm around your back as he slowly withdrew his fingers from your pulsing pussy.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” He kissed at the heat radiating from your cheeks, then sought your mouth and traced your lips with his tongue, opening you up to him and licking in deep. You moaned as you imagined him doing that again, lower.

“Yes, I know. You’ll get that too,” he declared, pulling away from the kiss. “What do you say, Angel? How do you feel about taking this off now that I’ve seen you so pretty in it?”

You smoothed your hands down your body, enjoying the sensual feel of the silk, still reeling from your orgasm. You nodded as he slipped the straps from your shoulders once more, this time pushing the elastic waistband over your hips and dropping the material to the floor.

August grabbed your ass then slid his hands to your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he turned to face the bed. His kiss was deep and hard as he climbed one knee and then the other onto the mattress, before easing you on your back. With your legs pinned around his waist, he ran his hands along your calves and up to the crease at the top of your thighs where he hooked his thumbs and pressed his fingertips into the flesh of your hips.

You were fully on display for him now. Nothing to stop his eyes from devouring every inch of your body, kindling the flames still licking at your skin. He eased his thumbs toward your apex, caressing your folds and massaging your slick along the edges. He let one thumb circle around your clit, pressing hard when you arched into it. He dipped the same thumb into your core, then withdrew and placed it in his mouth, licking you off his thumb like ice cream and you melted at the site of it.

You felt adored and basked in his worship, tossing your arms over your head and arching your back to press your chest out towards him. He slid his hands up your waist and over your belly to cup and knead your breasts. When he pinched, the pressure was just the other side of comfortable and you hissed with the pain. He eased up, rubbing gently for a moment before squeezing again, with the same intensity. The salacious leer on his side-cocked head sent a wave of pleasure along with the pain and you furrowed your brow and whimpered with content. Satisfied, he let you go and leaned down to kiss you again.

He unhooked your legs and directed you to the top of the bed. You eased back against the tall, plush gray velvet headboard, positioning yourself right in the middle of the California king bed.

“I’m going to eat that delicious pussy of yours now, Angel. And I don’t want you to touch me while I do. I want to try something I think you will enjoy. Will you let me?”

You furrowed your brow and nodded reluctantly, unsure what it would mean.

August climbed up to the head of the bed, knees straddling your waist as he reached behind the headboard. Your heart beat noticeably faster when you saw the thick strands of silk cord he pulled over the top. Holding them both in one hand by the plush lined leather cuffs at the ends of each, he peered down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Have you ever been restrained, Angel?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head slowly once, chin lowered with a shyness you hadn’t yet felt this evening. August grasped your jaw to tilt you towards him.

“Never be embarrassed, sweet thing. This isn’t for everyone. Believe me, I know.” He dropped one line and your chin at the same time, holding the second cuff in front of you and caressing the line. “You have options here. Let me explain. If you want, you could simply hold onto the rope. It’s soft and won’t burn or cut your hands when you squeeze tight. But the risk here is how easy it would be for you to drop it when you are unable to control yourself.”

You blinked with anticipation for the next option, then closed your eyes when he gave you a few more.

“You could always wrap the rope around your wrists or use the cuffs with a loose buckle as well, but still…” He unbuckled the cuff. “I think your best option, the one that will ensure you are able to enjoy every minute of my mouth on you, would be for you to let me tighten these around your wrists.”

He held the cuff wide for you and waited as you opened your eyes to give him an answer. With a wave of confidence surging through your body, you lifted your arm for him.

“Good girl.” He pulled the strap through the buckle and found the right fit with ease. Firm, not too tight, but certainly not loose at all. He tugged your arm down to demonstrate how little reach you had now and raised an eyebrow again with a last chance to beg off. You met his question with an unwavering gaze and he closed and opened his eyelids slowly with a smile before attaching a cuff to your other wrist.

You tested this one yourself with a tug and another thick swallow to calm your nerves and remind yourself you wanted this. So badly.

You could leave your arms winged back toward the headboard or bring your hands in front of your face, with elbows bent close by your side, but you’d never be able to touch him while he was tucked between your legs. As he began to retreat, you reached reflexively for him, even though you were unable to catch him as the rope went taut.

As if reading your mind, he bent then and allowed you to place your hands on either side of his face while he kissed first your brow, then your cheeks below each eye, the corners of your lips. He finally slotted his mouth against yours and you leaned into it and kissed back hard.

You let out a soft whine when he finally pulled away, but he pressed a finger to your lips to quiet you, then held it there as he eased down your inflamed body, rotating soft kisses and sharp nips.

No high school boyfriend had ever gone down on you. And Charlie wasn’t the first in college, but he’d been the best so far. August blew him out of the water.

When he arrived at his destination, he pulled his hand down your throat and over your chest, fingertips skimming your belly and lifting away right before he reached your mound.

He stared at first, eyes devouring the site before him. He tilted his head first one way then the other, as if trying to determine the perfect approach. He pushed your knees wide again when you began to tip them in, nervous about the scrutiny. When he finally eased closer, you closed your eyes in anticipation, but the warm wet sensation never came. You felt only his hands slipping under and around your bent legs, fingers digging into the tops of your thighs and holding you in place. You opened your eyes when you heard him inhale deeply and saw his own eyes flutter shut and open again. As he exhaled, the air drifted and teased, first warming and then cooling across your delicate skin.

He turned to nuzzle into the crook of your thigh, nipping and licking lightly on first one side and then the other. When his beard brushed your skin, you shuddered. It was an exquisite tickle, prickly and soft at once and everything you’d imagined. He pulled his arms from under you then, smoothing his hands along the insides of your thighs and pressing your knees wide and still he wouldn’t touch you where you ached for him.

“Please, August,” you pleaded, head straining toward him.

“Patience, little Angel.”

Only when you placed your head back against the headboard, did he dip low again, still nuzzling gently around the edges of your desire. You felt a brush of fingertips down your inner thigh and the back of a finger running up one side of your aching cunt and down the other. Then a finger along both sides, smoothing up then drifting down. At the bottom he captured your pussy lips between the knuckles of two fingers and squeezed, gently opening and closing and finally providing some of the friction you craved. But as soon as you tried to arch into it, he stopped and pulled his hand away.

“I know what you think you need, Angel. I’m here to tell you there’s more. We’ll get there. And I should have said something sooner. It would be better for you to hear this in a less vulnerable state, but if you want me to stop, at any time, I will. Do you understand?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to articulate even the word yes properly, but he wanted to hear it.

“Say it.”

“I understand August,” you spoke softly, then cleared your throat and responded with more conviction. “If I want you to stop, I’ll tell you.”

He placed a hand on your belly now, heel of his palm pressing just above your clit and rocking back yet still avoiding the tender spot. Then he lifted his palm and swept his finger toward your thigh again, massaging the flesh gently between his fingers and thumb. He did the same on the other side and finally, finally, because you were being so good and laying still for him, he eased a knuckle into your slit and held it there.

And then he craned his neck closer, pulled his finger up through your folds, and let his tongue drag in the spot where his finger was. He pressed his thumb onto your clit and rubbed small circles while his tongue lapped at the slick already forming. When he pulled his mouth away, he slid his thumb down inside you, deep and then shallow as he returned to pressing at your clit.

All you wanted was to lift your hips up to meet his pressure, but you sighed out a low moan instead, trying to be good for him. As if to reward your self-control, he let the tip of his tongue meet his thumb at your sensitive nub and then pulled his hand away so he could close his mouth and suck. When he pulled his lips away, he tugged the kernel with him for a moment before letting it go, then rubbing it with his thumb again.

When his mouth met your pussy once more, it was to press his tongue wide and flat into your folds before curling the tip up and in. He repeated this a few more times, tipping deeper and deeper each time while his thumb still strummed along your button before he finally plunged the length of his tongue right into your core and just like that wrapped his lips around your clit to pull out and away.

You closed your eyes, so he couldn’t see them begging him to put his mouth back where you wanted it, but the anticipation was stoking a fire and you didn’t want to put it out just yet. You felt his fingers push up along the soaking path, tipping into the bud and then dragging back down, middle finger dipping in on the return now. He ran this finger up and down, in and out, circling, sliding, coaxing, and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore and you were about to break, he pressed his other hand low on your belly and held your hips in place, like he just knew you were about to shift and search for more friction.

When he could sense you would be good for him, he moved the hand from your belly to cup under your thigh before adding a second finger and rubbing them both furiously from side to side briefly, before splitting his fingers and spreading your labia wide. He dove in to kiss your lower lips, tracing the wide opening before licking in deep and you gasped your eyes open at the memory of his earlier kiss and promise.

As if on cue, any tension you’d been holding in your body at the thought of being tied up, forced to remain still, and eaten out while you couldn’t fully participate just vanished. You sank infinitesimally further into the bed, your arms dropped by fractions of millimeters, and your legs fell open even wider.

August knew it. And he rewarded you for it. His mouth was on you in earnest now, kissing, sucking, nibbling, licking, lapping, prodding. His fingers were inside you and on you and around you. Two fingers twisted inside, pressing down and spreading you open. One tongue laved at your core, coaxing the heat and juice from you. When it came, you thought he would stop because this is when they stop and climb up your belly and slide their cocks inside you and grind into the wet wet heat, but he didn’t stop.

No he kept going. He kissed your quivering pussy and tongued along the folds, gathering up as much of your essence as he could. He spun those two fingers up now, caressing your walls and seeking out that most favorable spot. The one he already had you coming on earlier. The one he made you make yourself come on. God, what did it matter who was doing what?

The fact of the matter was, August Walker was giving you your third orgasm of the night with nothing more than his mouth and hands and he still hadn’t let you touch him for very long with either your fingers or your mouth. And he certainly hadn’t placed in cock deep inside your aching cunt.

But what he was doing was continuing to worship at your altar. Well past the point that you could think straight. Was this now four or five? It was all a blur and all you knew was that if August didn’t stop, you might explode. Suddenly it was a problem that you couldn’t move your arms much past your shoulders.

August was past caring about you thrashing your hips with one aftershock after another. Didn’t mind about having to hook his arms under your thighs and tug you back down the bed each time you tried to grasp the wrist cords and pull yourself off his face. He only wanted you to stop straining so he could show you how much better it could be. He wanted you to relax just like you had right before he’d really started in on you in earnest.

You felt his hand snake up your belly between your legs, creep over the swell of your breast, and rest against your collarbone. At first you resisted the weight, but then you welcomed it. Wondered if it might not be better if he just climbed his whole body right up on top of yours and crushed you into the mattress.

But he wasn’t going to do that, because instead he was going to ensure you came one more time while he scissored his fingers inside you and licked you into oblivion. When you screamed his name, he grinned a kiss against your thigh, crawled out from between your knees, and gently, ever so carefully, eased your legs together and unbent them.

He traced his hand back up your heaving belly and chest, wrapped his fingers around your throat and tilted your neck towards him.

“So, so beautiful when you come, Angel. I wanted it to last forever for you.”

You tasted yourself on his lips and tongue and whimpered into his mouth because you suddenly realized you wanted that too and it was too late.

“Is it too late?” you whispered and he chuckled at you.

“You should pace yourself.” He knelt beside you and unbuckled your wrists, kissing each one as he freed you from the cuffs, then dropping to his back beside you. “Thank you, for opening yourself to me.”

“How in the world are you thanking me after that?” you laughed, still shaking from the explosions, but moving toward your next goal. “And also... Can I get back to this now?”

You began to scoot down between his legs, dragging his silky pants with you and tossing them to the floor.

“If you’re sure you're ready.”

You trailed your fingers up his thighs as you moved back into position on your belly. He was still hard as rock when you reached for him. You licked your lips at the sight, then sent your eyes straight to his while your mouth wrapped around the tip of his cock with a smile. You worked him slow and methodically, tonguing along his length, tasting his warmth. You were salivating for this man, dribbling spit to help ease your tour of his member, and yet you knew you’d never reach the base. You let your hand twist around him, squeezing and grabbing while you worked your mouth down to meet it.

“Your mouth feels so good on me, Angel. You like doing that, don’t you?”

You peered at him through your lashes and nodded, attempting another wide smile to agree. His hands smoothed up your arms, over your shoulders, and into your hair. You didn’t need him to hold your head against his cock, but he grunted and shifted his hips to press deeper into your mouth. You would have done this for him all night. Let him lay back and enjoy being worshiped the way he had worshiped you.

But with one hand on your nape and one right on top of your head, August helped himself to the pleasure you were offering without hesitation and began fucking your mouth in earnest. With each thrust, you felt him edge deeper until he finally found the back of your throat.

“There you go,” he grunted. “That’s a good girl. Taking me so deep.”

You could do nothing more than open wide and let him drive, feeling the saliva drip from your mouth with no opportunity to swallow. He set a steady, punishing pace and while you were enjoying it, you also couldn’t help but imagine this must be what your aching pussy would feel like shortly. Your tears were flowing freely now, too, spurred on by the constant stimulation.

Suddenly, he pulled you off and you were confused for one brief, maddening moment until you heard him command you.

“Hands and knees.”

You pressed yourself up as he shifted to his knees as well before returning his hands to your head and dragging your mouth down his cock once again. You felt his grip on your hair at your neck tighten, his pace even faster than before. In just moments, with your watering eyes rolled up as far as they could go to watch him sneer down at you, you felt his release coat the back of your throat, hot and salty, as he came with a growl.

He hauled you up, shifting his knees forward to meet you, pressing his chest against you, arms wrapped around your back as he kissed the tears from your cheeks and praised you. He settled back against the headboard, taking you with him and scooping your legs over his, nestling your head against his chest and holding you close. You could feel his heart pounding, the intensity matched only by the speed at which yours beat. His fingers traced along your spine, caressing your shoulder and at the same time he held your hip on his lap and tortured you with tender touches along the flesh of your thighs and legs.

You trailed your fingers over his chest and angled your head to nip at his neck.

“Was that okay?” he asked, uncharacteristically soft. You bit the urge to respond with sarcasm.

“I loved every second of it.” You punctuated your response with a kiss, cupping his cheek and tonguing his mouth open to lick into the softness.

He groaned and kissed you back for what felt like forever until you began to feel a nudge at your thigh. You reached down between your heated bodies to find him, wrapping your hands around his girth and stroking him to full erection. Without breaking the kiss you began to shift, sliding a leg to either side of his hips. Just as you had raised up, ready to slide him deep inside you, he gripped your shoulders tight and pulled away.

“Wait.”

“Why?”

Without answering, he easily lifted and deposited you on your back beside him, before rolling to the nightstand beside the bed. He pulled out a foil packet and bottle of lube.

“Because I care about you.” He tore the packet and pulled out the condom then squeezed a few drops of lube in before rolling it over his engorged length. He added a few more drops and pumped a few times, before dropping to his back again beside you.

“Now, where were we?” he grinned.

He slipped his arm underneath you and pulled you to him, guiding your leg over his hip again. On your knees, you took him in hand but before you could position his tip at your entrance, he pressed two fingers deep in your slit, massaging and stroking, scissoring you wide. You felt the heat building again and dropped your head back with a moan, still dragging your hand up and down his length. Your pussy was squelching with the juice he was coaxing and you felt his hand slip out then wrap around yours as you both directed him inside you.

With just the tip, you already felt fuller than you ever had and you sat with that feeling for a moment, hands still wrapped around the rest of his cock and keeping you from sliding all the way down.

Once you felt yourself relax around him, you nudged his hand away with your own and began to sink, slowly, deliberately, savoring the sensation. His hands gripped your hips all the while as he gazed in wonder and concern.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fucking fantastic,” you replied, rocking back slightly to view the point of his disappearance inside you.

“Do you remember what I told you before?’ he asked, a little more heat and darkness creeping into his voice.

“I can stop you at any time.”

“Yes. And if you can’t get the words out, pinch me.”

You were going to nod your understanding, but remembered he liked to hear it as much as you did. “Yes, August.”

“Good girl.”

August began a slow roll of his ups, nudging up into you and shifting you off balance for a moment. You caught yourself with your hands on his chest, then sat back up to start a slow grind of your own. For several long minutes it was just you riding him slowly, like an easy afternoon stroll, completely in sync with his movements.

When he began to pump faster, you braced your hands on his legs behind you trying to hold on for dear life. He gripped you by the hips and held you in place while bucked and then he ran his hands up your sides and hauled you down to his chest. He wrapped his arms around your back and held you so close, kissed you so hard, rocked even deeper into you than you ever thought possible and just when you thought it was about to hit you like a ton of bricks, he flipped you to your back.

He started a slower pace now, still holding you close, still ravishing your mouth. But when you wrapped a leg around his back, he lifted himself onto his arms and looked down between you then over to the leg at his side. With a devilish grin, he reached back and under that leg, shifting it up over his shoulder. He picked up the pace, returning to the steady jackhammering you’d experienced while on top. And while you didn’t think deeper was possible, here he was, moving your limbs around to find more space. He pulled your other leg up now, no longer leaning forward, but up on his knees, holding you open before him while he pounded away.

This was more than you’d ever felt before. This was precision fucking at it finest and you were barely holding on.

“You can let go, Angel. You can come around my cock, squeeze me hard. I won’t break,” he commended you, letting go of one leg and reaching down to massage your clit again with his thumb. That was all it took.

“Oh shit. Fuck. Fuck, August, Fuck!”

“That’s it, Angel. I can feel you right now,” he growled. “Feel all the heat bursting inside you, feel your walls squeezing around me. Can you feel it?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes. My god. Fuuuuuuuuuck! Fuck! Please,” you pleaded, panting and feeling like you were about to pass out. “Please.”

“Please what, Angel?”

“Please…” you didn’t exactly want him to stop but you weren’t sure how much more you could take either.

“Do you need me to stop?”

“I want you to come. Please August.”

He clenched his jaw and gave a few more hard thrusts before pulling out and flipping you one more time to your hands and knees. You could barely hold yourself up, sinking to your forearms, head into the mattress. But your ass was still in the air and your pussy was still on display for him and he took you one more time. He lined himself up again behind you, sheathed himself in one long simple stroke, holding still for one moment.

“You're still coming, I can feel it. God, you are amazing. You’re taking me so good.”

Incoherent babble is all he got in return. Even if you’d wanted him to stop, you could no longer form full words, let alone sentences. And how would you ever find the strength to reach back to even graze his skin, let alone pinch it? Whatever. You were riding a wave of the longest high you’d ever been on while August resumed his magnificent assault on you.

After a few more strokes, you felt him swell even larger than he already was, filling you up more fully than he already had. With one final animal roar, he released himself with a hand pressing against your lower back, slowing stilling as he filled the condom inside you. You shuddered with an aftershock and wanted to drop to your belly with him on top and never pull that blanket off.

After just a short moment, you felt his hand at your entrance, fingers drifting lightly through your folds before he gathered himself and the condom in hand and pulled all the way out for good. He pushed against you lightly to urge you flat. You vaguely registered words of praise coming from his mouth, but you were so spun off into oblivion you couldn’t be sure what they were.

From some far off place, you heard water running, then felt a dip beside you, and the wet warmth of a tender caress between your shaking legs. Somehow, you were maneuvered to your back to receive another gentle swipe, before you felt his lips press against your mouth, his tongue seeking your own.

It took everything you had to peel your eyes open and meet his gaze.

“Is that what you meant by passion?” he asked.

“It’s a start.”

August chuckled and gently eased himself to the side of the bed, swinging his legs off and standing. He tilted his head from side to side, loosening a few kinks before he strode with purpose into the bathroom. When he returned, he held out a blue silk robe and helped you into it once you stood from the bed. He tied the belt around your waist, then reached to the floor for his matching pants. As he stood, he gathered you in his arms for another kiss before he took your hand and led you back downstairs.

Trailing behind him, you were pleasantly surprised to find yourself deposited on the deep plush conversation sofa. August flipped on the switch to the gas fireplace and leaned over to drop one more kiss on your lips, then told you to sit tight.

The warm glow of the fire mesmerized and hypnotized you, not that it was hard. You had been overstimulated and now the exhaustion was settling in. You felt high, completely spaced out. You had never felt so thoroughly and completely fucked in your entire short life.

August returned a few moments later. Or was it hours? You had no idea. All you knew was that he placed a live edge wooden serving tray holding a few bottles of water, some fruit and cheese, a few small bowls of olives, almonds, and fig jam, some cut baguette, two champagne flutes, and a bottle of bubbly on the low ottoman in front of you, then eased himself onto the couch next to you.

“Let’s get you hydrated,” he leaned forward and grabbed a bottle from the tray.

“How did you know I’d want that?” you teased, harkening back to your first night home.

“You are a cheeky one, aren’t you?” August opened the bottle and pulled you close, tipping the cool, sweet water into your open mouth, eyes watching you closely to see when you’d had enough.

“Only for you,” you purred, reaching for the bottle so you could take another drink for yourself. When you pulled the bottle away from your lips, August bent to steal another kiss from you.

“A little dangerous, too.” He shifted a knuckle along your jaw, catching the soft indent in your chin to bring your face back to his. He kissed you for what felt like a millenia and you could have stayed that way all night. And then it hit you.

“Dangerous how?” you asked, when you pulled away reluctantly.

August closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, still leaning forward from the broken kiss. He sat up straighter when he exhaled and opened his eyes.

“My sweet Angel. I really didn’t mean to spoil our moment, but in a million years could you ever imagine this night could happen again?”

He held your gaze, and wouldn't let you turn away. You could see the anguish in his eyes. This wasn’t a lie.

“But why would…?”

“You deserve to know the passion you crave. I wanted to help you learn about your desire. You are a strong, intelligent, thoughtful, and gorgeous woman. I wanted you to see you are capable of getting everything you want. You only need to be sure of it. And perhaps understand you can ask for more.”

“But I want you.”

August didn’t reply immediately and in the silence you knew he was thinking of exactly the same person you now were. If you were ever going to keep this night a secret from her, you’d have to make it a solitary event with no hope of a repeat. How were you ever going to deny your craving?

“Come here.” August set your bottle of water aside and drew you into his arms, leaning back against the sofa as you relaxed onto his chest. He kissed the top of your head and ran a hand slowly up and down your back.

“This isn’t fair,” you murmured.

“Life rarely is, Angel. Come on, let’s just enjoy the time we do have. What d’you say, hmm?”

You nodded and sniffed away the beginnings of your tears. August gently sat you up, then prepared small bites of food from the tray and brought them to your lips. You soaked in all the attention, certain you’d never feel so safe and loved again in your life.

With some energy back, you felt your mood lighten. August was right. You should make the most of what time you have left. You reached for the champagne bottle, peeled off the foil wrap, and untwisted the thin metal cage surrounding the cork. August chuckled as he watched you struggle with the cork, so you stuck out your tongue and handed the bottle to him.

“Please?” He popped the cork with ease and poured the golden liquid for you both.

“A toast?” He raised his glass to yours and watched closely as you mulled it over.

“To one night only.”

“One night only.” He smiled with a nod and watched as you took a sip, then stole a kiss before taking a drink from his own glass. He grabbed a strawberry from the tray and held it to your lips as you took a bite. “Now another drink.”

You almost squealed as the flavors exploded in your mouth.

“When you try this on your own, be sure to get an extra-dry champagne,” August cautioned. “Moet brut won’t work with this flavor combination.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind when I replenish my champagne cooler at school,” you teased. “What about this one?” You took another bite of strawberry and a sip of champagne, then leaned in for a kiss letting the flavors swirl in your mouth alongside his tongue. August continued the kiss, even as he set his glass aside and grabbed for yours to set it down as well.

He eased you to your back on the couch and slipped the tie loose from your robe before he finally broke the kiss.

“That’s also a good one. You’re quite the quick study.” He pushed the fabric aside, baring your chest and stomach, then appraised you for a moment before running his fingers over your breasts and down your belly, letting his mouth follow the trail.

You let out a soft moan and spread your legs involuntarily as he shifted to the floor and tugged your hips around so your ass was hanging off the sofa to give him better access. He let your legs rest over his shoulders and you sighed as he once again slipped his tongue and fingers through your folds, ravishing your core to bring another orgasm crashing over you.

You barely had a moment to recover before you felt the belt of your robe sliding out from underneath you and in a swift heartbeat, August had you flipped over, urging you onto your knees on the cushions with your arms leaning on the back of the couch. You peered back at him, while he shifted the fabric of the robe over your back, letting it drape off to the side and leaving your bare ass and legs completely exposed to him. He watched you carefully as he rubbed a large hand over one cheek, then drew back and spanked you hard. He was already caressing the red mark before the shocked gasp left your lips. He quirked an eyebrow at you in a silent question. Again?

You pondered the feeling and decided that yes, August Walker could spank your ass. You turned your head to peer over the back of the couch and jutted your hips back towards him wordlessly asking for more, which he gladly gave. The sharp smacks were sometimes single, sometimes doubled up, but always tempered with a gentle caress before he dealt another blow.

You were dripping for him. When he dragged two fingers through your soft petals to gather the nectar, you glanced back to see him wrap his lips around his fingers and lick your taste off them. Then he reached his hand in the pockets of his pants and withdrew another foil square before dropping his pants altogether.

“You planned this,” you cried in feigned scandal.

“I hoped for it. Not the same thing,” he gently replied, rolling the condom over his swollen length. “But it’s always good to be prepared. Speaking of which…”

August reached forward to grasp the silk belt he’d tossed aside, then drew one of your arms back behind you.

“May I have your other arm, Angel?”

You offered it without hesitation, shifting off the back of the couch so that all your weight was now on your knees. You felt him loop the belt around both wrists separately before he wrapped the tie a few more times around both. Holding the binds of your wrists in one hand, he used the other to guide his sheathed cock to your soaked pussy, gliding easily into your core. Once his hips met yours, he started a commanding pace, pumping in and out of you all the while holding you in place with your hands.

As if he could feel you losing control, unable to stay up straight any longer, August let the belt slips a few inches through his fingers before gripping tight again, giving you enough room to bend forward and rest your chest on the back of the couch while he continued to pump in and out of you with a devastating pace, the juice from you squelching around his cock.

“You fucking take me so good, Angel. Such a pretty pussy. Can you hear her talking to me? She says the sweetest things.”

He set a hand on your low back and pressed his against your stretched entrance, letting it drag along his cock as he moved back and forth and gathering some of your slick on the pad. You felt him ease his hand up, fingers pressing into the flesh of your asscheeks before he teased around your puckered rim with his thumb. When the moan escaped your mouth he knew he was on the right path and wasted no more time. He slipped his thumb right into your hole and held on while you bucked back against him.

“Fuck yeah, you like that, don’t you? Fucking my cock so good. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. August, fuck yes.” You could barely form more words so moans of pleasure and squeals of delight were all he heard but they were enough to spur him on and lead him down the path of his own release just as soon as he felt yours.

With one practiced tug, he released you from the bind and eased himself out of your still pulsing pussy, then guided you to stand before him, pressing kisses along your shoulders and neck while he pulled the spent condom off his softening dick. He grabbed a napkin from the tray and wrapped it in a wad before spinning you to face him and kissing you hard.

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

He led you upstairs one last time, abandoning the snack platter and half-full champagne bottle. He took you through to his bathroom, turned on the warm spray jets of the tiled shower, then disrobed you completely. You stepped into the glass cabinet and turned to grab his arm to bring him with you.

Without prompting, he grabbed a bar of the same bright citrus scented soap you always found in your guest room and lathered you up. If you weren’t about to fall asleep on your feet, you’d succumb so easily to the way his fingers danced across your skin, caressing every nook and cranny like they knew the way by heart. He spun you into the water to rinse and set to cleaning himself.

And now you had your answer. It was body wash, with a woodsy, pine scent. He rubbed it all over his body with his bare hands. He watched you watching, mesmerized at the way his muscles moved and the carefree way he gathered his own package and lathered it with suds before shifting you gently out of the way and rinsing off under the cascading water.

Yes, he leaned an arm against the wall, but that could be just because you were with him and he wanted to encase you while he kissed you, tongue probing gently and mouths moving in unison. He groaned as he pulled away.

“We’d better get some sleep.”

The fluffy towel he dried you with was heavenly against your skin. He toweled himself as well before leading you back to his bed.

“Are you comfortable sleeping here with me tonight?” he asked. “If you’d rather wake up in your own bed, I’d understand.”

It was uncharacteristically sweet, the way August was now wondering how you would feel in the morning, knowing you could never have him again.

“I’d like to stay with you for tonight, if that’s okay.”

“More than okay.” He pulled the covers back and slipped in, holding them up for you to join him. Wrapped in his arms, head against his chest, you found yourself drifting off faster than you would have liked. You loved pillow talk, but supposed you’d managed that with him before, during, and a little after downstairs by the fire. Besides, pillow talk was for lovers. Which you were now assured you were not.

You woke later than you’d planned, your body still clearly recovering from the unexpected vigorous activity. August was not with you and though you knew the morning would not be a time to whisper sweet nothings, still you’d hoped to wake in his arms, just as you’d fallen asleep. The robe he’d lent you last night was draped across the foot of the bed and your lingerie was folded neatly on a chair nearby.

You shrugged into the robe and grabbed your things, then headed downstairs where you could smell coffee already brewed but found no sign of August in the kitchen. You continued down to your room where you realized you’d left your phone all night. Shit.

When you picked it up, there were about ten messages from Gemma and you braced yourself as you opened the app to read them. Yes, in the end she wondered where the fuck you were and why you weren’t answering her but there was no urgent call to get her immediately. The night with Mike seemed like it had gone exactly as planned.

She only wanted to let you know Mike’s friends were throwing a New Year’s party and of course you were invited. Mike even had a university friend coming in from out of town for the party and Gemma wanted to set you up with him. The guy in the picture she sent looked cute enough. Apparently he sailed and had dark, wavy hair, a little shorter than Mike’s. His smile was amazing, but to your eyes, he was a boy. He would never compare, you were sure.

Just as you were contemplating how to let him down gently, your phone rang and Gemma’s number appeared. You took a deep breath and hoped nothing in your voice would betray you.

“Hey!” you answered brightly.

“Whoa, too much. Too loud. Calm down.” Gemma was hungover, for sure.

“Sorry,” you quieted. “Everything okay?”

“I think I drank a liquor store last night. Mike’s still passed out, but I need my bed. Can you come get me?”

“Now? Yeah. Of course. Let me just get my shoes on. See you in thirty?”

Gemma agreed, though she wished you’d ignore some of the speed signs along the way and you laughed, promising to grab a Vitamin Water from the fridge before you left.

You noticed another message come through just as you hung up with Gemma. August was in his office. He didn’t want you to think you’d been abandoned, but he had to get an early start for meetings and wanted to let you sleep in. You texted him you were off to get Gemma. Chat bubbles appeared and disappeared a few times before a solitary frowny face finally appeared.

With no idea how to respond and not a lot of time to spare hashing it out, you dressed quickly, grateful you’d already washed off last night’s extravagance. You grabbed the keys to Gemma’s car, grabbed a water from the gym, and headed back out to the garage.

Gemma was still too dazed to inquire much about why you were absent from your phone last night and you didn’t offer any conversation about it. The whole drive was pretty quiet except for the radio. August was gone when you got back and while Gemma couldn’t care less, you were a little let down. You’d hoped you’d be able to at least sit with him a bit while Gemma slept off the rest of her hangover, but that wasn’t to be.

He kept himself pretty scarce the rest of the week, too, texting Gemma he wouldn’t be home for dinner any of the nights until you were scheduled to head back home for Christmas Eve. Four long-suffering nights and days filled with late breakfasts by the pool and dinner and drinks in town with Mike and other friends. You barely got to say goodbye to August as he breezed off to one final meeting the morning of the 24th before Gemma came upstairs to grab coffee.

Christmas was low key with just the six of you at your parents. No other relatives were traveling in and no one else nearby had invited you over for anything special. Gemma always celebrated alone with her dad, too. Your aunt wanted to take you and your mom to the sales the day after Christmas and that was an all day, exhausting affair. You were in bed by 9.

Over the next five days, you visited with Gemma and Mike, old high school friends, and your parents a few times. But never August. Gemma said as wonderful as Christmas was with him, he was stressing about the deal and spending all his time at the office since the day after. He needed to get the deal signed by the 31st at the absolute latest. And his company’s New Year’s Eve gala was set for the Grand Hotel downtown. He’d offered you both tickets, but Gemma really wanted to hang out with Mike.

Will was nice enough, if a little on the arrogant side. He was a good kisser and you could kinda imagine what he might be able to do with that mouth placed somewhere else, but then you really thought about it and decided the missing facial hair would change the feel. Nevermind. He was at least gracious about the letdown.

The drive back to school was a little somber. You were still trying to figure out if there was any possibility of a roommate swap. Gemma offered to just put you up at her place for the semester, but you didn’t want to sleep on a couch fantasizing about her father while she was in the other room. Maybe Brigette would just spend all her time at Charlie’s, like you should have.

A few days after the start of classes, a small package arrived for you in your mailbox. You’d grabbed it on the way to your Criminal Procedures lecture and stuck it in your backpack to open later. When you got back to your room after taking advantage of office hours to clear the theme for your research paper, you sat cross legged on your bed and opened the small, cardboard box. Inside, nestled in tiny, delicate packing peanuts, was an even smaller, embossed white paper sleeve surrounding a small, red velvety square box.

Inside was a thin, delicate gold chain, with a charm of black onyx arranged in the gold outline of an art deco wing. An angel's wing.

You searched the box for a card and finally found one buried under the packing material once you realized you’d opened the box upside down. There was a simple message to you.

'Angel. This belongs on the part of you I never got the chance to chain. Remember all you are worth and take it as you can. Yours for one night. - A’

Taglist (if you are crossed out I can’t tag you)

Anything: @kittenofdoomage @sillyrabbit81 @kebabgirl67 @feelmyroarrrr @beck07990 @mysweetlittledesire @mollymal @summersong69 (Old times sake? @littlegreenplasticsoldier @sebbytrash @anotherwinchesterfangirl )

Holiday Angel: @angelcavill66 @lizzystuffsthings @plaidcat4815 @augustsprincess @alexakeyloveloki @gofirityouguys

#august walker #august walker x reader #august walker fanfic #august walker fanfiction #august walker au #ceo!august walker #ceo!august #best friend's dad #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #holiday angel #mine

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notyour-valentine · 8 months

Text

Welcome to Downton, Mr Shelby 14 ~ Tommy Shelby x Crawley!OC (Series)

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: No Tommy but Charlotte and Lizzie - Chazzie...Lilotte?

If interested, you can check out this post for more about Charlotte

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption.I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Wordcount: 5140 words

Part 14

Charlotte felt like her head could explode any minute now. It was like a kettle ready to hiss and whistle just with nowhere for the air to escape, so it would shake and tremble more and more until the material would simply give in.

And her seams were ripping, as of course, this was the topic of conversation at dinner. How could it not be?

“Only a few years ago, this would have been unthinkable.”, her father said, his voice strained with suppressed outrage. Her father was not one to shout, and would not do in this instance. He maybe just wouldn't be too hard on someone that this matter brought to shouting, so deeply ran his resentment and shock.

“A field marshall assassinated at the Derby, in the presence of their Majesties!”

His voice almost cracked on the final word.

Yes, she thought. The King had been there too, and the Queen. She had almost forgotten. Then again, most of the day seemed like a blur to her now, a wash of white and brown and grey, in contrast to the inescapable.

“I’ve heard it was the Irish.”, Mary said over some wonderful creation of carrot mousse and seabass that tasted like nothing but cardboard to her and her alone, as she forced herself to choke down bite by bite. It was little enough, but the last thing she wanted was their attention on her.

If they look, they'll know. “How could it not be the Irish?", Edith argued. "After all he did to those poor people in Cork!”.

She said it as if it was something everyone would know, which naturally ticked Mary off.

For once, she didn't mind their squabble. Fight, she thought, fight so no one remembers I'm here.

She was too old to crawl in her mother's bed and disappear in her arms, to hide between her parents and let their warmth and love melt away her night terrors.

She was too old for that, and her terrors were worse and more shocking than any nightmare of hers had ever been. And since she could no longer melt into their embrace, she just wanted to disappear, to simply vanish until the world made sense again. “Whatever are you talking about?”, Mary snapped, almost rolling her eyes at Edith, who smirked in triumph.

“Don’t you ever read the newspapers?”, she asked. "Even you might learn something."

"Girls-", their mother warned under her breath. “It seems Branson has rubbed off on you.", Mary said, fighting Edith's smugness with performative disinterest.

Yet it was Charlotte who was cut by her words as the mention of his name only hammered down Sybil’s absence.

She could not run to her mother, could not confide in Mary, not in anyone - even Sybil was a stretch, but there was still a chance.

If anyone, then Sybil. But she wasn't here. She was across the sea, safe and untouched by all of this.

“It has nothing to do with him.”, Edith argued, not wanting to let this go “I don’t condone the attack, obviously, but we shouldn’t pretend like he was a saint either, now just because he is dead." “Edith,”, their father said sternly, “Russell has served this country during many wars, including the Boer War, might I remind you, with distinction."

Sir Richard scoffed.

“I hear he has a reputation for vulgarity.”

Robert shot him down with a glare. “He was a soldier in service to his king and this country and deserves every ounce of respect. And for him to be butchered by Irish terrorists is not only a tragedy but also a scandal for our nation."

The knife slipped from her grasp and clattered onto her plate, before sliding off and disappearing under the table.

“Apologies.”, she mumbled quickly, rushing to bend down to hide her face.

It was a small mercy and all she got, a split second to breathe and compose herself, to pretend the storm inside her wasn't raging.

“I think it’s far time to change the topic of conversation!”, her mother said at once.

Robert cleared his throat and looked over at her. “You’re right. This is no topic for the ladies.”, he said, his blue eyes softening with care and affection.

She quickly looked away. “It’s fine.”, she said, trying her best to sound convincing, at which she failed miserably.

“I know it’s ghoulish, but I am so relieved you left early.”, her mother said softly, shaking her head.

“Yes,”, Robert agreed, “How is Miss Stark?”

Cora had informed him that an acquaintance of Charlotte's had gotten ill from a heatstroke and that she had taken her home. He had been displeased at her absence, but the chivalrous compassion had eased his disapproval. Then of course, Russell's body had been discovered and the world turned on its head.

Charlotte swallowed hard and glanced at her mother.

Her eyes were wide alert, as if she was ready to jump in if she should fail, but still gave her the room to try.

“She is quite exhausted, so I presume she is asleep."

Not that she was in any state for dinner, despite it obviously being offered. Instead, Mrs Hughes had taken her a tray.

"She said she wanted to catch a train tomorrow after breakfast. I’d like to take a car to accompany her to the station.”

“Of course.”, Cora quickly said.

In the light of the ban on today’s incidents, the remaining conversation was rather limited, and the fact that she was permitted to remain in silence instead of being roped into the discussion was both blessing and curse.

But the quiet only made it worse, for that way all of Miss Stark’s words echoed louder and louder in her head.

Cora soon began to talk about the hospital garden fair, which only reminded her of the fact that her own hospital work, which had been lined up and planned meticulously. She hadn't wanted to put a foot wrong.

When dinner was over and they moved to the drawing room, Charlotte counted the minutes until she could excuse herself.

More than ever before, did she miss Sybil. If she could tell a soul, she could have told her…she could have and Sybil would have supported her, helped her, let her be angry or soothed her tears.

She didn't know whether she wanted to scream or cry, but right now she was allowed nothing. Just - terror. Thankfully most of them chalked her behaviour down to today’s events, and she was soon sent off to bed to get some rest. As if any sleep would come to her ever again.

That’s not even a lie, Charlotte thought bitterly, her hand trembling on the banister as she crept up, feeling more like a ghost than a person.

How much a world could change from noon to night.

Despite the hurricane of her thoughts, her feet proved reliable allies, carrying her to her bedroom.

It felt foreign to her now, from the pale mint green colour of the curtains, to the pillows chosen to match. The way the mattress dented when she sat down, the feeling of the sheets, the way the street lamps flickered in the distance - all of it was foreign. But was it the world that was foreign now, or her?

She could hear the sounds of her breath, her chest rising and falling with shallow, faint huffs as her hands trembled.

If only she was brave enough to scream.

But she wasn't, and so silence was her only option, silence and confused agony, like a hunted animal that didn't know where the arrows came from. Only she had already been struck, and was bleeding out by the minute.

She forced her eyes shut to banish her tears and the thoughts that caused them.

It wasn't even her place to be angry at herself or pity herself, or both. What did she matter in all of this? In all Miss Stark had told her?

Compared to her, what right did she have to the chest-tightening feeling of bottomless betrayal?

So there was guilt to add to all those feelings too.

When she heard the knock on the door, she flinched up as if someone had struck her.

"Anna.", she said breathlessly. "I didn't ring yet."

Anna shook her head.

"Milady, a Mr. Shelby came to the backdoor to speak to you. I thought you might prefer it not being announced by Mr. Carson so I told him to wait there."

Charlotte felt her stomach drop, and her heart with it until there was only an icy, bottomless pit inside her.

I can’t see him. I can’t speak to him. I don’t want to. I can’t.

Like a frozen flower, she would shatter in his mere presence.

But she couldn’t say that to Anna. She would have to explain herself, and she couldn’t.

She had thought keeping him there was a kindness, given all she had told her of her activities with his charity, or what he had made her believe to be that.

If she didn't comply now, Anna would have her questions why.

Worse, she might ask Mary, and her sister would stop at nothing -

Charlotte cleared her throat and looked down, smoothing down the fabric of her dress.

She had no choice.

Unless she wanted to say the unspeakable and explain the inexplicable, she had to go down.

"Stay with me?", she asked, her voice trembling just slightly, betraying her to someone who knew her for nearly all her life.

"Of course, Milady.", she said, offering her a small smile, but it didn't reach Anna's eyes. For that, she could read her too well.

So she quickly moved ahead, unable to stand the piercing gaze.

But every step felt like she was dragging the weight of the world with her.

Still, despite everything, she was a Crawley. She had to be brave. There was no other option.

The servant's staircase spared her the knowing and judging gaze of her ancestors on the walls, but instead she saw a few curious glances of the servants as Anna led her out.

Of course Anna had thought of bringing along one of her scarves.

She wore it like a coat of armour, because it was the only protection she could have.

Taking a deep breath, like poor Jane Grey stepping out onto the Tower Green, she opened the door to the back entrance.

She smelled the smoke before she saw the glimmer of the cigarette, and then the man flicking it away.

His tie needle reflected in the light of the lantern, then the blonde of his hair. “John.”

His name slipped from her lips like a cry of shock.

She had feared, but expected Tommy, and now on consideration perhaps even Arthur, but not John. Never John. He was the last one she had thought to come and seek her out.

But here he was, looking up at her with wide blue eyes.

“You live here?”, he asked surprised, his eyes wide with awe as he looked up the facade, the stucco, the countless windows.

“When in London, yes.”, Charlotte said, as she approached him slowly.

Arthur’s Arthur. He can’t help it, really. But John- John has a good heart.

He held his hat in his hands and shifted uncomfortably from one step to the other.

The hat, she remembered.

“Ahm, where is Lizzie?”, he asked, the way she imagined a schoolboy would inquire after his friend.

“Upstairs.”, Charlotte said. The mention of her sent a surge of defiance through her, like a second coat of iron out of the necessity of protecting the woman, but that also protected her in turn.

"She’s sleeping.”

“D-doesn’t she want to go home?”, he asked, glancing up as if he could look through the walls and windows into the guest bedroom.

“Not tonight.”

John nodded, taking a deep breath, his mouth contorting. “How is she?”, he wanted to know, barely glancing up at her. He couldn't meet her gaze fully, but he couldn't look away either. For that, he cared too much.

And Miss Stark cared about him too. She had told her as much, about John, and his children and the wedding. About how he still tried his best to care for her after. About how he was good, one of the good ones, Charlotte. One of the boys they sent. A boy, not a man. Not like Arthur and Tommy. Once she had feared the sharpness of his eyes, the cruelty in his words, the way he made her feel small and stupid and useless, but now Miss Stark’s assessment, as little as it was, was all she had to hold onto.

She cared about him, and he cared about her. So Charlotte chose to answer. “I don’t know. Hurt. Tired. Angry."

She sighed once more, leaning against the doorframe.

"She didn’t want to see a doctor.”

Perhaps he could make her see sense.

“Course not.”, he mumbled to himself.

Then his blue eyes met his. “Thanks, Charlotte. I know you and Lizzie…”

As he spoke, he turned his cap in his hands and when the light hit it right, she saw the light glimmer in the reflection.

Oh, she thought. Oh no.

She had forgotten all about that part, the fact getting lost in the tirade of terror, but it came rushing back, turning her stomach and making bile rise in her throat.

“That doesn’t matter now.”, she said quickly. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“They wouldn’t.”, he argued. “And I’m sorry for…you know.”

Charlotte nodded once more. “It’s fine.”

For a moment silence hung between them. “Tommy’s outside. He’s also worried about Lizzie.”

“I see.”, Charlotte said, the pain that was already pounding in her chest, getting even worse, so bad she felt her entire insides were ignited with agony. “I doubt Miss Stark will want to see him anytime soon.”

“And what about you?” I never want to see him again. I never want to talk to him again. I never ever want to think about him again! Granny was right. This was a terrible, terrible mistake.

If she could wipe him from her memory, she would in a heartbeat.

��I can’t go out now.”, she said, blinking away her tears. “It’s late and very cold.”

John saw right through her excuse.

“Has she…”, he began slowly, “has she said…”

“She told me enough, John.”, Charlotte said firmly, building herself up to her full height, “Miss Stark told me quite enough."

There was no sleep for her that night, and she guessed probably not for many nights to come. Her thoughts were too loud, the pictures Miss Stark painted too vivid and horrid and horrific to allow her much rest.

When Anna came with the morning tea, Charlotte was already up, with a scarf around her shoulders instead of her robe. She had left that with Miss Stark.

What a foolish, useless little thing in light of what had happened, what had happened to her.

"Has Miss Stark been woken yet?", She asked, avoiding Anna’s look. She felt the blonde woman would read her at any glance, would need only one look and see the truth of it all.

She probably knew about the real cause of Miss Stark’s distress already. That was why Mrs Hughes and her mother asked Anna for help. She was kind and discreet, and a soul they all could trust.

"About now, I think.", Anna said. “I’ve sent Lily up with a tray.”

"I think I will go and see her before getting ready for breakfast."

It was an improper thing to do, and so Anna helped her into a day-dress as quickly as she could, even skipping the stockings. She would only be going down the hall after all.

“There, Milady. Good enough I’d say.”, she said with her cheerful tone, as she smoothed down her hair just barely.

With that, she stilled her hands, her eyes finding hers in the reflection of the mirror.

“The last day has been quite distressing for you hasn’t it?”

It wasn’t a question as much as a medical diagnosis.

She had known her since she was a little girl and knew things about her that Mary and Edith missed. She had been taking care of her too long for her to miss things like these, even if she managed to conceal them from her sisters.

“Well, denial would be futile, so…”

She broke off and shook her head.

“I’ll just be glad to be home.”

That wasn’t even half a lie. She wanted to go home, to be back in Downton, to breathe Yorkshire air and be surrounded by her home as far as the eye could see.

“If there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”, she said, the words heavier than the normal empty courtesy.

"Thank you, Anna.”

But there are things I couldn't even tell you if I wanted to.

Leaving Anna to tidy, she left her room and walked the short distance to where Miss Stark had been put up in. She found her resting against the pillows, staring at the tea tray over her lap as if it was a wild animal ready to bite her nose off.

Charlotte made a point of not looking at the swelling of her lip.

Lily was with her, standing by the window.

"Good morning, Milady!", She greeted, dropping into a small curtsy.

"I was just asking Miss Stark what to do about clothes for today since she doesn't have any luggage."

No, Charlotte thought, there was no luggage, and the clothes she had worn, well, they had been reduced to tatters on the bathroom floor. Anna had helped her cover that up.

"She can have a pick of anything I brought.", she offered. “Try to pick out a few options of anything long.”

Miss Stark was a good deal taller than she was.

With that, Lily left with a gentle "Yes, Milady."

The door closed behind her, leaving Charlotte and the other woman alone.

The silence made her thoughts and the abstract fear they caused ring louder, echoing in her ears.

"Is this…normal?", Miss Stark asked, waving at the tray of tea, biscuits and orange slices.

"Well,", she said softly, sitting down on the chaise lounge. "Mine didn’t have orange slices."

Miss Stark huffed, and Charlotte couldn’t tell if it was a sign of success or failure at her attempt of lightening the situation.

When her fingers touched the porcellian, they trembled.

"How's the tea?", she asked, playing with the edge of her scarf.

"It's good.", Miss Stark mumbled, staring into it as if she hoped to see the future in the china.

"Did you sleep?"

She shook her head, which was understandable.

"Did you?"

Her response was the same.

What can I say?, She wondered, her chest tightening. What even is there to say?

The knock on the door surprised them both, especially when Charlotte saw who it revealed.

"Good morning, Mama!", She said, getting up from the bed and kissing her cheek.

Her mother looked to have had the same thoughts she had, to see Miss Stark as soon as she woke up. She wore a pale blue tea gown, the old kind with the wide cuts, flowing fabric and big pockets that was from before the war. It was far from the latest fashion but she had a preference for robes like these.

"Apologies, Miss Stark.", She said, "I heard you'd planned to take the early train and I couldn't let you go in good conscience without at least checking up on you."

Miss Stark was staring up at her with wide eyes, like a deer in headlights.

"Ahm- good morning.", She mumbled, before trying to remove the tea tray in order to get up in a rush.

“Oh no need for that!”, her mother said swiftly. “We’re the one invading your bedroom this morning, aren’t we?”, she said, taking Charlotte’s arm.

"I'm sorry for being a bother, Milady.”, Miss Stark told the teacup.

A sense of sadness washed over her mother’s face.

"Oh please, you could never be a bother, Miss Stark. You have all of us quite a scare. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to see a doctor? We can arrange it, easily. Quietly. We’d take care of it all, and there would be no risk to your reputation.”

"No Doctor, please.", Miss Stark said sharply.

Her mother, Lady Grantham, sighed.

"Alright, but I'll send up Anna to see to your cuts again, yes? The same ointment Mrs Hughes gave you yesterday.”

To that, she agreed.

"Good.”, her mother said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Now what do we do about clothes?"

"Oh, Miss Stark- will borrow some of my things."

Her mother looked at her as if she had suggested something ludicrous. “Nonsense, darling. Miss Stark won't fit into your clothes. I'll have the maids take some of Mary's things."

"Mary will hate that!", Charlotte said. And she would demand to know why -

She already had far too much going on to dare getting Mary upset at her now.

"I'll handle Mary.", Her mother assured her, "Don't you worry one bit, Miss Stark. After breakfast, we'll have the car ready to take you to the station, whenever you need, whether that is this morning, today or tomorrow."

"Thank you, Milady.", Miss Stark said. "For everything."

"No need.", She assured her, before cupping Charlotte's cheek.

"I'm very proud of you, darling.”

In that moment, for a split second, the world was alright again, but as soon as her mother left, she felt herself falling into that icy pit again.

They wouldn’t be proud if they knew what she knew now. They’d be so enraged and appalled, shocked and horrified - just as she was now. And she felt so very stupid.

"Your mother's lovely.", Miss Stark said softly, once the door was closed again.

"Yes.", Charlotte admitted breathlessly. Lovely and completely in the dark of the foolishness of her youngest daughter.

Miss Stark shook her head, biting her lip as she did.

"Fuck.", She groaned, as she dropped her head into her hands. "Fucking hell, Charlotte!"

The swearing made her jump. But could she blame Miss Stark for her choice of words?

"What's wrong?", She wanted to know, rushing towards her. "What did I do? What did Mama do?"

"Nothing!", she snapped. "That's the whole fucking point."

She ran a hand through her hair.

"You're…you're not like us - fuck - I never should have said a thing.”

“No,”

Now it was her voice to add sharpness.

“It was far time I knew.”

All this pain, confusion and betrayal she felt was infinitely better than the puppet on a string she had been before, oblivious and foolish, pouring her heart, soul and energy into his castle of clouds that he conjured up only to lure her in.

It all seemed so obvious now, of course. So blatantly, tragically obvious. And the worst part was, others had seen it while she had deluded herself, and would have continued to do so if Miss Stark hadn’t told her.

Home did not bring the relief she had hoped for. Maybe, it even made it worse, as she had never missed Sybil more than now.

Sybil would listen, without laughing, without being shocked or horrified. She would listen without judging. No 'I told you so's, no 'you should have known's, no 'How could you be so foolish?'s.

But Sybil wasn't here. She was gone, off to Ireland with Branson - she could scratch his eyes out for that now more than ever!

Charlotte tried to write to her but every time she tried to put it into words she failed miserably. It never sounded right, it never captured her thoughts properly. And even putting these things in writing felt like a crime of their own.

And she burned each and every piece of paper until her room smelled of nothing but smoke.

She couldn't telephone her either. Sybil didn't have a telephone now and she couldn't dare being overheard. So she was all alone, alone with her thoughts.

She went riding before breakfast so as to avoid the conversation, and took long walks in the afternoon.

But no matter how fast or far she galloped, she couldn't outrace her thoughts. Her betters had tried and failed at that, her grandmother informed her with a sharp quip.

Sleeping was difficult as well, because sometimes she would dream.

The nightmares were bad, but the other dreams were worse, those in which it was just them together, those of work and pride, when her research bled into the realm of her dreams. In those dreams, they got along, which made her want to drown herself in her shame at her own mind’s betrayal.

Her family all thought she was upset about the field marshall, with her mother perhaps taking Miss Stark, Lizzie now as she insisted she call her, into account. And in a way they were right.

Tommy killed him.

Tommy shot him in the head with his own gun and killed him.

Tommy made Lizzie lure the man away, who hurt her and then Tommy shot him in the head with his own gun and killed him.

Because that's what Tommy does. He kills people. He hurts people. He blinds people. He uses his own brothers like soldiers.

Lizzie had told her.

That and so much more.

The man she admired, the man she had been so desperate to impress, the man who had made her feel more useful and valued than any other person in her whole life. And for what?

She hadn’t understood who the inspector was, or what that had to do with guns and the IRA and a barmaid. But she had known Mr Churchill - how relieved she had felt when hearing his name, a small sliver of familiarity in the chaos of Lizzie’s words, only for that to be turned on it’s head.

Advantage was what she had said. Insurance.

During the meals, she tried to keep to herself as much as possible and avoid conversation.

There was always something more important than her to discuss and she happily let them.

Right now, the topic of the week was the garden party for the hospital.

Now, with the war over, it has come up again.

"I doubt anyone would be comfortable after what happened last time.", her mother said.

What a different time that had been. What a different world.

"We don't need reminding."

"It gives the village an opportunity to show unity in support for the hospital, especially after the war.", Granny insisted.

"On that we agree.", Isobel said. "Speaking of hospitals- Charlotte, how are your preparations going?"

Charlotte glanced up, confused at what she was asking.

"Preparations for what?", her mother asked.

Isobel responded and in her answer, reminded her.

"Charlotte is set to meet with a few doctors for the children's hospital in Birmingham next week."

The wine in her glass trembled just slightly

That seemed a lifetime ago now. Or maybe a life that wasn't her own. One of make-believe and stupidity.

"I've been helping her prepare."

Isobel smiled at her and she tried to smile back, but the muscles in her face fought the motion.

"If I can give you one bit of advice, talk to the nurses. They know more about the day-to -day runnings of the hospital than the doctors."

"Naturally you would say that.", Granny quipped.

"When are you going?", her mother wanted to know.

Charlotte cleared her throat and glanced down at her hands. They were still trembling.

"The meeting is next Tuesday.", She said softly.

"Are you sure you should be going?”, Cora asked, a line of concern between her brows.

"I think she most certainly should.", Isobel argued. "It is her project and she is very well prepared."

"I disagree.", her father said said, "Charlotte should take some time to rest, especially after the shock."

Don't I know it, she thought bitterly.

"But some distraction might do her good.", Isobel argued.

"I agree with Robert.", Matthew said uncommonly forcefully, "besides, there are a great many causes and distractions closer to Downton. I've heard there is an organisation in Ripon that specialises in helping children with reading difficulties."

"Goodness- how intriguing!", Mary scoffed, her eyes finding the back of her head.

"The last thing Charlotte should do is take on another cause!", Granny argued. "She’s a lady, and they’re working her like a ploughhorse."

"Although I must protest your comparison, I agree that she already has a cause and a very worthy one at that.", Isobel said.

It was Edith who spoke up next.

"I'm sorry, but Charlotte, do you even want to go?”

That made them all fall silent and Charlotte wished they would have continued to fight, but now all eyes were on her.

The worst part was, now everyone knew that it was happening on Tuesday. And they would all wait for it.

"I, ahm, I don't know yet.", She said softly. "It depends, I guess."

That was an answer that made everyone at the table unhappy, giving neither side more ammunition, or another enemy to strike at.

Come next morning, she received a call just after breakfast.

"How are you?", She asked, like she had asked in every call.

"I'll manage.", The other woman replied. "What about you?"

"I'm trying to figure out how to manage.", She said truthfully, which made her chest tighten in shame. It should be the other way around. She had only heard of the bad things, Lizzie had been forced to live them.

"Look- about what I told you…"

"I'm glad you did, Lizzie, truly.", She said quickly.

There was silence for a while.

"So you went to work again.", Charlotte stated.

I wouldn’t have. I would have reported him to the police, and everyone else too.

"Yes."

"How was it?", She asked.

"He's walking on eggshells."

As he should.

Well, he should be in prison awaiting a trail at the King’s Court, not walking on eggshells, but that was the least he could do.

What he had done to her was cruel and so terribly heartless and Charlotte found it entirely unforgivable, but it wasn’t hers to forgive. It was Lizzie’s and so she kept her mouth shut in regards to the outrage she felt.

"Are you coming back?", Lizzie wanted to know after the screaming silence.

Charlotte sighed and rubbed her temple.

"I don't know, Lizzie.", She said truthfully. "I don't know anything anymore."

When she went out with the horse, she rode until she felt her lungs would burst, but neither the horse, nor the grass, trees or the wind could tell her an answer.

If Sybil was here, she could choose for me.

But she wasn’t and so Charlotte was all alone with her horses and the storm in her mind.

Thank you for reading - I'd love to hear your thoughts

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@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms @midnightmagpiemama @adaydreamaway08 @kmc1989 @trixie23

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#welcome to downton mr shelby #charlotte crawley #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #downton abbey #peaky blinders crossover #peaky blinders downton abbey crossover #wtdms

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forthechubbies · 1 year

Text

My Husband's Name Is Jungkook. (Our Little Wife Au)

Quite literally background story of how Jungkook met his wife

Only two warnings! Pervert! Jungkook and 18-year-old Jungkook 🥵

Jeon Yn, Maiden name Valentine Yn, wedded into the mafia world by taking this guy's last name. Jeon Jungkook.

Remember that name, now.

Yep that's him..anyway.

Yes, Her last name is Valentine as Marshall Valentine. The late honorable sheriff, Marshall, was her daddy.

Mr. Valentine was in a league on his own, shooting & catching bad guys and fighting against life-threatening odds until a pair of big beautiful eyes opened up to him, extending her little hands in the air to her proud teary-eyed papa.

However, tragedy struck on the same day; the beloved Mrs.Valentine passed away during childbirth leaving behind a heartbroken husband and a newborn baby.

Having a sheriff as a father served as no picnic; thankfully enough for him, She wasn't the rebel teenager type, but she was curious, and sometimes that could be just as bad.

In her late teens, She grew into her mother's face; heart-stopping eyes, cute noses, kissable plush lips, and a voice so sweet its teeth rotting. She fits the princess's descriptions. Kindness, Innocence, Beautiful, and...smarts?

Okay, She's not the brightest crayon in the box; she's quite naive, to say the least; her father notices this after this instance

“I'm home!” She kicked off her Mary Jane at the door, her backpack abandoned along side her shoes. Regardless of her father stressing countless how much he nearly trips to his early demise. She cheerfully sat on her father's chair arm. “Hi, Daddy.”

He smiled.“ Hello, Sweetheart!” Mr. Valentine scrambled about the living room, searching for something that seemed not to want to be found. “For Christ's sake, The hell is that damn tie?!”

Her smile faded away. “Nightly parlor duty, again?” A silky black material shimmered out of the corner of her eye. The tie! “I got it. I got it.” She gently removed his helping hands from the tie allowing his princess to aid him.

Mr. Valentine was over the moon for his princess. The difficulty and worry of protecting his angel took a toll on his old body. He's no spring chicken anymore-and. This reality frightened him more than any criminal ever could.

“Daddy? Are you going to be late?” Those soften eyes snapped him out of his depression.

He sniffled. “Don't worry about me, Honeycomb.” He can't fall apart yet..not yet. He pecked her forehead. “How about this, little lamb, dinners on me. Duty calls, Sugafoot.” A quick peck on the forehead once more and out the door.

“Bye.” She whispered in the empty house space.

I will make dinner for when he comes home. Congee (Rice Porridge) sounds good, but do we have the ingredients? She was welcomed to an empty pantry, cabinet, and fridge, but her father's six-pack of beer.

Shopping it is, then. With her father’s credit card, She took her first trip alone, and she did great until the recipe called for beef stock.

What stood in her way of getting the stock?

Jeon Jungkook, Remember the man from the beginning? Nope, This isn't different, man, by a baby version of her husband. 18 or 19.Jeon Jungkook. The boy was sent to the market to get beef bulgogi, but for some reason, He was aisles from the meat.

She gulped. You and I know there's nothing to be afraid of when it comes to men, but Yn Valentine is petrified of simply being near one. No thanks to her father's scaring her half to death about the opposite sex.

She peeked at him from around the corner. He sure is pretty, Ain't he? He sure is. The boy had a captive audience. Yn spotted another girl arriving to distract him. The perfect opportunity to grab-that-stock.

She stretched onto her tippy toes. Still no dice. “Come on.”

A large hand reached from behind her, terrifying her but proving to be helpful. “Here.”

She took it, bowed, then speeded away.

Ignoring his commands to come back, She hurried to self-checkout and rushed on her way. She sighed, dropping her buckling knees on the sidewalk with her bags at her side.

Daddy never said anything about them being adorable. I mean, I’m not even sure if he was real.

“It's okay; The moment has passed. Now to get back home and cook dinner.” She clenched both her fists in a fighting spirit.

“Do you talk to yourself often?” A deep voice whispered behind her head; she whipped her head to the boy at eye level.

She gasped, falling back on her hands.

His brows jumped. “Are you alright?” He chuckled. If you squint, you can see his pupils change to hearts. “Listen, um-” He glanced into her, one of the bags chalked full of fresh cream puffs. She must love creampuffs. “Creampuff, You dropped this.” Her Powerpuff girl hair clip looked so tiny in the palm of his hand.

“Yes! That's my favorite clip-!”Failing for the bait in the palm of his hand, The boy snapped down on her wrist, yanking her into his chest. “What are you-Let me go! Right now!” She cried, pounding her tiny chubby fist on his chest.

He chuckles. “Settle down, Creampuff. I just want to see you in detail.” The boy's strength astounded Yn struggling against his bulk. Her skirt's fabric raked over the sidewalk's rough texture.

She huffed, looking away from the boy, allowing him to do as he pleased. If that's all, He wants-Anything to get back home fast.

“Good girl.” He was generally praising her, even kind enough to get head pats. The boy's dark eyes roamed Yn’s features, pausing in certain places he found interesting.

“That's a cute mole.”

Mole? The only mole I have is on my- She gasped, covering her cleavage with her free arm.

The boy sucked his teeth at your protest. " I didn't even look that long-"

At that moment, Jungkook's grip loosened enough for you to steal your arm and push him back by his forehead. A perfect window to pick up your bags and flee.

You caught your breath after securing your front door. I think it's safe to say I'll never get used to men.

It wasn't until late December she made another unfortunate encounter with the same damn man, but he looked different like this, like he's been through some stuff, and this is his mindset now

"You again?!" She struggles against his firm grip on her curves. " Let me go! Or I'll scream-mm hp!" Her eyes widen at his large hand, caging her lips shut...He smells..sweet like he just walked out of a bakery.

"So submissive..." He teased, pushing her patients by inching closer to her hidden lips. "Sadly, I like a chall-nge! " Jungkook dropped his hand to cradle his pained abdomen.

"Creep." Her insult was just salt in the wound at this point.

The encounters never creased...but not all of them were-bad.

Jungkook would often be the handyman when her father wasn't there, kept her company on stormy nights, shared his umbrella when it rained, kissed her forehead to wish her goodnight, and even stood beside her at her dear father's funeral.

Her husband, Jeon Jungkook.

#bts smut #bts x chubby reader #chubby reader #poly ot7 #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x chubby reader #yandere jungkook #bts mafia au #ot7 x chubby #bts mafia series #yandere bts x chubby reader #bts mafia fic

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slow-motionlovepotion · 1 year

Text

𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 | 𝒃.𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: SonsBestFriend!Bucky x OlderWoman!Reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 3.2k

𝒂/𝒏: a very simple plot bunny (college Bucky likes milfs) got out of hand so please enjoy 3k words of pure Christmas smut. no beta, we die like men.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+ - age gap (21ish!Bucky x mid-late 40s/early 50s!Reader), explicit language, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, inappropriate relationship, infidelity, a lil bit of subby Bucky - minors do not interact.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Your sons best friend comes to stay for Christmas

Bucky Barnes stands in the doorway of the kitchen smirking. Eyes trailing up and down your body, pausing at your glossy red lips, the peak of cleavage in the v-neck of your dress, and the curve of your hips. You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t look over.

You definitely didn’t dress up for Bucky, you didn’t pick this dress with its neckline more revealing than normal, you’re definitely not wearing the lipstick he complimented the last time he visited.

You definitely haven’t made an effort to impress Bucky Barnes.

“Anything else to go out?” he asks casually, like he’s not spent the last five minutes blatantly checking you out

Bucky’s been a darling all day, insisting on helping you with the prep for your annual Christmas party, taking round plates of appetisers, chatting to Mrs Marshall from next door, ensuring your wine is never empty.

“Just this, if you wouldn’t mind” you finish plating the mince pies and hand the tray to Bucky, his fingers brush yours as he takes the tray off you and his touch feels electric.

When your son mentioned Bucky was planning to stay at university over the Christmas break you’d extended an invitation almost immediately, your house was plenty big enough and you always cooked too much for just the three of you. And Bucky had been so lovely when he’d come to stay for your husband’s recent birthday, you couldn't stand the thought of him spending Christmas alone.

“Thanks for having me” his words are muffled by his face pressed into your shoulder, arms wrapped around you in the most welcome hug.

“Nonsense, can’t be having you alone at Christmas” you loosen your embrace, immediately missing the heat of his body.

“This is for you” he blushes, handing you a bottle of wine.

You take the bottle, noticing the label as your favourite “Bucky you shouldn’t have”

“My ma taught me you never show up to a woman’s house empty handed” Bucky winks at you, the implication not missed.

You’re in the kitchen wiping down the counters when Bucky finds you at the end of the night.

The majority of the guests had gone, just two of your husband's golf buddies left outside, smoking cigars and drinking some expensive whiskey with your husband and son, the same tradition every year.

“Everything alright sweetie?” His cheeks and nose are red from the cold and he’s rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“Yeah, I thought I'd come see if you needed any help with anything.” He leans against the counter and you can’t help but think he looks very comfortable in your kitchen, almost like he belongs there.

“Oh, everything’s all done don’t worry” Bucky notices your empty glass on the side and goes to refill it but you place your hand over the top to stop him

“I shouldn't” you explain.

Bucky scoffs at you “One more, it's Christmas” He can tell you’re almost persuaded, “How about I join you?” He takes another glass out the cupboard and you remove your hand from your glass.

Bucky hands the full glass to you, holding his out you clink your glass to his “Cheers”

You barely take a sip of your wine before the glass is pulled from your hand and Bucky’s lips are on yours.

One hand reaches for your waist, the fingers of his other hand trace the line of your jaw, tipping your head back as it does. Your hands grab the collar of his shirt and pull him closer as all self control dissipates.

There’s no explanation if you’re caught like this, your son and husband only outside. Your husband who, in all your years of marriage, had never once treated you like this. Your husband who’s sleeping with his secretary. The brief pang of guilt disappearing at the thought.

Bucky’s lips feel like fire against yours, searing hot and stealing your breath. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you into the kitchen island, his lips burning a trail down your throat and chest as you wrap your legs around his hips.

As a woman of a certain age, you’d learnt a few things over the years. You certainly had a bit more experience than the young man grinding between your legs.

“Bucky…Bucky” a muffled hum of acknowledgment comes from between your breasts

“Bucky. Get on your knees” his head shoots up at the instruction and he slides to the floor, eyes never leaving yours.

You want to take your time with him, tease him, get him all worked up before giving him everything he wants but it’s too risky.

Dragging your dress up your thighs, you slide to the edge of the counter. Bucky takes this as his que and dives his head between your spread legs, licking a stripe over your already damp underwear. Lifting yourself up from the counter Bucky helps you slide your underwear down your legs before he slips them into his back pocket. His head is back between your thighs, tongue working your cunt, focused on pulling the pleasure out of you as quickly as he can.

Bucky’s all enthusiasm, lacking the finesse of a more mature man but his eagerness makes up for it. His arms wrap around your thighs, holding you against his mouth as he sweeps his tongue against your entrance, you can feel your wetness practically puddling on the counter.

He’s a quick study, so when his nose bumps your clit and your breath hitches, he moves his attention, pressing soft kisses to your clit before lapping and sucking with chaotic fervour.

“Fuck, that’s it Bucky” he groans against your core, the vibrations edging you closer to your climax. Keeping his attention on your clit he slides a thick finger into you, adding a second that makes you gasp, the gentle stretch making your eyes flutter and your head fall back.

“Yes baby, yes, so good” You slide your fingers into his hair, holding him close as you rock your hips against him, legs shaking as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of utter bliss. A gentle crook of his finger has you crashing over the edge, waves of pure pleasure lapping over you.

Bucky continues his relentless assault on your clit, sucking harder and licking sloppily, his fingers still buried in your cunt, coaxing that sweet spot “Again” Bucky mumbles against your clit, you open your mouth to protest, your first orgasm not even over but you can already feel the pressure building again. Your hips rock without your control and a gentle graze of his teeth on your clit has you gripping his hair as the force of your second orgasm overwhelms every fibre of your being. You let out a quiet sob as you pass your peak, legs trembling, and completely breathless.

Your hand in Bucky’s hair guides his head back, looking down at his swollen and wet lips, the throbbing between your legs is almost painful. He’s breathing hard and his eyes are soft and needy. You release the grip on his hair, moving your hand to lift his chin, running your thumb along his lips

“Good boy” your praise sends a shiver through him and there's no hiding the desperation in his eyes.

The sound of the back door opening crashes you both back down to earth. Faster than lighting Bucky stands and helps you down from the counter, you quickly grab a tea towel, pretending you’ve just finished washing up. Bucky bends over the island, burying his face in his wine, hiding the swelling in his jeans and the sticky mess you left behind on the counter.

Your husband's golf buddies wave at you as they pass the kitchen “Bye Jim, Bye Nick” you smile and wave as they leave, you look like the perfect housewife and if only they knew. Your husband stumbles a few steps behind them, clearly he’s overdone it on the Shiraz this evening.

The drinking had become a bit of a habit for him and on nights like this you put him to bed and sleep in the spare room. You’re always up before him anyway, and if he notices he’s never said anything. Your husband wobbles and your son catches him “I’ll put him to bed” he nods at you knowingly “C’mon dad, lets go” Your husband mumbles something as your son leads him up the stairs.

You’re left in the kitchen with Bucky, you can feel your wetness sticky between your thighs, a delicious reminder of what you’ve just done. You’re absentmindedly fiddling with your wedding rings and Bucky notices.

Truthfully, you hadn’t been wearing them much recently, your relationship with your husband could be described as rocky at best. You had to laugh at the irony when you found out about your husband and his secretary. He didn’t know you knew and you weren’t ready to deal with that yet. You hadn’t decided what you were going to do and didn’t want your son to think anything was wrong, so you’d put your rings back on to keep up appearances.

“You okay?” There’s concern in his voice but it’s underlined with lust, he stands and you can see the thick outline of his cock straining his jeans.

Upstairs you hear your son’s voice as he answers a call and the sound of his door closing leaving the rest of the house in silence. You ponder your next move for a moment before bringing your wine to your lips, you tip your head back, finishing the last of it, Bucky follows suit.

Taking Bucky’s hand you lead him down the stairs to his room, thankful for your foresight to purchase a house with a separate guest suite, two floors away from the bedrooms currently occupied by your husband and son.

Bucky enters the room first, settling himself on the end of the bed. You close the door behind you and pause for a second, resting your back against the cool wood.

“Come’re” Bucky’s words are barely a whisper, you can hear the desperation in his voice and the desire flashing in his eyes.

You take a few steps towards him, stopping just out of reach

“Please” He begs and reaches out for you, hands hooking behind your knee, bringing it to the bed by his hips, copying the motion with your other leg, sliding his hands up your thighs to pull you down against him. Your bare cunt meets the fabric of his jeans and the thick line of his cock. The moan in the back of your throat catches when you hear the groan Bucky lets out as he gently rolls his hips, lost in the feeling of your body pressed to his, thrusting against you with breathy moans.

“Need you, need to feel you” He’s muttering against your cheek, dragging his mouth against yours, desperate and needy, tongue working its way between your lips, you can taste the wine on his mouth and your moan finally falls from your lips. Bucky’s hands grip your hips as he continues to buck into you, he breaks the kiss, unable to focus on anything but your heat seeping through his jeans, he throws his head back, a whine falling from him with one particularly hard thrust.

He tugs at the neckline of your dress, pulling your dress below your breasts he closes his hot mouth over your nipple, licking, and tugging gently with his teeth.

Each thrust has him pressed harder against you, the rough material dragging on your clit and you could cum like this, rutting against each other but he’s already made you cum twice and you desperately want watch him unravel as you fuck him.

“You still with me?” He hums in response, eyes closed and blissed out “You wanna fuck me?”

Bucky’s eyes flick open and his usual blue has been replaced with black “Yes, god yes, yes, please”

Guiding him flat on his back you lift yourself off his thighs, he lets out a disappointed sound before you bring your hand down to trace the outline of him over the fabric. He urges you on, tugging at the buckle of his belt and you swiftly push his hands away.

“Let me” You roll to his side, giving yourself more space to work the buckle and button open, pulling the zip down, you slip your hand inside and you can feel a damp spot on his pants before you quickly drag his jeans and boxers over his hips. His cock sways heavily between his legs, red and dripping. You try to mask the shock on your face because you really didn’t expect him to be so big, he’s long and thick, curved just so and you’ll know he’ll hit every spot perfectly.

“Oh Buck, such a pretty cock. So big, you’re going to fill me up so good” You reach out to grasp his length, giving it a slow stroke that draws the neediest whine from him.

“Fuck, I need you. Please, need you. Now, please” The hazy desperation has been replaced with heated desire as he pushes your dress up round your hips, tugging at the bodice “Get this off”

You guide his hands to the zip of your dress and he makes quick work, helping you pull the fabric off. Bucky sits up, dragging his shirt over his head before discarding it on the floor with the rest of his clothes.

He cups your jaw, capturing your mouth with fierce urgency while he moves you, pulling you back on him, your bare core this time meeting his aching cock. “F-uck baby”, you arch into him, tilting your hips to press your aching clit against him.

Raising yourself up, you slide your hand between your legs, nails ghosting over his tip and he shudders at the contact. His grip on your waist is gentle yet possessive and it tightens when you wrap your hand around his length and stroke once, twice, pulling a roughened groan from him.

Hovering with his tip just pressed against your cunt, you touch your fingers delicately to his face “Look at me.” Only once his eyes meet yours do you ease yourself down onto him, the stretch almost painful despite how wet you are. Bucky whines, his hold bruising your hips and his eyes rolling back and fluttering closed.

When you’re fully seated, the curve of his cock presses deliciously against that sweet spot deep inside, one that isn’t reached by your fingers or toys, and it sends a shudder through your body.

The sharp clench of your cunt is enough to snap Bucky from the daze he had momentarily been lost to

“Shit, please move” He bucks slightly, pushing himself even deeper and the ache is exquisite.

You begin to move, rolling your hips, lifting yourself and sinking back down. Your hands find Bucky’s chest, pressing him hard into the mattress, increasing your speed as you ride him.

“Yeah, just like that, fuck” Bucky’s chanting under his breath, letting you take what you need from him. Your shallow breaths are painful in your lungs, unable to pull in enough oxygen you can feel your head getting dizzy. A familiar heat coils in your belly, overwhelming and driving your need.

Noticing the falter in your hips and the catch in your breath Bucky takes over, thrusting from beneath you, driving into that spot over and over until you cry out, “Shit, oh fuck, yes”, thrashing waves surge beneath your skin, uncontrollable tremors rolling through your body as Bucky holds you steady, nails clawing at his chest, your cunt quivering around his cock.

He gives you just enough slack to rock your hips as your orgasm subsides, writhing against his thighs, breathing unsteady.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cum” He’s moving you as he speaks, rolling you both, pushing you down onto the sheets in the middle of the bed “You look so fucking good.”

Your legs instinctively open as he crawls up the mattress towards you, hooking your legs over his hips, his cock rests heavily on your belly. He pauses, taking in the sight, thighs flush against your bum, cock reaching up to your belly button. “Can’t believe you can take all of it” he breathes.

You reach down to trace the length of him, fingers gently teasing the underside of the head

“C’mon Buck, fuck me” your tone is encouraging, maybe a bit teasing but he takes your instruction.

Dragging his tip down your slit, teasing the head against your entrance. It’s a tighter push after your orgasm and he watches you take every inch, eyes never leaving where his cock is splitting you open “Shit” He lets out an unsteady breath as he bottoms out.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to pick up the pace, grunting softly against your lips “Fuck. Need’t- Fuck, feels so good” He lifts your leg, wrapping your knee around his waist, burying his cock deeper. “That’s it” You hear him groan and you’re not able to stop the shiver that runs through your body.

The pace he sets is relentless, there’s not an inch of space between your bodies and the sounds of skin on skin and soft moans fill the room.

“So good, filling me so good Buck” The familiar heat is building in the pit of your stomach, your head can’t comprehend the approaching fourth orgasm but your body is racing towards ecstasy, already lost to it.

“You gonna cum?” Bucky pants against your cheek and you nod “yeah? Fuck, need you to cum, wanna feel it”

Bucky pulls up, giving you space to slip your hand between your bodies if you want to but you don’t feel the need to, his cock hitting just perfectly to throw you over the edge.

“Fuck yes, c’mon” Bucky’s whiney and needy, desperate to make you cum he doubles down, thrusting harder, chanting a soft string of “yes, yes, yes” as he feels the tell-tale clench of your release.

“Buc-Ah” You can't help the strangled cry you let out as you fall over the edge, vision blacking and body arching, hands clawing at the sheets beneath you.

Bucky sobs your name quietly as he buries himself inside you and you pull him closer with your legs. Blistering heat floods inside you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck ” Bucky pants in a whisper as his cock throbs.

You reach up to touch his face, pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead, he presses his lips to yours, breathing heavily against your mouth. Letting your legs fall away from him, he hesitates slightly before slipping out of you.

Bucky moves to lay next to you, pulling the duvet from underneath your boneless body and covering you both with it. Your body feels heavy and you shouldn’t stay, you know you shouldn’t but the warmth of his body next to yours is nice, and when he reaches for you, pulling you close and mumbling sleepily “don’t go” you don’t want to leave, can’t bear the thought of the cold empty guest bed waiting for you upstairs.

So you stay, wrapped in the arms of a man half your age, promising yourself you’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒊 - ♡.

𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #college bucky barnes #sons best friend bucky #older woman reader #subby bucky #christmas smut #bucky smut #college!bucky #bucky x you #love potion writes #love potions writing #han writes

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catierambles · 1 year

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Feral Instincts Ch.2

Pairing: The Rogue's Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 981

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury but nothing graphic. Werewolf/Shapeshifter elements.

@mclsquared , @brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @eldarwen333 , @omgkatinka , @identity2212 , @lucypaulette , @teamfan7asy , @ms-betsy-fangirl ,@pagina16ps , @enchantedbytomandhenry , @foxyjwls007 , @nofoolywang , @margauxmargaux07 , @mrsevans90 , @ilikemilkchocolateh @peyton-warren , @lizzystuffsthings , @raccoon-eyed-rebel

The ache in her arm steadily grew worse, the claw marks starting to throb. Mike had helped her clean the blood from her skin, turning on the shower so she could stick her arm under the spray. The water flowing over the wounds had nearly driven her to tears, the nerves raw and angry. He pulled her to his chest as the water irrigated the wounds, guiding her breathing by taking deep breaths of his own and letting them out slowly. Once her arm was dry, he spread antibiotic ointment on gauze pads and pressed them to her arm, wrapping more gauze around it to keep them in place.

A strange sort of restless energy started building in her muscles and she found herself pacing, shaking and clenching and unclenching her hand. She knew they were watching her, could feel their eyes on her, but it didn't feel threatening. Introductions had been made. The one Sy called "Walker" was August Walker, the one with the shock white hair and amber eyes was Geralt Rivian, and Walter Marshall was the one with a halo of dark curls and a thick beard. Sy's full name was Markus Syverson, but everyone, even his brother, called him Sy. Stephanie got the feeling that August didn't want her there, despite him saying she could stay until her…transformation was complete. He wasn't hostile towards her, just severely uninterested. Sy, Mike, and Walter were the most outwardly welcoming and supportive. Geralt seemed…indifferent.

"Okay," Mike said, "I hate awkward silences. Steph, what's your favorite movie?"

"Michael." August said.

"If she's gonna be staying here, we might as well get to know her." Mike said.

"She's not staying." August reminded him and Mike flashed him an annoyed look before turning his attention back to her as she paced.

"Favorite movie?" He asked and she stretched her neck with a roll of her head.

"What genre?" She asked.

"Horror." Sy said.

"The Haunting."

"Julie Harris or Liam Neeson?" Walter asked.

"I saw the remake first and the original later, I like both." She said.

"Favorite band." Mike said.

"What genre?" She asked again and he pulled a small smile.

"Metal?"

"Motionless in White." She said.

"Classic rock." Sy said.

"Toss up between Queen and Journey, Eagles are up there too."

"Classical." Walter said.

"Love Vivaldi and Beethoven. Mozart's Requiem is also a big hit, but not Tuba Mirum."

"Going back to movies," Mike said, "Favorite action flick."

"The second Die Hard with Jeremy Irons."

"Musical?" Walter asked.

"2004 Phantom of the Opera with Gerard Butler, Emmy Rossum, and Patrick Wilson." She said.

"Creature feature." Geralt said.

"Toss up between Tremors: Aftershocks and Pitch Black."

"Classic movie." August asked and her eyes, which had been closed, opened and she fixed him with a look at his sudden interest.

"The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, 1947 starring Rex Harrison and Gene Tierney."

"Favorite food." Mike said.

"Japanese anything, and fried cheese."

"Favorite color." Sy said.

"Purple and black."

“Black isn’t a color.” August said.

“Don’t be pedantic.” She said simply and he scowled at her.

"Asmr?" Mike asked.

"Asmr drives me up a wall. I don't understand how people can get enjoyment out of the sounds of someone taking a bite of something crunchy or tapping on a microphone with fake nails. Pisses me off." She said and stretched her shoulders, but stopped with a wince as it aggravated her arm.

“How’s it feelin’?” Sy asked.

“Sore.” She said simply and he pushed away from the wall he was leaning against, going over to her.

“Let me see, doll.” He said and gently took her arm in his hands, pushing up her t-shirt sleeve that was stiff with blood. Unwrapping it gently, he pulled the gauze pads away from it and growled slightly as he saw the ragged claw marks tearing open the skin. It had stopped bleeding, thankfully, but dark lines of corruption branched off from the ruined skin. The skin around the wounds was warm and she winced as he pressed on them, making him mumble an apology. “Upside is, the infection will keep everything else out and it should heal without a scar to show for it.”

“Downside?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Downside is that there is an infection.” He said, “Feral infected you on purpose, couldn’t tell you why. Normally they just kill people. Don’t know why he bothered datin’ you first.”

“Gee thanks.”

“Nothin’ against you, doll, it’s just how ferals are.” Sy said and she nodded, “Seein’ as it stopped bleedin’ and ain’t at risk of goin’ south, we can probably keep it uncovered, but if it starts up again, let one of us know and we’ll wrap it up.”

“Okay.” She said with a nod and he carefully pulled her sleeve back down.

“We should probably get some of your things if you’re going to be staying here.” Walter suggested. “Do you live far?”

“Town over.” Stephanie said and he nodded. “Was camping though when shit went down, if he didn’t get rid of them to cover his tracks, the stuff I brought should still be there.”

“You can show me.” Geralt said, “We’ll bring them back here.”

“I can--”

“No.” Geralt said, “He might be there waiting for you. You’re not going alone.” He let his arms fall from where they had been folded over his chest. “Come on.”

“I didn’t exactly run in a straight line.” Stephanie said, “Do you have a map or something I can look at?”

“Not needed.” Geralt said, shaking his head. “I can track your scent back through the forest.”

“Okay, then.” She said.

“You want me to come with you, sweetheart?” Sy asked.

“No, it’s fine, it should be fine.” Stephanie said.

“Geralt will keep you safe, don’t worry.” Sy said and she nodded, following Geralt as he left the cabin and headed for the tree line.

#henry cavill #august walker #walter marshall #hellraiser mike #captain syverson #geralt of rivia #feral instincts

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companion-showdown · 8 months

Text

we are deviating from companion tournaments for a bit to judge Doctor Who's

Freaky Little Pets

(this has absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to include a certain sandbeast, i swear)

The current contestant list is:

The Slyther (Dalek Invasion of Earth)

Sandy the Sandbeast (The Rescue)

Zombo the Zarbi (The Web Planet)

The Chumblies (Galaxy 4)

HiFi (Steven's stuffed panda)

Aggedor (Curse/Monster of Peladon)

The Drashigs (Carnival of Monsters)

The Clam (Genesis of the Daleks)

The Shrivenzale (The Ribos Operation)

Fifi (The Happiness Patrol)

Spider robots (The End of the World)

Arthur the horse from The Girl in the Fireplace

Rose the dog (Rise of the Cybermen/The Age of Steel)

The cat that vanished in Fear Her

Cybershades

Gadget Gadget (The Waters of Mars)

The Triceratops (Dinosaurs on a Spaceship)

Mr Sweet (The Crimson Horror)

Handles

The T-Rex (Deep Breath - the Doctor world have so it counts)

The beatles in Knock Knock

Myfanwy the Pterodactyl (Torchwood)

Janet the Weevil

Wolsey (everyone here and after is from the EU)

Rose-the-cat

Antranak

Bernard Socks

Group Marshal

Lynx

Splinx

Keepsake's Vulture

Jasper and Stewart

2-2

Grandfather's shadow

Gramps

Ramsay the Vortisaur

Fred the Eternal Snail

Marmaduke

The Butterfly Room

Mina the cat and her kittens

Vampire squirrels

Darwin

We are playing fast and loose with the definitions of every word in the title, contestants do not have to be freaky, they can be normal, standard, earthly pets, they do not have to be little, horrible giant monsters are welcome, if you can justify calling them a pet its fine

any creatures that any characters make friends with or look after in some way are welcome, go wild

the only rules (that I probably don't have to explicitly state, but I will anyway) are that

submissions absolutely cannot have a level of intelligence comparable to humans. Animal-like intelligences only. (K9 is the exception to this because he is a robot dog)

should be treated well by the people you are claiming they are pets of, so, for example, you can't have the whale under the thames in Thin Ice

Some items on this list are from stories I have not seen in a while, so potentially won't meet these rules. If that is the case please let me know so I can remove them

Nominations will close 19:15 BST (UTC+1) tomorrow (27/09)

(also when the time comes you will vote Sandy or I will delete this blog and you will never see a companion tournament again for as long as you live (<- this is a joke but please let my beloved sandy do well))

#freaky little pets: nominations #also note #this is a mini-tournament #so new rounds may not be timely #and propaganda shared will be limited to non-existant #well not non-existant i will be vocally supporting by boy sandy #but you get the idea

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lcdrarry · 1 year

Text

LCDrarry 2023 Round-Up Post | Week 4

We won't post new works till Draco's birthday on 5 June to give our amazing creators a bit more time to finish their works - which in turns gives you more time to catch up on the works that posted during the fest and hopefully leave lovely comments for our creators.

Happy reading, commenting and sharing! ;)

~Your LCDrarry Mods

PS: Please have a look at the author notes and tags on AO3 for additional information. Thank you!

PPS: Please share far and wide! Thank you!

***

Art

***

Pretty

Prompt: "Pretty Woman", 1990, Gary Marshall Prompted by: @ladderofyears Artist: Anonymous Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: Mature Warnings: None

Summary: Pretty Woman but Drarry.

View it now on AO3.

***

Before daybreak [ART]

Prompt: "The Sandman", 2022, TV Show Prompted by: Anonymous Artist: Anonymous Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: Mild nudity, Mild body horror

Summary: Harry as the master of Dreams helps his little nightmare clear up his concerns about his role in the dreaming. Draco does not have much of a choice in the matter.

Read and view it now on AO3.

***

25 May | LCDrarry Double Feature | Art

afternoon snooze

Prompt: “How to Train Your Dragon”, 2010, Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois Prompted by: Rrruuchi Artist: Anonymous Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: General Audiences Warnings: None

Summary: Harry and Draco relax with their little friend.

View it now on AO3.

***

Fic

***

0 + 0 = 1

Prompt: "Taskmaster", 2015, TV Show Prompted by: @crazybutgood Author: Anonymous Word Count: 2,895 words Rating: General audiences Warnings: None

Summary: Harry and Draco go on Taskmaster. That's it. That's the plot.

Read it now on AO3.

***

A Boesky, A Jim Brown, and the biggest Leon Spinks ever.

Prompt: "Ocean's Eleven", 2001, Steven Soderbergh Prompted by: @waterfalls-moon Author: Anonymous Word Count: 12,030 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: Harry and his group of friends formulate a rather ambitious plan to re-acquire a rare diamond from the clutches of an old enemy—Theo Nott. Along the way, he's hoping to catch the attention of his ex—Draco Malfoy—who is now dating Theo. “What have you heard?” Harry half-whispered. “Rumours are going around that it’s the Starlight Diamond.” The guest half-whispered in reply, excitement practically vibrating out of the man’s pores. “Starlight Diamond?” He feigned ignorance, flicking his glance between the guest and Ginny. “Oh, right, I’m so sorry Mr. Potter. I often forget you didn’t grow up in our world.” Harry twitched, fist clenched. In another life, he probably would have decked the guy for being a prick, but that was the kind of person this sort of event attracted. The old money and the nouveau riche, both looking to flaunt their means and gossip.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Welcome to Kerb

Prompt: “How to Train Your Dragon”, 2010, Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois Prompted by: Rrruuchi Author: Anonymous Word Count: 24,037 words Rating: Mature Warnings: injuries, broken bones, vomiting, killing

Summary: Harry had always been obsessed with dragons. It was one of the reason he had studied them. And when the opportunity came to study draconic creatures in the wild on a deserted magical island with his mentor Charlie Weasley and his friend Neville Longbottom, why wouldn't he take it? If only he knew what he would encounter on his journey...

Read it now on AO3.

***

Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!

Creator reveals are on 15 June.

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disney-film-tourney · 1 year

Text

Welcome mayors!

I haven't seen a competition for AC, so here you go. This is going to start with preliminary rounds of 6 characters each. These will include both villagers and special characters, like Tom Nook or Isabelle. I'll be including old characters who weren't in New Horizons, like Joan and Tortimer.

In the prelims, the top two from each poll will move on to the next round.

Propaganda is encouraged, but please no death threats or anything super violent. This is supposed to be fun.

I'm in the process of organizing the opening polls and gathering photos, but I don't mind starting this in a few days. Please reblog so we can have a better turn out.

Thanks!

Winners:

3/6/23 - Prelims Round 1:

- Big sister: Muffy (51.5%), Ursala (16.5%)

- Cranky: Dobie (53.8%), Avery (18.8%)

- Jock: Roald (32.6%), Genji (27.4%)

- Lazy: Bob (42.1%), Sherb (27.4%)

- Normal: Gladys (25.6%), Margie (24.4%)

- Peppy: Flora (33.9%), Carmen (19.1%)

- Smug: Julian (35%), Pietro (26.5%)

- Snooty: Diana (56.3%), Opal (12.6%)

- Special: Rover (33.1%), Niko (20%)

3/7/23 - Prelims Round 2:

- Big sister: Phoebe (37%), Agnes (31.5%)

- Cranky: Walt (39.6%), Hopper (25%)

- Jock: Dom (50%), Ribbot (24.1%)

- Lazy: Stitches (46.4%), Felyne (16.1%)

- Normal: Coco (42.9%), Lily (23.2%)

- Peppy: Sprinkle (62.3%), Anabelle (11.3%)

- Smug: Zell (47.5%), Colton (16.4%)

- Snooty: Judy (38.7%), Olivia (27.4%)

- Special: Blanca (40.9%), Wardell (19.3%)

3/8/23 - Prelims Round 3:

- Big sister: Cherry (43.9%), Deirdre (15.9%)

- Cranky: Bruce (50%), Cyd (23.7%)

- Jock: Tank (34.2%), Kevin (32.9%)

- Lazy: Zucker (41.7%), Hornsby (19.4%)

- Normal: Merengue (42.7%), Molly (29.2%)

- Peppy: Rosie (34.7%), Chai (18.7%)

- Smug: Kidd (38.7%), Leopold (14.7%)

- Snooty: Mint (44%), Baabara (30.7%)

- Special: Mr. Resetti (27.6%), C.J. (25%)

3/9/23 - Prelims Round 4:

- Big sister: Fucsia (43.7%), Hazel (17.2%)

- Cranky: Apollo (38.2%), Roscoe (20.6%)

- Jock: Scoot (37.9%), Hamlet (21.2%)

- Lazy: Punchy (42.9%), Beau (30.2%)

- Normal: Fauna (37.1%), Lolly (27.8%)

- Peppy: Bunnie (55.7%), Piper (21.4%)

- Smug: Marshal (60.3%), Henry (15.9%)

- Snooty: Julia (28.8%), Purrl (24.2%)

- Special: Flick (40.6%), Mabel (24%)

3/10/23 - Prelims Round 5:

- Cranky: Grizzly (28.6%), Elvis (20%)

- Jock: Kid Cat (51.6%), Tad (21.9%)

- Lazy: Sasha (46.5%), Filbert (23.3%)

- Normal: Vesta (38%), Gayle (23.9%)

- Peppy: Tangy (45%), Cookie (17.5%)

- Smug: Raymond (38%), Shep (23%)

- Snooty: Tipper (34.3%), Gloria (27.1%)

- Special: Tom Nook (29.8%), Katie (28.7%)

3/11/23 - Prelims Round 6:

- Cranky: Rolf (52.3%), Wart Jr. (15.4%)

- Jock: Ace (25%), Boots (23.2%)

- Lazy: TBA (25.4%), Jeremiah (25.4%)

- Normal: Maple (53.7%), Pekoe (26.3%)

- Peppy: Ketchup (41.8%), Merry (35.8%)

- Smug: Chadder (44.1%), Kyle (33.9%)

- Snooty: Ankha (38.4%), Whitney (28.8%)

- Special: Pascal (27.5%), Reese (21.2%)

Top 2: Jeremiah vs. Dizzy vs. Raddle

3/12/23 - Prelims Round 7:

- Cranky: Octavian (40.4%), Groucho (28.1%)

- Jock: Teddy (50.6%), Tybalt (16.9%)

- Lazy: Erik (57%), Walker (15%)

- Normal: Marina (60.2%), Sally (18.1%)

- Peppy: Audie (47.6%), Chrissy (21.9%)

- Snooty: Petri (42.1%), Portia (23.7%)

- Special: Celeste (56.7%), K.K. Slider (20.4%)

3/13/23 - Prelims Round 8:

- Cranky: Butch (41.3%), Lobo (27.2%)

- Jock: Antonio (32.9%), Drift (19.2%)

- Lazy: Bones (58.9%), Cole (22.2%)

- Normal: Nan (31.7%), Maggie (25%)

- Peppy: Shino (51.9%), Pinky (14.4%)

- Snooty: Mathilda (34.4%), Amelia (19.7%)

- Special: Blathers (41%), Brewster (27.7%)

3/14/23 - Prelims Round 9:

- Cranky: Wolfgang (38%), Kabuki (29.3%)

- Jock: Bam (43.8%), Snake (16.9%)

- Lazy: Cranston (25%), Elmer (21.4%)

- Normal: Ione (30.6%), Kiki (28.8%)

- Peppy: Ruby (33%), Bianca (26.6%)

- Snooty: Eloise (33.3%), Tasha (21.2%)

- Special: Jack (30.4%), Timmy & Tommy (27%)

3/15/23 - Prelims Round 10:

- Lazy: Lucky (64.8%), Wade (15.9%)

- Normal: Tia (50.6%), Daisy (19%)

- Special: Sable (32.6%), Isabelle (28.3%)

3/16/23 - Prelims Round 11:

- 11A: Rudy (46.5%), Jingle (18.3%)

- 11B: Tortimer (36.8%), Pashmina (35.3%)

- 11C: Fang (51%), Freya (26.5%)

- 11D: Étoile (47.8%), Chief (19.4%)

- 11E: Goldie (48.2%), Blanche (24.6%)

#animal crossing #polls #poll winners #isabelle's announcements #animal crossing tourney

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smutty-books · 2 years

Text

Hoodie Guy Chapter 4

Eminem x reader

A meeting, some flirting, reader meets Denaun and Paul

Eminem/reader, Paul Rosenberg, Denaun Porter, reader’s coworkers, business meeting

———————————————————————

Chapter 4

As you walked to where you were meeting Paul, you quickly tried to type a text to Marshall, giving him a heads up

Y: Hey, so that meeting Paul set up? It’s with the clinic I work at. I’ll see you in a few. 😉

You quickly put your phone away just as the elevator door opened. You saw a guy that you recognized as Paul standing at the doors to the elevator.

“Dr. Ferrin?” Paul asked, reaching out his hand to shake Doc’s outstretched hand.

“ Mr. Rosenberg? Nice to meet you. These lovely ladies are my Nurse Practioner Angie and my RN Y/N.”

“ Please call me Paul. Nice to meet you all, welcome. Thank you for coming. Marshall and Denaun are already waiting in my office.” He shook your hand with a good, firm grip, looking you straight in the eye. You immediately liked his warm energy and the warm look in his eye. You gave him a open, friendly smile and said “ Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rosenberg. Thank you for having us.” You said very sincerely, letting you eyes smile at him as well, already self-conscious as this was Marshall’s manager, and his opinion mattered personally and professionally. Angie enthusiastically shook his hand with a big friendly smile. “ Pleased to meet you, Mr.Rosenberg, a long-time fan of Eminem’s.” Her gregarious, outgoing nature is asserting itself. You had a sinking feeling on your stomach but maintained your show smile as you called it. You didn’t know how to play this, if Marshall would acknowledge you knew each other or keep it under wraps. You had told Angie you were talking to someone at the gym. Her reply” go get you some, girl!!!! About time!!!!” So she knew there was someone you just hadn't told her it was Marshall as you had just found out last night.

“ It’s a pleasure, to meet you both. And please, call me Paul. We are pretty informal here. Please come this way.”

He lead the way to a door that had his name on it. You took a deep breath as he opened the door. Your eyes greedily drank in the site of Marshalk as he checked his phone. He looked up as you all came in a confused look on his face. He took the in the visitors with his gaze. He skimmed over Doc and Angie and landed right on you. A slight smile crossed his lips which he immediately swallowed and rises to greet you.

“ Hey, y/n, this is a welcome surprise this afternoon.” He said in surprise. . You smiled back at him, giving him a wink, your shoulders relaxing as he ackowleged you and ignored Angie. Speaking of you saw the confusion on her face and the disappointment. He then ushered you towards Denaun.

“ Y/n, I’d like you to meet Denaun” You crossed to Denaun to shake his hand and was surprised to be pulled into a big hug.

“ Slim has been talking my ear off about this girl he met at the gym. He won’t shut up about you. You apparently got some rap skills. Nice to get to meet you.” He told you in your ear. You blushed and ducked your head, suddenly shy that Marshall had talked about you to one of his oldest, closest friends. Marshall saw your shyness and again was charmed by it. He didn't meet many women who had that quality. That humility and humbleness. Angie inserted herself.

“ Eminem? My name is Angie; it's a pleasure to meet you. Big fan of yours from way back. So how do you know our y/n?” Angie assumed her role as your best friend and protector. Your heart grew with affection for her. You knew she had a thing for Eminem (not Marshall, she didn't know Marshall), and with the knowledge you knew each other and what you had talked to her about him, she assumed her best friend role. Marshall looked at her, studying her, his blue eyes cautious and closed off.

“ We met at the gym. We been talkin’. Call me Marshall.” he told her politely, reaching out his hand to shake hers. You were relieved he didn't give her much more attention than that.

“ Yeah, she told me about this hoodie guy she was talking to.” Angie sent you a mischievous look. Marshall raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and he glanced at you as you glared at Angie. She just winked at you. You shot a pleading look at Paul who was watching the goings on with amusement. He caught your look and took pity on you. He cleared his throat.

“ Okay, lets get down to business. . .” he started. Your inability to not finish a lyric asserted itself. You couldn't help it, it was perfect.

“ I don't got no time to play around, what is this, must be a circus in town, let's shut this shit down on these clowns, Can I get a witness. . .”

“ HELL YEAH!” Denaun, ever the perfect hype man, chimed in without a thought. He had a broad smile on his face as he reached over and high-fived you. “ I see what Slim means now,” he told you. You blushed and ducked your head, your body’s natural reaction to praise and compliments. Denaun just smiled. Liking what he was seeing of this woman his best friend was talking about. Marshall let out a surprised chuckle at the encounter, pleased you were getting along with one of his oldest friends and also impressed you picked up the hook like that off of Paul trying to start the meeting. Paul swallowed his laughter at the smitten look on Marshall’s face, something he hadn't seen in a long time. So far he like what he was seeing of you. He quickly cleared his throat and called the meeting to order. You all took your places, Marshall ushered you to a seat and took the one next to you. Denaun took a seat on the other side of you. Paul took a seat at the head of the table, and Angie and Doc took places on the other side. Paul began the meeting. Doc presented what the clinic was about and services offered and why it might be beneficial for Shady Records to have dealings with the Nerve Center. Paul, Marshall and Denaun had their questions which the three of you took turns answering. You three discussed the IV Hydration mobile clinic and the IV hydration offered in the clinic as well as trigger point injections, chiropractic services, and electro pneumatic stimulation for chronic pain, swelling and numbness. At the end of the meeting Doc thanked Paul, Marshall, and Denaun for their time and consideration. You all rose and shook hands with Paul, who told you that they would have to talk it over and would let you know.

Acting like the great wingman, Denaun quickly piped up that he and Marshall would show you out. As you left the conference room you felt Marshall fall into step behind you. You didn’t know he was checking out you bum in your scrubs and thinking how good it looked. Denaun started up a conversation with you all as you got in the elevator. Marshall code to remain quiet and listen and watch. He noticed you did the same thing. You watched and listened. You teased Angie and were very respectful to your boss. Denaun was able to draw you put as he noticed a lot of similarities between you and Slim.

You eventually came to where your cars were parked. Doc told you and Angie he would see Ypu back at the clinic and reminded you had your next client at 1:00. Angie departed next, giving you a wink and a hug.

Denaun departed quickly as well. He was surprised when you tentatively gave him a hug, but quickly embraced you in a bear hug. His embrace was comforting as it reminded you of your best friend back home.

“ It was nice to meet ha’, y/n. Don’t be a stranger, aight?” Ypu quickly affirmed that you wouldn’t. He dapped with Marshall and headed back toward the building. Marshall motioned towards your car with his head. You smiled and turned toward your car, he fell into step next to you.

“ Careful, I might get the idea you are a gentleman, Mr. Mathers.” You teased him gently bumping your shoulder against his. He chuckled.

“ Maybe I just want an excuse to walk a pretty lady to her car.” He said back, glancing at you. You blushed. “ And make sure we are still on for tonight?” He posed the question. You nodded you head.

“ Same Battime, slightly different location.” You told him, smiling at him. He swallowed down a smile, finding your dorkiness adorable and attractive.

“ Dork.”

“ I never claimed differently.” You retorted, smiling at him. He chuckled and opened your door for you and watched as you slid in the driver’s seat. Once he was sure you were in and buckled he closed the door. You rolled the window down and looked up at him.

“ I really enjoyed meeting Paul and Denaun. They seem like good people.”

“ They liked you too, y/n, I could tell. The look on Paul’s fave was priceless when you went into the hook for “Business”.” he shared, chuckling again at the memory.

“ It's a curse, I can't not finish a lyric when someone says it, even in conversation.” you shared, sheepishly Marshall shook his head again, his fondness for you growing more. He looked at the time and realized you needed to get back. He pointed it out and you regretfully sighed and started your car. You told him goodbyes and pulled out of the parking lot. He watched you go before slowly making his way back to the building, a smile on his face and a thoughtful look in his eyes. He couldn't wait for tonight.

#eminem x reader #marshall matters x reader #business #denaun is awesome #mr porter #paul rosenberg #coworkers

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mr-orion · 24 hours

Text

☆I heavily appreciate comments/reblogs on my work☆

☆ Lgbtqia+ friendly ☆ POC friendly ☆ any other minority friendly ☆ Disability friendly ☆ working on adding image ID to all future drawings ☆

Fujioshi UNFRIENDLY ♡ Terf UNFRIENDLY ♡ "LG community" UNFRIENDLY ♡

Turn on your notifications for me ♡ plsplspls (you really dont have to, i do shitpost a lot when I'm not drawing)

Otherwise I can add you to my taglist so you will only see the FINISHED things I make. This will not include sketches. (Primarily art, sometimes writing!) Just comment or drop a private ask saying you want to be added. Additionally if you want to be removed then just say so, no hard feelings.

If you make original works add me to YOUR TAG LIST. TAG ME. YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION, I WANT TO BE TAGGED IN ART AND WRITING AND ADJACENT THINGS. IDC IF WE'RE STRANGERS.

My DM's are open, feel free to strike up a conversation about anything. I will not respond if your blog is ageless/underage. I understand I'm very cool and all but practice internet safety and do not message adults privately online. Just because I don't have bad intentions doesn't mean other people don't. If you'd like, you can send me an ask instead!

☆About☆

Hi! I'm Orion, he/him, 20.

My favorite color is pink, I adore my black cat, and I love drawing and worldbuilding. I don't tend to spend a lot of time posting so you may notice the worldbuilding bit is lacking. I plan to start publishing more writing!

I typically scower the OC art tag for new artists to follow. I try to leave comments and likes everywhere! Occasionally asks for my mutuals too.

☆Tags☆

Here are some general tags I use

#Writing

#Oc Art

#Sketch

#Art Reblogs

#Others Ocs - Typically my fanart and reblogs

My textposts are rarely tagged. Stumbling upon them is a privilege

☆Writing Tags☆

🚧 ;l under construction 🚧

☆OC List☆

I get asked a lot if people can draw my ocs. YES! I usually draw something back if I have the chance too (no promises). I do ask that you do not whitewash my OC's, especially Mzamaki. It's incredibly awkward as it has happened way too many times for me to be comfortable with. His coloration is based on what I think is most aesthetically pleasing, and very intentional. It kills my excitement to see a free work of art get it wrong, and y'know. I can't really complain because it's free, so it just sucks... I don't believe it's an intentional message of whiteness being better, I will always give the benefit of the doubt. I strongly don't like it though

Art trades are always welcome too

My OC's are grouped by who they most interact with. Additionally if there have been any posts made about them they will have a hashtag

Favorites are highlighted in blue, but tbh, I love them all

#mr orion Ray

#mr orion Icarus

Quinn

Luciel

Maurice

Rika

Achilles

Cameron

Brenda

#mr orion Caelum

#mr orion Avin

#mr orion Armir

#mr orion Apache

#mr orion Liam

Marshall

Fantasy OC's

#mr orion Mzamaki / #Mzamaki

#mr orion Rhian

#mr orion Baron

#mr orion Lezna

#mr orion Neve

#mr orion Elliot

Lastly #mr orion misc oc one off characters and designs

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istumpysk · 2 years

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Davos III (Chapter 19)

Davos had come to White Harbor as an envoy, but they had made him a captive. His chambers were large, airy, and handsomely furnished, but there were guards outside his doors. From his window he could see the streets of White Harbor beyond the castle walls, but he was not allowed to walk them.

Fancy room for a captive.

+.+.+

Davos had hoped to speak with Wyman Manderly alone, but he found a crowded court. Along the walls, the women outnumbered the men by five to one; what few males he did see had long grey beards or looked too young to shave.

Mr. Manderly, where are all your fighting men?

+.+.+

Nor did he find any welcome in the pale blue eyes of Wyman Manderly. His lordship's cushioned throne was wide enough to accommodate three men of common girth, yet Manderly threatened to overflow it. His lordship sagged into his seat, his shoulders slumped, his legs splayed, his hands resting on the arms of his throne as if the weight of them were too much to bear. Gods be good, thought Davos, when he saw Lord Wyman's face, this man looks half a corpse. His skin was pallid, with an undertone of grey.

He's grey like Boros Blount. Heart disease confirmed.

If Manderly is supposed to remind me of Illyrio, it's working.

It was much too big for him, a cushioned throne intended to accommodate the magister's massive buttocks, with thick sturdy legs to bear his weight. Tyrion Lannister had lived all his life in a world that was too big for him, but in the manse of Illyrio Mopatis the sense of disproportion assumed grotesque dimensions. - Tyrion I, ADWD

And they're both trying to win a kingdom with a boy!

+.+.+

Left of the high seat stood a maester nigh as fat as the lord he served, a rosy-cheeked man with thick lips and a head of golden curls.

This is Maester Theomore, a Lannister of Lannisport.

Manderly has kept him in the dark for obvious reasons.

+.+.+

On a cushioned stool at his feet perched a plump pink lady. Behind Lord Wyman stood two younger women, sisters by the look of them. The elder wore her brown hair bound in a long braid. The younger, no more than fifteen, had an even longer braid, dyed a garish green.

The plump pink lady is Leona Woolfield, wife of Wylis Manderly, who is still being held at Harrenhal by the Lannisters. The two younger women are her daughters, Wynafryd and Wylla.

Of the three, only Wynafryd knows what's going on.

+.+.+

"You stand before Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor and Warden of the White Knife, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Lord Marshal of the Mander, a Knight of the Order of the Green Hand," he said. "In the Merman's Court, it is customary for vassals and petitioners to kneel."

Lord Marshal of the Mander? Buddy, you need to let that one go.

Every dead Frey buys him another title I'll tolerate.

+.+.+

"I have a string of titles too. Lord of the Rainwood, Admiral of the Narrow Sea, Hand of the King."

The plump woman on the stool rolled her eyes. "An admiral without ships, a hand without fingers, in service to a king without a throne. Is this a knight who comes before us, or the answer to a child's riddle?"

Lmao.

+.+.+

"Stannis may have enemies in this hall. I do not."

"Not even the men who slew your son?" Davos pointed. "These Freys were amongst his hosts at the Red Wedding."

One of the Freys stepped forward, a knight long and lean of limb, clean-shaved but for a grey mustache as thin as a Myrish stiletto. "The Red Wedding was the Young Wolf's work. He changed into a beast before our eyes and tore out the throat of my cousin Jinglebell, a harmless simpleton. He would have slain my lord father too, if Ser Wendel had not put himself in the way."

Lord Wyman blinked back tears. "Wendel was always a brave boy. I was not surprised to learn he died a hero."

The enormity of the lie made Davos gasp. "Is it your claim that Robb Stark killed Wendel Manderly?" he asked the Frey.

"And many more. Mine own son Tytos was amongst them, and my daughter's husband. When Stark changed into a wolf, his northmen did the same. The mark of the beast was on them all. Wargs birth other wargs with a bite, it is well-known. It was all my brothers and I could do to put them down before they slew us all."

The man was smirking as he told the tale. Davos wanted to peel his lips off with a knife.

Baking humans and serving them to their kin is okay, actually.

"He is fat," Ser Rodrik admitted, "but he is not stupid. - Bran II, ACOK

+.+.+

"Can you offer any proof of this incest, ser?" Maester Theomore asked, folding his soft hands atop his belly.

Edric Storm, thought Davos, but I sent him far away across the narrow sea, to keep him safe from Melisandre's fires.* "You have the word of Stannis Baratheon that all I've said is true."

"Words are wind," said the young woman behind Lord Wyman's high seat, the handsome one with the long brown braid. "And men will lie to get their way, as any maid could tell you."

"Proof requires more than some lord's unsupported word," declared Maester Theomore. "Stannis Baratheon would not be the first man who ever lied to win a throne."

*Stannis's fires.

Seems like he's laying the groundwork for Aegon debate to happen within the story.

+.+.+

If White Harbor should declare for Stannis, her husband would answer with his life. How can I ask Lord Wyman to condemn his son to death? What would I do in his place if Devan were a hostage?

Gosh, don't say things like that.

Please get Devan away from Stannis.

+.+.+

"It has been centuries since White Harbor has seen any wildlings, and the ironmen have never troubled this coast. Does Lord Stannis propose to defend us from snarks and dragons too?"

ha Ha, get it?? Dragons are real, and the north will need defending.

Unfortunately the guy who would like to hatch one isn't going to help.

+.+.+

"Before he was slain, Lord Tywin offered White Harbor full pardon for our support of the Young Wolf. He promised that my son would be returned to me once I paid a ransom of three thousand dragons and proved my loyalty beyond a doubt. Roose Bolton, who is named our Warden of the North, requires that I give up my claim to Lord Hornwood's lands and castles but swears my other holdings shall remain untouched. Walder Frey, his good-father, offers one of his daughters to be my wife, and husbands for my son's daughters here behind me. These terms seem generous to me, a good basis for a fair and lasting peace. You would have me spurn them. So I ask you, Onion Knight—what does Lord Stannis offer me in return for my allegiance?"

War and woe and the screams of burning men, Davos might have said.

Daenerys is running the same sale!

What about the Red Wedding? What about Wendel Manderly? Does anyone have to answer for that? The gall of the Lannisters and Freys.

+.+.+

Ser Marlon went on. "How many men can Stannis put into the field, can you tell us that? How many knights ride with him? How many bowmen, how many freeriders, how many men-at-arms?"

Too few, Davos knew. Stannis had come north with no more than fifteen hundred men … but if he told them that, his mission here was doomed. He fumbled for words and found none.

That's pathetic.

How are you going to come to the north, and burn their gods, when they make up the majority of your army?

+.+.+

The fat lord opened his eyes slowly, as if the effort were almost too much for him. "My cousin cuts to the bone, as ever. Do you have any more to say to me, Onion Knight, or can we put an end to this mummer's farce? I grow weary of your face."

ha Ha, get it?? Wyman's putting on the mummer's farce.

+.+.+

What does Stannis offer you? Vengeance. Vengeance for my sons and yours, for your husbands and your fathers and your brothers. Vengeance for your murdered lord, your murdered king, your butchered princes. Vengeance!"

"Yes," piped a girl's voice, thin and high.

It belonged to the half-grown child with the blond eyebrows and the long green braid. "They killed Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn and King Robb," she said. "He was our king! He was brave and good, and the Freys murdered him. If Lord Stannis will avenge him, we should join Lord Stannis."

He didn't use the word justice, so we're in the clear.

the fat man was so wroth that he took a vow to live on bread and wine till he had his vengeance. - Davos I, ADWD

Nicely done, Davos.

+.+.+

"We heard what you said," said the older girl, her sister. "A child's foolishness. Speak no ill of our friends of Frey. One of them will be your lord and husband soon."

"No," the girl declared, shaking her head. "I won't. I won't ever. They killed the king."

She called it. She's betrothed to Little Walder, and he won't be around much longer.

Do you like this dynamic? Older sister, heir to White Harbor, remarkably composed while being in on the scheme. Younger sister, more willful and outspoken in the face of injustice.

Tell me if that reminds you of anything.

+.+.+

"Hush, child," said Lady Leona. "You heard your lord grandfather. Hush! You know nothing."

"I know about the promise," insisted the girl. "Maester Theomore, tell them! A thousand years before the Conquest, a promise was made, and oaths were sworn in the Wolf's Den before the old gods and the new. When we were sore beset and friendless, hounded from our homes and in peril of our lives, the wolves took us in and nourished us and protected us against our enemies. The city is built upon the land they gave us. In return we swore that we should always be their men. Stark men!"

The maester fingered the chain about his neck. "Solemn oaths were sworn to the Starks of Winterfell, aye. But Winterfell has fallen and House Stark has been extinguished."

"That's because they killed them all!"

Another Frey spoke up. "Lord Wyman, if I may?"

Wyman Manderly gave him a nod. "Rhaegar. We are always pleased to hear your noble counsel."

You know nothing (Jon Snow) -> Promise (me, Ned) -> Rhaegar (Targaryen).

Funny author.

What does it say about George when he creates another character named Rhaegar, and gives him the most undignified death possible?

Anyway, me @ Wylla:

+.+.+

"Lady Wylla," he said to the girl with the green braid, "loyalty is a virtue. I hope you will be as loyal to Little Walder when you are joined in wedlock. As to the Starks, that House is extinguished only in the male line. Lord Eddard's sons are dead, but his daughters live, and the younger girl is coming north to wed brave Ramsay Bolton."

There ya go. All you need is a Stark daughter to hold Winterfell.

+.+.+

"He won't ever be my lord! He made Lady Hornwood marry him, then shut her in a dungeon and made her eat her fingers."

A murmur of assent swept the Merman's Court. "The maid tells it true," declared a stocky man in white and purple, whose cloak was fastened with a pair of crossed bronze keys. "Roose Bolton's cold and cunning, aye, but a man can deal with Roose. We've all known worse. But this bastard son of his … they say he's mad and cruel, a monster."

An unnamed member of House Locke. Brave man.

Lord Ondrew Locke appears to be close with Wyman Manderly, so I feel comfortable labelling House Locke as Team Stark.

+.+.+

"They say?" Rhaegar Frey sported a silky beard and a sardonic smile. "His enemies say, aye … but it was the Young Wolf who was the monster. More beast than boy, that one, puffed up with pride and bloodlust. And he was faithless, as my lord grandfather learned to his sorrow." He spread his hands. "I do not fault White Harbor for supporting him. My grandsire made the same grievous mistake. In all the Young Wolf's battles, White Harbor and the Twins fought side by side beneath his banners. Robb Stark betrayed us all. He abandoned the north to the cruel mercies of the ironmen to carve out a fairer kingdom for himself along the Trident. Then he abandoned the riverlords who had risked much and more for him, breaking his marriage pact with my grandfather to wed the first western wench who caught his eye. The Young Wolf? He was a vile dog and died like one."

The Merman's Court had grown still. Davos could feel the chill in the air. Lord Wyman was looking down at Rhaegar as if he were a roach in need of a hard heel … yet then, abruptly, he gave a ponderous nod that set his chins to wobbling. "A dog, aye. He brought us only grief and death. A vile dog indeed. Say on."

This time the truth came before the ellipsis.

It will still be known as the ellipsis of truth.

+.+.+

"Wylla has always been a willful child," her sister said, by way of apology. "I fear that she will make a willful wife."

Rhaegar shrugged. "Marriage will soften her, I have no doubt. A firm hand and a quiet word."

Oof.

Imagine feeling comfortable enough to say that in front of her grandfather.

+.+.+

"You are still a smuggler, ser, come to steal my gold and blood. You would take my son's head. I think I shall take yours instead. Guards! Seize this man!"

Before Davos could even think to move, he was surrounded by silver tridents. "My lord," he said, "I am an envoy."

"Are you? You came sneaking into my city like a smuggler. I say you are no lord, no knight, no envoy, only a thief and a spy, a peddler of lies and treasons. I should tear your tongue out with hot pincers and deliver you to the Dreadfort to be flayed. But the Mother is merciful, and so am I." He beckoned to Ser Marlon. "Cousin, take this creature to the Wolf's Den and cut off his head and hands. I want them brought to me before I sup. I shall not be able to eat a bite until I see this smuggler's head upon a spike, with an onion shoved between his lying teeth."

See, this is why kings aren't envoys. This is why you don't send kings to treat with their enemies. That would be stupid.

I shall not be able to eat a bite until I see this smuggler's head upon a spike, with an onion shoved between his lying teeth.

Lol.

"Aye," Lord Godric said, "and the fat man was so wroth that he took a vow to live on bread and wine till he had his vengeance. But before the day was out, he was stuffing clams and cakes into his mouth again. - Davos I, ADWD

Final thoughts:

I'm sorry, I'm not going to pretend to be impartial when it comes to Wyman Manderly.

Let the chef cook.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #davos iii

51 notes · View notes

deandoesthingstome · 1 year

Text

Night Moves

Chapter 4

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Alexandra Pierce)

Series Summary: When Walter Marshall is called to investigate a homicide by the railroad tracks, he quickly uncovers an unsettling pattern. Alexandra Pierce just wants someone to find out what happened to her friend. She has some secrets, too. And Walter’s going to uncover them.

Word Count: 4483

Series Warnings: In general, this series will depict assault, murder, stripping, hooking, rough sex, make up sex, fingering, oral (m and F receiving), p in v sex in various positions, self-loathing, failed relationships, smoking, drug use, drug addiction, general violence, and maybe some comfort. +18, Minors DNI

Chapter Warnings: Male masturbation, police interviews, more misogyny, a dead body, angry Walter, some dub-con fingering.

Disclaimers: I do not own Walter Marshall, Night Hunter (Nomis), or any other characters from that movie, but I do own this OFC (Alexandra Pierce) and these words. Do not repost as your own. Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are more than welcome. It’s how I get my nourishment.

Header made by me, with pics found from Pexel.com and the internet. Dividers are not mine, but check out the masterlist for credit.

Playlist: Night Moves Songs 12 -16

Masterlist

He was tired, frustrated, and not a little horny.

The cause wasn’t the women he’d watched all night long. No. It was her. Fuck.

He peeled off the clothes he’d been in all day and stepped into the steamy shower, eager to wash the funk and dejection away. But in the midst of lathering, he made a fatal mistake and let himself drift back to the club, the way she looked on that pole.

Walter could feel himself tightening at the thought of her, the way she smiled, the way she moved on him, around him, her little joke. God, he wanted to show her how right she was. Wanted to see her lean back for him, hang her head off the side of a bed and stare up at him, waiting for him to put his cock deep down her throat. He was sure she could take it. Wanted to help her try anyway.

He wanted to feel her move beneath him while he took her apart bit by bit. He knew damn well the feel of his soapy hand clenched tight around his own cock could never compare to the warm, wet heat he could coax from her. Could never begin to imitate the urgent pulsing and noisy squelching of her tight, wet pussy begging him for more.

He’d love to hear that from her, love to make her burn for him, implore him to quench her desire…fuck.

Walter heaved a sigh as he leaned against the shower wall and let the water rain down on him, rinsing the soap and spunk away. He hung his head for a moment and thought about just what the fuck he was doing.

Alex answers the buzzer on the first ring this morning. She’s been anticipating this visit ever since she listened to her voicemail after her shift last night. She was just finishing up the phone call with Detective Marshall to make arrangements to meet when Mrs. Travers knocked on the door to give her the business card and tell her about the scruffy looking young man who stopped by to see her last night.

“He needs a shave and a haircut.” Alex had laughed at that. She and Mrs. Travers definitely did not have the same taste in men.

When she opens her apartment door, she notices Mrs. Travers has opened hers, too.

“Do you want me to stay with you, dearie, while you talk to the detective?”

“No, that’s okay. I think I can handle it.” Alex smiles warmly and winks just as Walter steps out of the stairwell. He looks bigger than he did last night in the dark of the club and she clenches involuntarily, wondering if it truly translates the way she imagined it did when she sat on his lap. Then she remembers why he’s here and takes a deep breath, sighing it out slowly.

“If you’re sure, dear. I’m right across the hall.” Mrs. Travers waves a few fingers at Alex and sends a suspicious glance in Walter’s direction before she backs away into the apartment and closes her door. Alex can see her shadow fall over the peephole and she gives a little chuckle.

“Something funny?” Walter asks when he arrives at her open door, badge out and held up for her inspection.

“Just my guardian angel,” Alex replies, nodding at the opposite door and Walter turns just in time to see the shadow move away.

When he turns back, Alex has stepped aside, inviting him into her home.

“Can I get you anything? I have a pot of coffee on.”

“Thank you. Black is fine,” he states before she even asks.

While she pours his coffee and refills her own, he takes a cursory glance around. There’s a laptop open on the sofa and a small stack of papers on the end table topped with a red pencil. The whole living room is covered in shelves overflowing with books and plants, sunlight streaming in to nourish them. There’s an actual record player next to a pretty solid sound system and he registers the low music playing softly in the background.

When she returns from the kitchen and hands him the mug, she gestures for him to sit in the vintage tufted armchair caddy corner from where she’s bending slightly to retake her spot on the mismatched sofa. He almost spits the drink of the coffee he’s just taken and sets the mug on the table in front of him.

“Oof, that bad, huh?” she grimaces, like she isn’t quite sure what just happened.

“Uh, no. No, the coffee’s fine. You just, uh,” Walter pauses, not sure how to broach it. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

He can see her face register the recognition he’s hinting at and he knows he’s right but there’s something else. She clenches her jaw and sucks at her teeth for a moment, before she sets her own mug down and squares herself to him.

“My name is Alexandra Pierce. I’m a professor at the university. I reported my friend missing two days ago and no one gave a shit until now. I’m curious what’s changed.”

Walter is taken aback at her sudden anger and tries to figure out what will put her at ease. He sits back a bit in the chair, to add some distance in case his presence is intimidating to her at all. He’s heard that once or twice before. He also isn’t sure if he should just say it. He’s been working on an honesty-is-best policy, lately, trying to re-learn that lesson. But something about the way she bristled has him adding some caution to the line of questioning.

“Ms. Pierce, could you confirm some details for me? How do you and your missing friend know each other and where did you last see her?”

Alex takes a deep breath. She knows what he is asking. She also can’t imagine why a police detective would be bothering with an at home visit to gather details about a missing hooker unless he maybe actually gave a shit. She releases a little tension and goes for it.

“Alright look. I’m sure you’ve realized by now, but you and I met last night. Trixie works with me at Augie’s.” Alex watches Walter’s face and sees no change. He is stoic and thoughtful, awaiting the rest of her story. “To be clear, I am also a professor at the university. I work volunteer shifts at the clinic and that’s actually where Trixie and I first met.”

“Okay, good to know.” It’s all he can do not to drop his professional demeanor and show what he really thinks. “And what was she doing the night you think she went missing?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure, but I suspect she’d been trying to get a date.”

“A date?” Walter raises an eyebrow, intrigued at the possibility of a new lead. ”With whom?”

“Oh, maybe you misunderstand me. With anyone willing to pay.” Alex braces for it, yet still no judgment radiates from him.

“Ah, gotcha,” he lowers his expectant eyebrows with a nod. “And any idea where?”

“She always talked about down near the tracks. At least that’s where she’d had success in the past.” Alex’s skin was crawling just thinking about it, but a slight shift in Walter’s visage gave her pause. “What is it?”

Walter takes a deep breath and wishes he’d brought Rachel with him for this interview.

“We found a body at the tracks two days ago and we still haven’t been able to obtain positive identification? Are you willing or able to meet me at the coroner’s?”

Alex blinks several times and Walter can see her lip quiver, but she sniffs and holds herself together to answer.

“My car wouldn’t start this morning. I’d have to take a cab.”

“I can drive you. It’s no problem.” Walter stays put, tucked back in the chair in case any sudden movement would scare Alex off. He waits patiently for her to consider what she’s about to say yes to. As he watches her face come to terms, his heart breaks a little for her because the body is very likely her friend Trixie.

“Okay, yeah. Let me just shut a few things off and grab my bag.”

She closes her eyes and lets out another long sigh, then stands and gathers up her laptop and the papers from the end table and shoves them into a canvas messenger bag along with her phone. She flips a switch and halts the record on the turntable before turning off the power completely, then grabs the mugs from the coffee table and sets them in the kitchen sink.

Walter stands now himself and heads toward the front door to meet her as she exits the kitchen and grabs her keys from a dish on an entryway table. He opens the door for her and follows her out, waiting while she locks the deadbolt. 306 opens again and the old lady he spoke with yesterday pokes her head out again.

“Now you aren’t arresting Alex are you? You said she hadn’t done anything. Where are you taking her?”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Travers. Detective Marshall just needs me to answer a few more questions and review some details with him. I’m fine but thank you for the concern.” Alex runs a hand up her neighbor's arm and gives her shoulder a squeeze. “You need anything while I’m out? I’ll be back later this afternoon after office hours, but I’m happy to stop by the store if you’d like.”

“Oh, dear. No. You just take care of yourself. Let me know if I should call anyone for you.”

Alex thanks Mrs. Travers and heads off down the hall after Walter.

Well that’s done. Yeah, that bus isn’t going to be found by anyone. Someone would really have to know what they were looking for and I’m the only one who knows what to look for.

Such a relief because now I can get back to it. Get back to what I should really be doing, which is teaching those sluts a lesson. So I’m going out tonight, maybe not as soon as I get back, but as soon as I can. I don’t even care if she’s home or headed out.

All I know is I have to get this message out. I’ve kept it bottled up for too long. And the longer I wait to let it out, the likelier it is it’ll come out wrong. I do like knowing they’ll be waiting for me anytime.

And I do sometimes think the more the merrier. But I have to be careful. The more I take, the darker it gets. And that’s how they find you. In the dark.

The drive to the coroner’s office is quiet and Walter can’t say he’s sorry for that. He doesn’t really know what to say right now. Asking about her work at the club seems out of line and unrelated to the case, though he’s curious about a college professor who feels the need to supplement her income with stripping.

And until they confirm identity, it doesn’t feel right to say he’s sorry for her loss, either. So he focuses on driving and tries ignoring the woman who seems like she wants to fall apart in the seat next to him. She’s working hard to hide it, but he can tell.

When they arrive, he wants to ask her to wait so he can round the truck and open her door for her, help her down from the high seat, but she’s unbuckled and out the door before he even closes his. So much for chivalry. At least he can open the door to the building for her, and lead her down the hall to the elevator. Press the call button and wait. Let her in the cab first, then press the basement button and wait, staying as far from her as he can in the confined space.

She heaves another sigh when the door opens and he leads her down another hall, opening the door to another room.

“Detective Marshall. To what do I owe the pleasure today?” a short, bald man greets them, sandwich in hand.

“Chuck, we need to see the Jane Doe from the train tracks,” Walter says, straight to the point.

Alex watches the coroner drop his food on a white paper wrapper and shift a keyboard in front of him. He types quickly and stands as Alex hears a printer whirring behind him. He grabs the sheet, then steps into the examination room, separated from the office by a large glass window. She’s about to follow him when Walter puts a hand on her shoulder and holds her back gently.

“He’ll bring her to the window. You don’t want to go in there. Can you tell me if there are any identifying marks on her body, other than her face?”

“She has three tattoos on her left leg, and one on her right calf.”

“Great.”

“Wait, why ‘other than her face’?”

Walter sees Chuck pull the table up, so he gratefully ignores the last question and taps the glass, motioning towards the lower half of the body. He steps back, arms crossed and waits. Chuck pulls back the sheet and Alex moves her eyes from Walter to the body. It takes no time at all for her to recognize the markings on her friend and all her steely resolve melts with her to the floor.

“Fuck.” Alex is on her knees, head in her hands, mumbling to herself.

Walter taps the glass again to let Chuck know they’re done, then sinks to his knees next to her. From here he can hear her admonishing herself.

“...never shoulda let her go alone…Stupid, stupid, stupid…How could you let her go? What were you thinking?”

“Hey,” he places a hand gently at her back and feels the stuttered convulsions of a sob about to break loose. “I’m so sorry. Can I get you anything?”

Before he knows what’s happened, her tears are flowing freely and she falls a little of kilter into his chest where he wraps his arms around her almost automatically and holds on tight while she sobs into him, still berating herself from what he can tell.

He waits a few moments, then speaks again. “Ms. Pierce…Alex, hey. This isn’t your fault. Some asshole is out there beating up women and apparently taking lives, too. This isn’t on you.”

Alex sniffs and tries to temper her sorrow, pulling back from Walter and wiping the tears off her cheeks.

“Oh but this one is on me. I knew there was a danger and I let her go alone. I should have just given her the money she needed to dig out of debt, but that would have thrown my research into a bad light and, fuck! How could I be thinking about myself at this time?”

“You’ve just had a terrible shock. You could be feeling any number of things right now. Let’s get you up and out of here. We’ll go get some coffee, calm down a bit.”

Alex nods and lets him help her up. She even accepts the tissue he’s pulled from the box on the desk next to them. She hates to be weak ever, especially in front of men, but something about Detective Walter Marshall makes her feel like he doesn’t see her as weak, even in this moment.

He’s about to turn away and lead her from the room when he sees a flicker in her eyes and a tremble in her lip. Without thinking at all, he reaches out and pulls her closer, wrapping his solid arms around her shoulders and hugging her tight. When the new sob breaks loose, he shifts a hand to the back of her head and holds it against his chest while her body wracks with tiny convulsions. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when he registers a moment before it happens that Alex has peeled her head away from him and is now snaking her hands along the sides of his face and tilting her own up to him. Through her soft tears, he can see the plea and he wants to respond, aches to tell her it’ll be okay in the one way he’s always been good at, but Chuck is about to walk back into his office and if there’s one thing he doesn’t need right now, it’s anyone thinking he’s got a conflict of interest in this case.

He reaches back to put his hands over hers and pulls them down while he leans back just a bit and he tries to keep his face neutral because he doesn’t want her to mistake his frustration for rejection. And as if a switch has flipped, she is suddenly stepping back from him and it’s all he can do to let her go.

“Oh, god, I am so sorry. That’s so… god, so out of line.”

“It’s fine, you’re fine. Please, don’t worry about it.”

Chuck slips in the room with his nose in a file, so he misses the obvious tension dissipating around him.

“Let me just sign off on this form and then you can add this to the case file, Walter. Be just a sec.” Chuck sets the file on his desk and rummages for a pen under the stacks of paperwork.

Alex stares directly at Walter and he returns her gaze, breaking only when he notices the paper dangling next to him.

“Appreciate it, Chuck. I’ll be in touch about a release authorization for the body. Alex? You ready?”

Alex nods and turns to the exit, not caring in the least to thank the coroner at this moment. Her mind is reeling with thoughts of what comes next.

On the walk to Walter’s truck, she makes up her mind, and to his utter dismay, begs off the coffee date with the excuse that she needs to get to her office and start her day. She promises she’ll stop by later to finalize the paperwork for Trixie, but with a name, Walter doesn’t need anything else to search the database for criminal records he already knows aren’t there.

He really needs more information from Alex, but she’s already rushing off to a bus stop before he can get her back in the truck and offer her a ride wherever she needs to go. Fuck.

Sasha is just about to approach the dude who’s been lurking on the edge of the train yard for about fifteen minutes, when blue and red lights flash, and he and the few other couples she’s been avoiding take off in a hurry. She curses the heels she chose for this endeavor. If she can’t walk across the parking lot gracefully, how was she ever going to hurry away now? She really hadn’t thought this through.

She’s still turned and attempting a half-assed escape when she hears a voice call out in anger.

“Alex! What the fuck?”

Walter claps a meaty hand around her upper arms and spins her to face him, rage radiating in all directions.

“Ow, let go!” Sasha twists a little trying to get free, but he’s not letting go.

“Why don’t you just get your ass in the truck?” he commands.

Walter pulls her to the truck, but instead of opening the passenger door, he traps Alex against it, arms outstretched and head bending towards her. He briefly wonders about himself, but the words out of his mouth are directed at her.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing that’s any of your business, that’s for sure,” she huffs at him.

“Alex .. or do I call you Sasha right now?” Walter growls.

“Oh fuck you,” she snarls, pulling the wig from her head. “Did you want me to get in the fucking truck, or what?”

“What are you doing wandering around down here dressed like this? You can't be here...looking like this... like....fuck.”

Walter loses the battle in his head and leans in, his mouth seeking hers with urgency. He drops a hand from the truck and grips her hip, grinding against her into the door. His hand slips from her hip and reaches the bottom of her already short skirt and he thinks he should probably stop, but she isn't resisting and he doesn't want to anyway.

He bunches the hem, his fingertips skimming the damp fabric between her legs and when she moans wantonly, he pulls the material to the side with one finger and slips another into her wet heat. He finally peels his other hand from the door and snakes it around her waist, holding her in place with his massive paw.

Her leg hooks around his thigh, widening his access and spurring him on. Alex holds onto his neck, keeping his mouth against hers and she savors his taste while he dips another finger inside her, pumping and stroking and searching for the spot that'll make her break for him.

He knows exactly when he's found it because she cries into his kiss before pulling back to beg him for more with her eyes. His jaw clenches involuntarily as he doubles his effort, fingers crooking and he's grunting right along with her whimpers and gasps, just short of insisting she let go for him.

When it finally washes over her, Alex drops her leg and almost crumples to the ground but Walter has her in his hold and doesn't let go, slowing his finger stroke while keeping a firm press on her clit with his thumb. He can feel how hard she got for him and it only enhances the ache in his own pants.

It isn't until he has fully withdrawn his hand that the shame seeps in. He doesn't want to let her go, but he can't look her in the face anymore. Can't see how she let him possess her like that or he might take this too far.

Walter waits a beat longer before he smoothes her dress back down her thighs, catching the fabric with his calloused hands and an odd little attempt to tug the hem further down her still- trembling legs.

He doesn’t step back until she presses his chest, but when he does she comes with him.

"Hey, are you...?"

"We should get in the truck." He interrupts and reaches around her to open the door, waiting silently for her to climb in, not daring to watch for fear he wouldn't be able to resist a touch or grope, thinking about just letting her lean over the seat so he could take her from behind...and, fuck.

He shuts the door a little harder than he intended and stands a minute trying to wrest the stiffness away before he shuffles around the hood and climbs behind the wheel. He's grateful she's looking away when he does so he doesn't have to see her watching him shift his jeans around.

The ride to her place is the longest, quietest drive he's taken since leaving the courthouse after the divorce. And, fuck, did he really not need the thought of Angie circling the cab right now, but at least his boner's gone by the time he reaches the back parking lot of her building.

Walter takes a beat trying to figure out exactly why he’s so angry right now.

“Look, I'm sorry. I was way outta line back there. But truly, that was no place for you to be. What did you even imagine you would be able to accomplish down there?”

“I just … fuck. I just needed to do something, anything. It’s my fault Trixie’s dead and…”

“First of all, it’s not your fault no matter what you did or didn’t do the last time you saw her, so knock that shit off right now. And second, you getting dead isn’t going to bring her back.”

“No one is doing anything!”

“No one is…? What the fuck did you think I showed up for? Do you think I have a GPS tracker on you or something? I was there to check out the scene. I couldn’t believe it when I saw your hair. I thought I was dreaming.”

Alex shifts in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable in her skimpy outfit sitting next to Walter. Every ridiculous vision she had about finding and confronting the killer suddenly seemed like the stupidest idea she’d ever had in her life, including thinking working at a strip club was a perfectly valid way to gather research.

“Do you want to tell me what you were doing?”

“You know what I was doing.”

“Yeah, but do you want to tell me why?”

“Not really.”

Walter exhales loudly, turning to look at her. She’s so beautiful, even in her anger. Maybe especially. It’s hard not to scan her body, since she has it on full display. And he’s already seen enough to know what’s hidden right now anyway. All but one secret spot he’s only felt.

Walter gives a little head shake to snap out of the fantasy he almost let himself have right there. She makes him crazy. Begrudgingly, he gets out of the truck to meet her around the front. She practically walks right into him, head down while she tries to sneak away without any more reprimands from him. He grabs her arms gently this time and holds her in place.

“Do you want a jacket to wear inside?” he asks, head dipping low to try to catch her eyes.

Alex blinks in shock. She expected another dressing down, not a peace offering.

“That’d be nice, thank you.” She accepts the thin windbreaker he has in his hands and slips it on. “You want to come in so you can take it?”

Walter just nods and lets her lead the way. Alex doesn’t take off the jacket until he’s all the way inside her apartment with the door closed. She holds it out to him and steps just a bit closer than he needs to in order to take it from her. She doesn’t let go.

“Why do you care so much about me and my friend?”

Walter considers her question and answers as carefully as he can.

“I care about your friend because she showed up on my beat.”

“And me?” Alex almost whispers.

“You showed up on my beat, too,” Walter answers, taking another step closer and tugging the jacket and her with it right up against his chest. He wraps a hand around her neck, fingers pressing lightly and thumb shifting her chin up toward him. “I’d like to kiss you again now. Can I do that?”

She licks her lips and nods and doesn’t close her eyes as he leans in.

Chapter 5

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