Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, age gap and all around sexiness.
Summary: You’re used to difficult clients but not in the same way as Peter Park. (actor Peter Parker, older reader)
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
“Venice?” You chew your thumb as you stare at the phone, numbers counting down the call time.
“I know it’s a long trip.” Peter’s assistant says from the other side. You retie the belt on your robe. “I could find a stylist in Venice, I guess. I have a few contacts from my previous job…”
“No, I can find my passport.” You stifle a yawn. “I can’t really turn down the contract. Works been tight.”
“Really? I appreciate. And I think Peter really liked you.” She says. “I don’t know if you can tell but he’s a bit all over the place.”
“Oh, like his hair,” you kid. “Give me the date and time. I’ll be there.”
“Sure. Uh, it’s paid for, of course. I’ll forward the ticket.” She says as you hear something chime. “Sorry, I gotta another call and– shit! Um, thanks again. Bye!”
The line clicks. Well, it sounds like she can use all the help she can get. Besides, you hear Italy is nice. If this goes well, you might get something more steady. You wouldn’t mind that at all. Peter’s young, up-and-coming, this could be your in. And after so many years of hustling from set to set.
Your phone vibrates again. You carry it into the kitchen and start on your daily smoothie. It’s a paltry replacement for your previous morning addiction. You miss your caffeine but you don’t need it. Not at your age.
It’s the plane ticket. Frantic but effective. Well, you guess you’ll be missing girls’ night. This time with a real excuse.
You’re an overpacking. An overpreparer. Your clients wonder why you have twenty different brushes and at least a dozen brands of face wipes. You can never be too ready but you’ll sacrifice some clothing to get your whole kit in the overhead.
You take your cherry smoothie to the table and sit. You scroll until your phone buzzes through the table. You don’t recognise the number.
‘Hi! Are you coming to Venice?’
You frown and flip over to the conversation. There’s no previous dialogue. It’s been ages since you got a new phone or number. You flip through your backlog of contacts.
‘Sorry. Who is this?’
‘Peter. Is this–’ the response blips up.
Peter?
‘Yes. I’m packing. I’ll be there.’ You reply.
‘Sorry. Stole your number from my assistant. She’s so busy all the time.’
‘It’s okay. Excited for the trip.’ You send back.
You put the phone down and slurp the somewhat bland sugarless blend. You’re trying to be healthier without diving into the deep end of ‘cleanses’ and ‘fasts’. You don’t need to be a Victoria Secret’s model, just comfortable.
‘What about today? Will you come by today?’
You chuckle.
‘Is something going on?’
‘I need to pack but I don’t know what to wear 🥺’
You almost laugh at the emoji. You look at the time.
‘Might take me a while.’
‘Awesome! See you soon!’ His response doesn’t show an ounce of disappointment.
You stare at the glass before you muster the energy to get up. You put saran wrap over the top and shove it in the fridge. You’ll try not to forget about it. You probably will though.
💗
You pull up to Peter’s building. You hate LA traffic but you’re grateful for the distraction. When you have travel ahead of you, you tend to fixate and agonise over every little thing that could go wrong. What if you get searched? What if you lose something? What if you miss your flight?
You buzz at the front door. Peter doesn’t answer. You try again. Huh.
You pull out your phone to text him. He could be out on the balcony. Before you can find the chat, your name comes from behind you. It’s Peter.
“Hey! Great timing!”
He wears a backwards hat, a muscle shirt, and dark shorts. He’s carrying a tray with two big icy drinks, whipped cream and sprinkles on top.
“They’re having a big promotion down at the shake place! Iced coffee.” He beams over the straws. “Like a Simpsons donut, see?”
You stare at the cups. There’s cream and chocolate layered with the coffee. You hold back a sigh. So much for giving up your vices.
“For me?” You ask.
“Sure! I felt selfish just getting one for me. And you drove all the way down here.” He chimes. “Wait– you haven’t been down here long, have you?”
“No, just got here. All good.”
“Great. I’d feel bad if you were waiting.” He says. “Um, ergh… I’ll let you in.”
He gets closer and you fumble to get out of the way. You brush against him and catch a whiff of his fresh deodorant mingling with his sweat. It’s a warm smell, comforting despite the heat. He scans his fob and the door clicks. You grab the handle before he can.
“Oh no! I got it! You’re a lady. I’m supposed to–”
“Your hands are full,” you say softly. “It’s alright.”
“So are yours.” He says.
“Shoulder strap.” You let go of your bag and it hangs on your shoulder. “Come on.”
He goes ahead of you and looks over his shoulder. “You don’t mind if we take the elevator? I’ve been doing these workouts for the shoot. The stunt coordinator has been kicking my– butt.”
“That’s fine with me.” You assure him with a smile.
He stops and waves you into the elevator first. He gets on and you sense him staring at you. You glance over.
“I don’t have something on my face, do I?”
“No! I’m sorry. I just… I like your hair.” He makes a face then looks away.
“Oh, thank you. It’s kind of… stubborn. Hence the scarf.” You reach up to pinch the knot in the bandana tied to keep your hair under control.
“No, it’s cool. It gives you a real chill vibe.” He says.
“Ha, never thought of it that way.”
The elevator stops. You get off and head for his door. He lets you inside and you look around at the tidy space. His assistant has been working hard you see.
“You have to try it! I waited to try it with you.” He insists as he puts the tray down and grabs the cups out of the cardboard.
“Oh, uh… sure.” You try not to show your dread at the sheer amount of cream. “Thanks again. It was sweet of you to think of me.”
“No, it’s cool.” He holds out a cup.
You take it and eye it. “Wow, that’s a lot…”
“Cheers!” He knocks his cup against yours. He spills cream through the top hole and it drips on his fingers. He prompts sucks on his knuckles as he angles the cup around, dripping even more.
“Alright, hold on.” You look around and quickly find the roll of paper towels in the kitchen. “Let me help.”
You hand him the paper towel and he accepts it with a goofy look. He wipes his hands then picks up his cup again. He looks at you and delicately sips through the straw. You taste the sugary concoction. Oof. You are not twenty anymore.
“Mmm,” you hum.
“Yummy.” He licks his lips. “Oh! Ha.”
He reaches for you and you wince. He runs his thumb over your lip. “That cream gets everywhere.” He looks at his thumb then twitches, turning to wipe it on the crumpled paper towel. “Anyway…” He coughs. “I was hoping you could help me with my press outfits. I have a bunch of interviews. And… Bucky Barnes is gonna be at some. He always looks so cool.”
“Oh, I’ve worked with him before. Briefly.” You say. “At some show. He wouldn’t remember me.”
“Really? You don’t think?”
“Nah, he probably deals with a dozen stylists all the time.” You shrug.
“That’s so weird. My assistant used to work for him too.”
“Oh really? That must be why she’s so good at her job.”
“Right? I really am a mess.” He frowns.
“No, I don’t think so.” You assure him softly. “Here, I’m going to put this down.” You set the cup on a table nearby. “Don’t wanna get it on your clothes. We’ll go pick some stuff for the trip. Do you have an itinerary?”
“Yes, my assistant sent it. Somewhere…” He fishes his phone out of his pocket. He opens his messages, all you see is the contact name. “Dream Girl🥰” before he swipes back. You turn your eyes away. That’s cute. “Alright, I’ll just find it…”
He turns and walks into the back of the couch as he searches his phone. You catch his arm and pull him around it.
“Oops.” He gives a sheepish smile. “I just… got a million things on my mind.”
Peter wanted to suck that whipped cream right off his finger, we see him! And I bet he’s thinking about cream getting everywhere. I love that he’s already got it bad. And he’s all over the place, but we can handle that. I can’t wait to see him in Venice.
He’s being so cute, but we know he can turn intense in a second. I do like that he knows what he wants. Can’t wait for more of these two. Kinda scared for his assistant though, and worried for him if he’s about to lose her back to Bucky.
He can’t let out his freak until he gets us to Venice. Yeah she’s barely spoken to him and he latched on. I would’ve been touched over the coffee, even if the caffeine would have sent me to the bad place.
Oh yeah that energy has to go somewhere, and he already picked a target. I’m worried about our assistant. She’s in trouble 😬
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, age gap and all around sexiness.
Summary: You’re used to difficult clients but not in the same way as Peter Park. (actor Peter Parker, older reader)
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
“Venice?” You chew your thumb as you stare at the phone, numbers counting down the call time.
“I know it’s a long trip.” Peter’s assistant says from the other side. You retie the belt on your robe. “I could find a stylist in Venice, I guess. I have a few contacts from my previous job…”
“No, I can find my passport.” You stifle a yawn. “I can’t really turn down the contract. Works been tight.”
“Really? I appreciate. And I think Peter really liked you.” She says. “I don’t know if you can tell but he’s a bit all over the place.”
“Oh, like his hair,” you kid. “Give me the date and time. I’ll be there.”
“Sure. Uh, it’s paid for, of course. I’ll forward the ticket.” She says as you hear something chime. “Sorry, I gotta another call and– shit! Um, thanks again. Bye!”
The line clicks. Well, it sounds like she can use all the help she can get. Besides, you hear Italy is nice. If this goes well, you might get something more steady. You wouldn’t mind that at all. Peter’s young, up-and-coming, this could be your in. And after so many years of hustling from set to set.
Your phone vibrates again. You carry it into the kitchen and start on your daily smoothie. It’s a paltry replacement for your previous morning addiction. You miss your caffeine but you don’t need it. Not at your age.
It’s the plane ticket. Frantic but effective. Well, you guess you’ll be missing girls’ night. This time with a real excuse.
You’re an overpacking. An overpreparer. Your clients wonder why you have twenty different brushes and at least a dozen brands of face wipes. You can never be too ready but you’ll sacrifice some clothing to get your whole kit in the overhead.
You take your cherry smoothie to the table and sit. You scroll until your phone buzzes through the table. You don’t recognise the number.
‘Hi! Are you coming to Venice?’
You frown and flip over to the conversation. There’s no previous dialogue. It’s been ages since you got a new phone or number. You flip through your backlog of contacts.
‘Sorry. Who is this?’
‘Peter. Is this–’ the response blips up.
Peter?
‘Yes. I’m packing. I’ll be there.’ You reply.
‘Sorry. Stole your number from my assistant. She’s so busy all the time.’
‘It’s okay. Excited for the trip.’ You send back.
You put the phone down and slurp the somewhat bland sugarless blend. You’re trying to be healthier without diving into the deep end of ‘cleanses’ and ‘fasts’. You don’t need to be a Victoria Secret’s model, just comfortable.
‘What about today? Will you come by today?’
You chuckle.
‘Is something going on?’
‘I need to pack but I don’t know what to wear 🥺’
You almost laugh at the emoji. You look at the time.
‘Might take me a while.’
‘Awesome! See you soon!’ His response doesn’t show an ounce of disappointment.
You stare at the glass before you muster the energy to get up. You put saran wrap over the top and shove it in the fridge. You’ll try not to forget about it. You probably will though.
💗
You pull up to Peter’s building. You hate LA traffic but you’re grateful for the distraction. When you have travel ahead of you, you tend to fixate and agonise over every little thing that could go wrong. What if you get searched? What if you lose something? What if you miss your flight?
You buzz at the front door. Peter doesn’t answer. You try again. Huh.
You pull out your phone to text him. He could be out on the balcony. Before you can find the chat, your name comes from behind you. It’s Peter.
“Hey! Great timing!”
He wears a backwards hat, a muscle shirt, and dark shorts. He’s carrying a tray with two big icy drinks, whipped cream and sprinkles on top.
“They’re having a big promotion down at the shake place! Iced coffee.” He beams over the straws. “Like a Simpsons donut, see?”
You stare at the cups. There’s cream and chocolate layered with the coffee. You hold back a sigh. So much for giving up your vices.
“For me?” You ask.
“Sure! I felt selfish just getting one for me. And you drove all the way down here.” He chimes. “Wait– you haven’t been down here long, have you?”
“No, just got here. All good.”
“Great. I’d feel bad if you were waiting.” He says. “Um, ergh… I’ll let you in.”
He gets closer and you fumble to get out of the way. You brush against him and catch a whiff of his fresh deodorant mingling with his sweat. It’s a warm smell, comforting despite the heat. He scans his fob and the door clicks. You grab the handle before he can.
“Oh no! I got it! You’re a lady. I’m supposed to–”
“Your hands are full,” you say softly. “It’s alright.”
“So are yours.” He says.
“Shoulder strap.” You let go of your bag and it hangs on your shoulder. “Come on.”
He goes ahead of you and looks over his shoulder. “You don’t mind if we take the elevator? I’ve been doing these workouts for the shoot. The stunt coordinator has been kicking my– butt.”
“That’s fine with me.” You assure him with a smile.
He stops and waves you into the elevator first. He gets on and you sense him staring at you. You glance over.
“I don’t have something on my face, do I?”
“No! I’m sorry. I just… I like your hair.” He makes a face then looks away.
“Oh, thank you. It’s kind of… stubborn. Hence the scarf.” You reach up to pinch the knot in the bandana tied to keep your hair under control.
“No, it’s cool. It gives you a real chill vibe.” He says.
“Ha, never thought of it that way.”
The elevator stops. You get off and head for his door. He lets you inside and you look around at the tidy space. His assistant has been working hard you see.
“You have to try it! I waited to try it with you.” He insists as he puts the tray down and grabs the cups out of the cardboard.
“Oh, uh… sure.” You try not to show your dread at the sheer amount of cream. “Thanks again. It was sweet of you to think of me.”
“No, it’s cool.” He holds out a cup.
You take it and eye it. “Wow, that’s a lot…”
“Cheers!” He knocks his cup against yours. He spills cream through the top hole and it drips on his fingers. He prompts sucks on his knuckles as he angles the cup around, dripping even more.
“Alright, hold on.” You look around and quickly find the roll of paper towels in the kitchen. “Let me help.”
You hand him the paper towel and he accepts it with a goofy look. He wipes his hands then picks up his cup again. He looks at you and delicately sips through the straw. You taste the sugary concoction. Oof. You are not twenty anymore.
“Mmm,” you hum.
“Yummy.” He licks his lips. “Oh! Ha.”
He reaches for you and you wince. He runs his thumb over your lip. “That cream gets everywhere.” He looks at his thumb then twitches, turning to wipe it on the crumpled paper towel. “Anyway…” He coughs. “I was hoping you could help me with my press outfits. I have a bunch of interviews. And… Bucky Barnes is gonna be at some. He always looks so cool.”
“Oh, I’ve worked with him before. Briefly.” You say. “At some show. He wouldn’t remember me.”
“Really? You don’t think?”
“Nah, he probably deals with a dozen stylists all the time.” You shrug.
“That’s so weird. My assistant used to work for him too.”
“Oh really? That must be why she’s so good at her job.”
“Right? I really am a mess.” He frowns.
“No, I don’t think so.” You assure him softly. “Here, I’m going to put this down.” You set the cup on a table nearby. “Don’t wanna get it on your clothes. We’ll go pick some stuff for the trip. Do you have an itinerary?”
“Yes, my assistant sent it. Somewhere…” He fishes his phone out of his pocket. He opens his messages, all you see is the contact name. “Dream Girl🥰” before he swipes back. You turn your eyes away. That’s cute. “Alright, I’ll just find it…”
He turns and walks into the back of the couch as he searches his phone. You catch his arm and pull him around it.
“Oops.” He gives a sheepish smile. “I just… got a million things on my mind.”
Peter wanted to suck that whipped cream right off his finger, we see him! And I bet he’s thinking about cream getting everywhere. I love that he’s already got it bad. And he’s all over the place, but we can handle that. I can’t wait to see him in Venice.
He’s being so cute, but we know he can turn intense in a second. I do like that he knows what he wants. Can’t wait for more of these two. Kinda scared for his assistant though, and worried for him if he’s about to lose her back to Bucky.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as power imbalance, violence, criminal activity, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your husband starts working for Tommy Shelby but when he goes missing, you find yourself drawn into the shady business of Birmingham’s most dangerous.
Characters: Tommy Shelby
Note: I think this will be a short series. Or I keep saying so.
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
“Sausage rolls. Table of… three. No, four.” Ruth reads the ticket off before she leaves it on the counter.
“It’ll be a while. I just put another pan in, dear,” you say.
“It’s all they want.” She chuckles. “Think you’ve found gold.”
“Eh,” the door swings open behind her. Arthur Shelby skids to a stop and smirks at Ruth. “Oi, lass, anymore of ‘em rolls?”
“In the oven, Art,” she playful swings a hand towel at him. “Don’t be gettin’ in the way.”
“And who says you’re the boss.” He retorts.
“Out!” Ruth barks.
You glance over at them. Arthur catches your eyes. “Not meanin’ to be in the way,” he shows his palm and backs out of the door. “Don’t tell Tommy, eh.”
Ruth follows him out. You go back to your pastry. You didn’t prep enough. Diedre comes in with empty trays, Benjamin lets her dump the dishes in the deep sink, and sprays them with the hose. His sleeves are rolled up as he scours away the grease and crumbs.
You switch between the rolls and the pan of eggs. You scoop out the poached whites delicately clouded around yolk onto the toasted biscuits and ring the bell. Deirdre and Ruth come to load up their trays and go out.
You lose yourself in the hectic flurry of orders, tearing up tickets as you make your way through them. You turn and elbow a wall you don’t expect. It isn’t a spontaneously appearing bit of plaster but rather Mr. Shelby.
“What can I help with, love?” He asks.
“Mr. Shelby? Oh, I think I’ve got it in hand.” You assure him as you turn put more biscuits in to toast. He takes the rack from you.
“Tell me. I have two hands.” He insists.
“Mr. Shelby, this is my job–”
“It seems it might be more than I pay you for.” He nods to the oven. “Think I’ll need to invest in more help.”
“Thank you, Mr. Shelby.” You open the left stove and let him slide in the rack of biscuits.
“I’ve heard lovely things about the sausage roll,” he backs up and takes off his jacket. He folds it over the stool at the end of the counter and places his cap on top.
“Still baking,” you say as you grab some brown eggs and crack them into the boiling water.
You double-check the ticket. Porridge. Right, you’ve got a pot warmed and ready to go.
You scoop up oats into the bowl and add cinnamon and milk. Two bowls up. Ruth sweeps them away.
As Mr. Shelby approaches, he rolls up his sleeve.
“Boss lady, tell me what to do.”
You scoff. “Sir.”
“Eh, you almost smiled,” he says.
“You can help with the rolls. Seems everyone wants one.”
You beckon him along the counter. “I’ve rolled out the pastry. It’ll need to be cut up.” You take a knife. “As such.” You point to the dish of sausage. “Then line it as thus.” You use a spoon to scoop onto the pastry. “Roll. Baste with egg.” You work as you explain. “Then a few slices in the top.”
“Ah, Stuart is a lucky man,” Shelby japes. You flinch and look at him. His brows draw together. “Apologies, ma’am, I only–”
“Nothing?” You ask. He shakes his head. You nod and set the roll onto the waiting pan. “No, I never had the fixings at home for this. Mincemeat, stew, beans. That’s most of it.”
“And even that must’ve been delicious.”
“Mm,” you hum dully.
“I didn’t mean–”
“No, no, it’s… I’m only… two weeks.” You sigh and take out the biscuits.
“I’ve got all my people watchin’ for him,” Shelby assures.
“I know. You’ve done more than you should.” You scoop the eggs out of the water.
He’s silent, you are too. He watches you then turns away. “I’ll wash up first and get started on this.”
“Thank you, Mr. Shelby…” you murmur. “For everything.”
🖤
You untie your apron and fold it up over your arm. You wipe your forehead with your sleeve. You need to stop at the bank and be sure to deposit your cheque.
“On your way out?” Mr. Shelby surprises you as he enters from the back door. He picks up his cap and jacket. You can smell the tobacco wafting in with him.
“I think I’ve everything cleaned up. I set aside some leftovers for Charlie.” You bend to take your handbag from under the counter. Mr. Shelby nears as you head for the door. You stop as you meet him there. “Unless… I’m forgetting something.”
“No, I’ve a question.” He pulls on his jacket. “More a favour to ask. Though you will be compensated.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve some guests coming over. Very important ones. I thought you might be able to offer your skills this evening. For supper.” He says.
You’re taken aback by the suggestion. It’s not as though you have anyone waiting for you. Or any sort of responsibility outside of this.
“I suppose I could.” You say.
“Very well. I would need a list, you see. Ingredients, to be sure you’re equipped.”
“Right, er…”
“If you don’t mind. I’ll fetch you a pen and paper before you’re off.” He says.
“Certainly. I can do that.” You say. It’ll be a good distraction. You notice Stuart’s absence most at night.
He nods and sets off. You linger in the kitchen. You put your bag on the counter and slide out the cookbook you bought with your first pay. Shelby returns and hands you a ledger and pen.
You flutter through the pages. “Was there a set number of courses? It must be a fancy dinner?”
He taps his fingers as he stands close. His gaze weighs on you.
“What’s this, then?” He taps the corner of the page.
“Study.” You say. “Recipe book. I’m afraid I’ve only experience cooking for one man.”
“Ah, clever woman.” He praises.
You shrug. “I always wanted a proper one. I’d cut the ones out of the paper and keep them in the drawer. Never had all I needed to try them.”
You pause and read the dish description. “A salad to start, I think?”
“Mm. I leave it within your judgement.” He drags his hand away from the book. “I’ll send a car.”
“Oh, no, I could take the tram.”
“I live quite a ways off the route.” He sniffs. “And I’ll not have you wanderin’ in the dark. Benny will pick you up.”
You don’t argue. You take the pen and jot in the ledger. His eyes follow your hand.
“Anything you don’t prefer, sir?” You ask.
You don’t get an answer. You peek up and find him staring. Your brow lowers and you touch your chin then cheek. “I’ve got some flour on me?”
He blinks and clears his throat. “No, no.” He lifts his chin and looks away. “No, I was only thinking.” He leans on the counter. “I’m easy to please. I’ll eat it all just the same.” He looks at the ledger. “You know, you have one taste of field rations and even rancid rat meat’ll have you slavering.”
You don’t say anything to that. Most men these days are veterans. Stuart was called up but never went beyond the channel. He was kept at home in a mine.
“Dessert… chocolate? Citrus? Preferences?” You prompt.
“Chocolate. Ah, that was a wonder over in France.” He purrs. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll get that, just put it on the bar.” He backs up. “I’ll have Benny wait out front for you.”
“Sir–”
“No arguments.” He turns and points over his shoulder. “You worked a hard day. You earned it.”
🖤
Benjamin gets you to Mr. Shelby’s around four. You thank him and step out, hiding your awe at the immense mansion before you. Of course, you assumed it would be a nice home, but you could not have imagined anything so ornate and daunting.
It’s clearer to you now how out of your element you truly are. Something else tugs in your mind. There’s more to Mr. Shelby than you’ve seen. Not just money, something more. It’s not a secret who he is; he has men at his disposal in their notable caps, he was concerned with back alley gambling, he never truly asks but tells. Details are better left unsaid.
You go to the front door and lift the heavy brass knocker, a falcon’s head above it. It thunders through the dark oak. You wait but not long. A maid in black and white answers. Of course he has ‘help’. Well, isn’t that what you are?
Her name is Margeret. She leads you inside. Mr. Shelby told her you were coming instead of someone called Louise. She takes you to a large kitchen and tells you to ring a bell in case you need anything.
You walk around the large kitchen. The counters are dark wood, the furnishings in a coppery brass, and the stove and fridge look right out of the shop. You stop as you see the folded note with your name on it.
‘All is in order. If you need anything, ring the bell and ask for me. Thomas.’
It’s kind. You think you might figure it out. Margaret reappears.
“These are Ellie and Mildred. They’ll be helping you.” She explains. The girls are young and skinny; one has string black hair trailing out in a braid from under her cap, the other shows straw-coloured roots but much of it is tucked under the white linen.
“Ellie, Mildred, I’m…” you introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, ma’am.” They say in unison.
“I think it’ll be rather easy. Shall we start?”
They nod. “What do we do?” Ellie, the black-haired girl asks.
You hesitate then reach into your bag. You take out the notes you made at home from the cook book. You go to the girls and show them.
“Alright, we’ll start with the main. It’ll take the longest to cook and the salad will be simple enough.” You explain. “If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to help. If I’m honest, I’m still learning myself, yeah?”
The girls look at each other and back to you. “Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison.
“And you promise, if I need help, you’ll do the same?”
The tension drains from their posture. They nod again, less stiffly. “Good, good. I think we’ll make a rather good team, ladies.”
Once you start, the task isn’t so intimidating. You work between Ellie and Mildred, then set them to chop potatoes together. You go down your list and organise everything so you can move from step to step.
You stand at the stove, melting the dark chocolate for the cake. The girls titter as they peel and pare. Then all at once, they’re silent.
“Mr. Shelby,” Mildred utters.
You glance over. Your employer barely looks at the girls before he nears you. You stir the chocolate away from the sides to keep it from burning.
“Evenin’, ma’am.” He greets. He’s wearing a nicer suit; with a bow tie and silk vest. “Things are well?”
“Yes, sir. I think we’ve figured it all out.” You say. “The ladies are a great help.”
“Mm. Anything you need?” He asks.
“No, sir. You?”
His brow arches. “Mm, no. Margaret is putting Charlie down. Guests will be here shortly.”
“Ah, well then, don’t let us keep you.”
He stares for a moment. “Rather, don’t let me keep you.”
He turns halfway, raises his finger as his lip twitches, then thinks better of it. He leaves you as the girls sigh in unison. You take the chocolate off the burner and look at them.
“You girls need a break?”
“No, ma’am.” Ellie says. “Potatoes are almost done.”
The night goes by with the mixing of batter, the boil of pots, and the dusting of seasoning over poultry, fish, and beef. Ellie and Mildred are diligent and polite. They leave you now and again to help clear away the previous course.
You send out dessert and tell Ellie and Mildred you’ll clean up. They argue but you convince them to call it a night. They’ve worked hard.
As you move a stack of plates to the sink, you hear a footstep behind you. “I told you, you’re done for the night.”
Your name comes in a higher pitch than you expect. You look over at Charlie as he stares at you bright-eyed, a stuffed rabbit in his hands as he wears a pair of linen pajamas. You pull your hands from the sink and dry them on your apron.
“Charles,” you say. “What on earth? Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”
“I can’t.” He pouts. “I told papa I wanted to come down but he said no. He won’t even let me help you!”
“You should be getting your sleep,” you chide.
“But I don’t wanna.” He whines.
You harrumph and grip your hips. “Alright, Charles, you want to help?”
“Yes, ma’am!” He says.
You hush him. “Not so loud. You’ll bother the guests.”
He sticks out his tongue. You laugh at him. You wave him over and lift him up onto the counter. You pull a bowl over and scoop in some flour and put a cup of water next to it. You hate to waste it but it’ll keep him busy.
“Take this.” You gently move his stuffed rabbit against the wall then hand him the cup. “Only add a little at a time, alright?” You show him a whisk. “Stir with this.” You motion over the flour. “Remember, little bit at a time.” You put your hand around his and show him how to pour. “Stir.” You stir in the moisture. “More.”
You let go and he pours. You hand him the whisk and he puts the cup down. He uses both hands to stir.
You wash the dishes as he goes about his task. As you dry off a saucer, he says your name. “Is that good?”
You look in the bowl. “No, no, you want it smooth.” You gird.
“Oh…” he frowns and adds more water.
“Good job, Charles.” You praise.
“Yes, Charles,” a deeper voice gives you a start. “Good job.”
“Papa,” Charles drops the whisk and claps.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Shelby asks.
“He’s only helping,” you defend the boy.
“Helping?”
“Certainly. Keeping me company.”
“The maids are supposed to help.” He insists.
“I let them off. I can do it.” You assure.
“I didn’t pay you to clean.”
“Mr. Shelby, I messed the plates, I’ll tidy them,” you counter calmly. “Charles, more water.”
Charlie bounces and picks up the cup. He pours water in then stirs. Shelby approaches and watches him then peers over at you. You put another saucer in the cupboard.
“You know, I can never make him sit still.” He drawls.
“Children, so full of energy.” You say.
He leans a hand on the counter. “You never had any?”
“No. It… never happened.” You answer. “Sometimes, it doesn’t.”
He’s quiet. “Ah, I suppose it’s up to chance.”
“I’ve never had much good fortune,” you say. “But I do what I can with what I’ve got.”
“You do much and more than many. Hard work’s far more valuable than fortune.” He girds.
“Suppose.” You agree.
Unfortunately, Stuart never had either. Perhaps that’s what got him into trouble. When he comes back, you’re going to tell him to get a real job. Back to the mines or factory. No more of those back streets and shady men.
When he’s back, you don’t know he’ll let you keep working yourself.
I know Tommy would kill Stuart again if he could. He’s a jealous man that hates to have another man’s name in his woman’s mouth. He wants her all to himself.
I really enjoyed the dinner party and her working with Ellie and Mildred. She puts others at ease and does her job well. Tommy really couldn’t stay out of that kitchen. I know he didn’t like being dismissed when he just wants to be around us. And then came back again just to see his kid comfortable with us. Yeah he’s done.
"Johnny—Johnny! S-stop, I have to—I need to pee, I'm serious!"
"Aye, I know."
He doesn't stop. If anything, his hips snap harder; one hand pressing flat against your lower belly where your bladder is full and aching, and the added pressure makes your eyes roll back and a broken whine tear out of your throat.
"Fuck, I can feel it!"
"Then stop!"
"Nah." He grins against the side of your neck, breathless and wrecked and absolutely feral, his cock driving into you at an angle that hits everything, including the spot that's making the pressure in your abdomen unbearable. "Y'feel too fuckin' good like this, hen. All tight an' squirmy—fuck—ye're squeezin' me so hard."
"Because I have to pee, you absolute—"
"Then pee." He says it like it's simple while his hand presses down a fraction harder on your belly and his mouth finds your ear, hot and panting. "Go on, baby. Piss on me. Let go. 'S just me."
You whimper, eyes squeezing shut. "I can't!"
"Ye can." Another devastating thrust that makes your vision blur and your thighs shake and the pressure crest to a point where you can't tell the difference between needing to come and needing to piss.
"Let go f'me. Wanna feel it. C'mon."
You break.
It happens simultaneously. The climax and your bladder letting go, and the sound that comes out of you isn't human, it's guttural and sobbing and mortified while you're gushing around his cock, hot and messy, soaking into the sheets and his thighs and everything between.
It's squirts up to your bodies while Johnny keeps pounding into you relentlessly.
"Oh fuck! Oh that's—Christ, tha's gorgeous—" Johnny groans like he's been punched square in the solar plexus, hips stuttering, rhythm gone, and he buries himself deep and cums with a shout, his fingers digging bruises into your hips while the light-golden mess pools warm beneath both of you.
He collapses on top, panting, and presses a grinning kiss to your jaw while his hips keep thrusting shallowly.
"See? Told ye it was alright."
"I hate you. You're cleaning up this time!"
Johnny cackles, licks a drop off your chin. "Aye aye. Ye're welcome."
Ooh nasty man! Gimme one 👀 this was too good. Poor us, it was hard to let go but I don’t think Johnny was giving us a choice. Him licking his chin at the end was insane. Love it
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of addiction and withdrawal. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is the next June fic! (It’s late. Sorry)
Raymond Smith + “You need to stop running away from the inevitable.”
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
You watch the smoke curl up beneath the hazy evening sky. The smell of rain lingers on the pavement, water dripping from the eaves. You suck on the cigarette and let out another grey furl as your lashes droop.
You hum and keep from leaning to the side. A car passes and footsteps scrape up the sidewalk. You hover the smoke in front of your lips, hunching forward as your fingers nice away without meaning too. You catch yourself and your eyes pop open.
A blurry figure approaches and you snort. You inhale the tobacco and puff it out as your vision clears just enough to make out the man in his tweed jacket and glasses. You pull the cigarette away and salute with your other hand.
"Rrray..." You slut. "Fine night."
"Rain let up." He shrugs as he stops at the bottom step, just three below where you sit on the stoop. "How's it goin' then?"
"Goin'," you drone and take one last drag before you butt out the ashy tip. "You sellin' or cashin' out?"
He tilts his head. "Not selling what you're on, dear." He grabs the railing as he lifts a foot onto the bottom stair. "Told ya, you needs get off that stuff."
You giggle. "Easy 'nough to say if you never tried it, Ray Ray."
You reach up and latch onto the railing. You struggle to get yourself to your feet. You sway and stumble down one step. Raymond moves to catch you. You manage to stay upright and wave him off.
"Don't you worry for me," you point at him and sag. "I needa sleep. Thatsall."
You stick out your tongue and turn your back to him. You saunter up the stairs and stop at the door. You twist and look back at him.
"Comin' or gon' buzz up?" You prompt.
Raymond sighs and climbs the steps. "Coming." He answers as he hurried forward and grabs the door. "Listen, you ever get off them things, I'll get you some of my stock for free. Take the edge off." He crowds you as he pulls the grated door shut behind him. "Better 'n pharmaceuticals."
"Not strong enough," you scoff and turn up the staircase. "Tell Billy to open his damn windows. Tired of smelling that skunk.”
You lean on the railing as you climb and sway down the hallways to your door. You push through and close the door without any care for the dangling chain or lock. You yawn and smile at the numb ripple flowing through you.
You fall onto the couch and moan. Your eyes roll back in cloudy content. You sink further and further away from reality, not thinking, not feeling. Just lost in oblivion.
💜
You roll over, arm numb from the weight of your body, and groan. Your shoulder aches at the socket and your head swims with the dregs of the pills. This is the part you hate. When you have to feel again. When you have to get up and face the world.
You throw your hand over your eyes and think of popping half a perc with your coffee. Those losers at the shop can be patient while you find their brand. Especially that idiot who expects you to remember which lites he prefers.
You sniff and rub your cheek hard. You wonder if Tonya got her new script yet. You really don’t want to pay Gregory double for his grandma’s sock. You flop your arm down on the bed and open your eyes.
Your heart floods with adrenaline. Bed? You don’t remember getting that far and this is much cushier than the stiff old futon on the floor. And the wooden trim around the ceiling isn’t dusty and faded like the old plaster of your flat.
Where the fuck are you?
Sitting up makes your head pound. You blink and look around at the dark wainscotting. Shit, did you somehow wander off and break into someone’s estate? You’ve done some zany shit on pills but mostly you just sleep.
You shake your head and it pulses again. You groan and rub your temples. You cradle your skull as you move slowly to the edge of the bed. You’re still in your loose pajama bottoms and baggy tee.
You stretch your neck and stand. You grab onto the orb at the top of the footboard’s post to keep from tipping. You scan the room again.
The windows have iron grating across the outside…
You turn and stagger to the door. The long curled handle doesn’t turn. You grip with both hands and jiggle. You crank down as hard as you can. Nothing.
You huff and let go. You cross the room, tripping on the edge of the carpet, and grab the window frame. You can slide it open but the metal cage doesn’t budge on the other side. The hell?
This can’t be real. You back up and stomp back to the door. You thump on it with your hand and holler, “Hey!” The echo shakes your brain. You cup your ears and whine.
You back up and sit on the bed, bending over your lap as you rock. Goddammit. You need out of this place. You need pills.
You stay like that, slowly leaning to the side as your eyelids droop. You’re weak. The thunder in your head travels down your spine.
A click makes you flinch. You turn your head and peek out from under your arm. You force yourself up to stare at the man that steps inside. It’s Raymond.
“Ray..” you murmur.
He stares at you, eyes pensive, disapproving behind his lenses. He tilts his head. You gape back at him, confused.
“You need to stop running away from the inevitable.” He says. “I told you to quit that junk.”
You blink again.
“Ray Ray, what do y’mean?” You gurgle.
“I walked straight into your place. You never knew. Not the first time.” He crosses his arms. “Coulda been someone a lot damn worse than me.”
You frown and shake your head. “What are you doing? Where am I?”
He tuts. “Cleaning you up.” He backs up and turns to the door. “You’re welcome.”
A surge of terror and rage strikes in you. You lunge up to your feet and towards him as he grabs the handle. He easily elbows you away and you fall to the floor with a thud. You cough and look up at him.
“You can’t do this!” You cry out.
He calmly opens the door. He stops inside the frame and looks back at you. You shakily sit up.
“And who’s goin’ to look for you, dear.”
He spins and slams the door at his back. The lock clicks. You growl and kick your heels into the floor.
Holy shit.
💜
Click.
You’re ready this time. The door opens and you jump. He’s ready too.
Raymond catches you by your jaw, squeezing until you’re still as he balances a plate in his other hand. You groan as his grip thrums in your neck and skull. He marches you back to the wooden chair at the desk.
“Sit.” He demands.
You whimper. It’s been hours since you had anything. Getting close to a day. His thumb pushes in behind your jaw until you obey.
“You need to eat.” He lets go and places down the plate of food. Mandarin slices peeled and divided, cottage cheese dressed with pepper and sesame, and baked chicken sliced with zucchini and broccoli.
You growl through your teeth. “I need some damn pills.”
He lets go and taps your cheek, enough to just sting.
“No. Eat.”
You touch your cheek and glare at him. “What’s wrong with ya? Why are ya–”
“Helping you?” He interrupts and points at the plate. “Eat.”
“Let me go–”
“You can eat or I can feed you.” He warns and shoves you..
You look down at the plate and curl your lip. There’s a plastic utensil; one end a spoon, the other a curved spork. You sigh and reach for it.
You hover it over the bland white heap. You grip it tightly and act as if you might take a bite. Instead you twist and jump up, aiming the tines at his face. He catches you and knocks the utensil from your hand.
He grasps the back of your head and turns you back to the desk. He pinches your neck and forces you into the chair. He bends you over until your face is right over the plate.
“Act like an animal. Eat like one.” He smushes your face into the food. “I’m not leaving until the plate is clean.”
The cheese smears all over your face and a piece of broccoli nearly impales your nostril. You cough and grip the edge of the desk.
“You choose how this goes.” He snarls.
You wriggle and grunt. “Let me go. Ow! I’ll… eat.”
He pinches until you whine but relents. You sit up and he reaches into his pocket. He offers you a fabric kerchief. You rip it away from him and wipe your face.
You keep your head down, crumpling the cloth in your fist as you grab a mandarin wedge with your other hand. You put it in your mouth and bite down. You eat quietly. Your stomach churns at the smell of the broccoli. The taste only makes it worse.
You cover your mouth and your shoulders rack. He backs up and returns with the bin placed at the corner of the desk. He holds it patiently beside you. You turn and wretch into it.
“First few days will be bad. Week or so, you’ll feel better.” He pats your back and you stiffen. “Drink water. Stretch your legs when you can.”
“You’re an asshole.” You mutter into the bin.
“And you’re an addict.” He drones back smugly. “No one else’d do anything for ya.”
💜
“Hey, jerk! Hey, Hey!” You yell and stomp, stomping to hammer on the walls with your fist.
For hours, you laid in bed, restless and dizzy, until you just couldn’t stay still. Now you’re pissed. And sweating. Somehow soaked in sweat but freezing. You sniff through your clogged nose and hit the wall again.
“Lemmeouttttttt.” You shout so loud it makes your ears ache. “Lemme–”
You stop as your stomach clenches. Ugh. Not again. You hurry into the bathroom and panic. You don’t know what end it’s coming out of.
You end up sitting, curled over your knees, shaking and sniveling. When you’re done, you barely have the strength to get yourself off the bowl. You flush and wash your hands, shivering endlessly.
You’re light-headed. You stumble into the wall and turn your back to it. You slide down and hug your legs. You hang your head forward and close your eyes. You stay like that for a while, dazed and dull.
The scent of something sweet tickles your nose. You lift your head. You didn’t hear him. You’re embarrassed as Raymond lights three wicks of the candle and slides it back on the counter.
He turns to you. You stare dumbly. He picks you up and drags you to the tub. He sits you on the edge and grabs the top of your tee shirt.
“What’re you–”
“Told you to wash up, didn’t I?” He tears the cotton over your head. “You need to keep care of yourself.”
He exposes your chest and you quickly hug yourself. He tosses the shirt. You sway.
He takes your arms and you struggle to keep them closed. He shakes his head and forces them open and around his neck. He stands you up and pushes the elastic of your pajamas past your hips and ass. His palms graze your skin firmly.
It’s been days. He told you yesterday to take a bath. You ignored him, too anxious to do more than pace and ramble. What the fuck is this guy’s problem? Why is he doing this to you? Can’t he mind his damn business.
He leans you against the tub again. You lift your hand and he mirrors it with his own. He points at you.
“You do not want to do that.” He sneers.
You believe him. You drop your hand and look down. He bends over the porcelain and cranks on the faucet. He tests it with his thick fingers.
“Ray, why…”
“Does it matter why I’m helping you?” He stands up, his hands on his hips.
“I don’t want help. I want to be fucking high.”
“Ta!” He slaps your cheek lightly.
You recoil and cradle your cheek. You glower at him. His eyes bore into yours then drift down. You cower and cover your nudity.
“Get in.” He orders. “I don’t want to hurt you, otherwise I’d have left you as you were.”
“What do you care about me?” You scowl.
He’s quiet. He grabs your arm and forces you to turn. You lift your leg over the edge and he helps you down into the deep basin.
He stirs the water with his hand. You cross your arms and bend your legs. He stares into the clear ripples around his fingers. “You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”
💜
“You’ve been good.” Raymond declares as he enters. You sit on the bed, exhausted. You can’t shake the fatigue. “You can choose your reward; chocolate, caramel, or cherry?”
You stare at him. “I don’t care. I don’t want it. I want to go.”
He clucks. “You’re doing so well, don’t make me rescind the offer.”
You sigh. “Caramel.”
“Good girl.”
Later, he brings you a salted caramel sundae with your dinner. You don’t admit it out loud, but it’s delicious. You could cry. It’s much better than what he’s been serving you; unseasoned protein and fruit.
“If you’re good tomorrow, you can choose your supper too.” He says as he puts the empty dishes on the tray.
True to his word, he lets you choose supper the next night. You ask for Nandos. He acquiesces, though he seems less than impressed by the meal as he watches you eat. He clears away the remnants and tells you to brush your teeth and clean your face.
You don’t do either of those things until he returns to make sure. You don’t need him shoving the brush halfway down your throat again. He supervises you until you’re dressed in the satin nightie he brought you.
He kisses your cheek with a good night and leaves you to your cage. You don’t sleep. You shut off the lamp beside the bed and stare up at the shadowy ceiling as the static silence fills your ears.
You toss and turn. Rolling one way then the other. You just can’t settle down.
Your hand goes to your cheek. Why did he do that?
Click. You tense but don’t let on that you heard it. Maybe you didn’t. It can’t be.
It is. You hear him approach the bed behind you. Feel his weight dip at the edge. He whispers your name and touches your arm.
“You can’t sleep.” He says.
You don’t react. He spreads himself behind you, his warmth swathing over you.
“Can’t either.” He slings his arm around you. You twitch.
He lays like that, right against you, for a while. Quite, breathing in the scent of your hair, exhaling out his thoughts. He nuzzles behind your ear.
“You’re doing better. Do you feel better?” His lips graze the rim of your ear. You don’t answer. His hand stretches along your stomach and he pulls himself even closer. “I’m proud of you.”
You bite down. His touch slowly crawls higher, tickling you through the thin satin. You shift.
“You’re almost ready.” He purrs. He presses his palm over your tit. You growl and catch his hand.
“Ray…” you whisper.
“Shh,” he hushes you as rolls his hips. “I’ve not earned my reward yet.” He drags his hand off your chest and snakes his arm around you, squeezing you until you stop squirming. “Sleep, love. You’re almost there.”
I believe I was unfamiliar with his game. Wow, Raymond. He just took us because he could. And wanted to. He saw a wife in the rough and was determined to see us all polished up. He’s bad omg! But his reward system was quite effective and I can’t complain. I’m glad he allows desserts. He wants her so bad, but he has to deserve it too. Ugh, I love him! He was rough when he needed to be but he tried to be as nice as he could. Obviously, we need a firm hand though. Thank you for this I’m woozy
I know it's not for everyone, but man, the way my antidepressants have changed my mood and helped me almost makes me want to cry bc I didn't realise before how kind fracked I was.
I’m so happy to hear that. You get to be the best version of yourself and we get to know that person. Let’s have a toast to taking the best care of yourself 🥳 🍞
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
Nick reaches back to catch your hand before you can outpace him. He pulls you down a walkway of stone inlaid with intricate designs. You almost don’t want to step on them as you can see and almost feel the history carved into them.
He brings you past to wide pools of crystal water alongside trimmed hedges and greenery. He approaches a set of arched double doors and grabs the lock box hooked around the handles. He punches in a code to open it and a key falls out. He catches it in his palm and turns to jingle it at you.
“Benvenuta,” he purrs in Italian.
“Is this… a hotel?” You wonder.
“It’ll be our hideout for the next little while.” He opens your hand and presses the key into your palm. “Go on.”
“I…” you look down at the key. “No, no. It’s yours. I couldn’t.”
“Ours!” He corrects as he runs his hand up your forearm to just above your elbow. He turns you to face the doors and sidles behind you. He puts his hands on your shoulders and crowds you. “Come on. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“Sure, very. It’s just… I don’t know. You do it.” You turn to him and his hands barely miss your chest as they fall. He inhales and his brows twitch. “Please,” you shove the keys against his chest. “Just… it doesn’t feel right if I do it.”
“Alright, sweetheart, no problem.” He wraps his hand around yours and slides the keys free. “Don’t wanna do anything that doesn’t feel right.”
His eyes flick down then up and his jaw squares. He takes another deep breath. He moves around you subtly and unlocks the door with a single hand. His other hovers by your lower back.
“Come on, you gotta at least be curious.” He pulls the key free and gestures you inside.
“It’s… okay! Okay! I just… I don’t want to overstep.” You clasp your hands together.
“Never,” his fingertips graze your shorts as he drops his hand completely to his side.
You poke your head in as he stays close. He reaches over casually to flip on the light switch; the sort you have to twist. Above, a chandelier of tear drop bulbs bloom to light. You bat your lashes as you look around.
A marble staircase trimmed in iron railings winds up to another level in the foyer and a rounded archway looks into a sunny front room, pulsing with the refracted light from the ripples outside the wall of glass panes. You look to the other side, another archway, a dining area with wooden chairs and a clear glass table.
“Which way to our room?” You ask.
Nick chuckles.
“This is it.”
“What?”
“All of this. This is where we’re staying.”
“Huh?” You sway. “But this is like a whole house.”
“All ours.” He assures.
“Hmm,” you hum and lean forward, too wary to take a step.
“You don’t like it?” He wonders.
“I love it but… I don’t want to break anything or… I don’t know. It’s so much! This is bigger than my apartment. Bigger than the house I grew up in.”
“Really, you haven’t even seen the whole thing.” He chides.
“This alone,” you peer between the archways.
He grins. “There’s a real pool in the back…”
“Oh, shut up!” You smack his arm playfully. “You’re not serious.”
He laughs again. “I am,” he looks down at his bicep where you hit him.
You gulp. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– I was only joking–”
“Sweetheart, you do whatever you want to me.” He looks up at you. “I don’t mind.”
“Err, you’re too nice, Nick.” You sigh. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t stay too long. I’m sure you have lots of work to do… when am I going back?”
“Trying to get away already?” His voice sinks.
“No, no. I just… I keep seeing all this stuff about the movie. I saw a whole ET thing on the new actor they hired.”
“Young kid. He’s got a good reference,” Nick’s tone goes dull. “I don’t want think about work right now.”
“I’m sorry,” you tug on your ear lobes nervously. He narrows his eyes and touches your elbows.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not upset.” He brushes along your forearms. “Do I really scare you that much?”
“Scare me? Not exactly. It’s just… this is the furthest I ever went from home and you’re like famous and I’m… no one.” You giggle meekly. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say all that out loud.”
“No, I like your honestly.” He insists. “Sweetheart, people lie to me every day. They say what they think I want to hear. They pretend to be who they think I want to know. Thing is, I don’t want to know anyone but you.”
“You’re too sweet.” You rock and fold your hands in front of your stomach. “Well… is Leon here? Maybe I could help out while you’re working–”
“What’d I say about work talk?” He grits.
You make an O with your lips. His eyes dart down to your mouth. “Oops! I’m not meaning to… I guess… I don’t know what to do or say!”
“Well, I mentioned the pool…” He suggests.
You smile but it falls just as quickly. You slap your forehead. “Gee, I think I forgot a suit.”
“Forgot your bikini?” He tuts.
“Bikini? No…” you blush hotly. “I… I had a whole list and I forgot to put that on it.”
“That’s alright. I’m down for skinny dipping if you are.” Your eyes go wide. He tilts his head then snickers. “Kidding… obviously.”
“Oh. Hahaha. Of course. That would be… ha.” You cough. “Well, I could put on shorts and I think I have like a tee shirt–”
“On it, sweetheart,” he pulls out his phone. “The girls are coming with our luggage. I’m sure they can find you something on the way.”
“No, I couldn’t–”
“You can. It’s done.” He taps the screen with his thumb and lowers the phone. “It’s too hot in this city not to swim.” He leans on one foot as he watches you. “And you’re not gonna let me hang out all by myself, are you?”
You stare at him and chew your cheek. You came this far and he’s done so much. You can’t be ungrateful. Besides, it’s just a swimsuit. It’s all your fault for being so dang forgetful.
“Of course not.” You relent. “I… thank you, Nick. You’re so…” you search for the end of the sentence as his brows tweak. “Nice to me. Really. You’re like the nicest person I’ve met in LA.”
“Hmph,” his cheek dimples. “Nice. Yeah…” He looks past you. “I can be pretty damn nice.”
“Of course not.” You relent. “I… thank you, Nick. You’re so…” you search for the end of the sentence as his brows tweak. “Nice to me. Really. You’re like the nicest person I’ve met in LA.”
Oh, poor us. He’s actually the most dangerous man we’ve met in LA. Nick doesn’t want to be thought of as nice. He wants to lay us out, and quick! He’s trying to stay patient but we had to go and touch his arm. Oh nooo. Bet he can’t wait to get her in the pool and was definitely hoping she’d take him up on the skinny dipping. I loved the mention of Peter, I bet he’s somewhere pining for his hairstylist.
It’s all OK if you didn’t know, don’t feel bad about it, it’s a great occasion to listen to disabled people! We might not have pretty flags who will catch your attentions like during pride months, but we’re still here!
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of addiction and withdrawal. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is the next June fic! (It’s late. Sorry)
Raymond Smith + “You need to stop running away from the inevitable.”
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
You watch the smoke curl up beneath the hazy evening sky. The smell of rain lingers on the pavement, water dripping from the eaves. You suck on the cigarette and let out another grey furl as your lashes droop.
You hum and keep from leaning to the side. A car passes and footsteps scrape up the sidewalk. You hover the smoke in front of your lips, hunching forward as your fingers nice away without meaning too. You catch yourself and your eyes pop open.
A blurry figure approaches and you snort. You inhale the tobacco and puff it out as your vision clears just enough to make out the man in his tweed jacket and glasses. You pull the cigarette away and salute with your other hand.
"Rrray..." You slut. "Fine night."
"Rain let up." He shrugs as he stops at the bottom step, just three below where you sit on the stoop. "How's it goin' then?"
"Goin'," you drone and take one last drag before you butt out the ashy tip. "You sellin' or cashin' out?"
He tilts his head. "Not selling what you're on, dear." He grabs the railing as he lifts a foot onto the bottom stair. "Told ya, you needs get off that stuff."
You giggle. "Easy 'nough to say if you never tried it, Ray Ray."
You reach up and latch onto the railing. You struggle to get yourself to your feet. You sway and stumble down one step. Raymond moves to catch you. You manage to stay upright and wave him off.
"Don't you worry for me," you point at him and sag. "I needa sleep. Thatsall."
You stick out your tongue and turn your back to him. You saunter up the stairs and stop at the door. You twist and look back at him.
"Comin' or gon' buzz up?" You prompt.
Raymond sighs and climbs the steps. "Coming." He answers as he hurried forward and grabs the door. "Listen, you ever get off them things, I'll get you some of my stock for free. Take the edge off." He crowds you as he pulls the grated door shut behind him. "Better 'n pharmaceuticals."
"Not strong enough," you scoff and turn up the staircase. "Tell Billy to open his damn windows. Tired of smelling that skunk.”
You lean on the railing as you climb and sway down the hallways to your door. You push through and close the door without any care for the dangling chain or lock. You yawn and smile at the numb ripple flowing through you.
You fall onto the couch and moan. Your eyes roll back in cloudy content. You sink further and further away from reality, not thinking, not feeling. Just lost in oblivion.
💜
You roll over, arm numb from the weight of your body, and groan. Your shoulder aches at the socket and your head swims with the dregs of the pills. This is the part you hate. When you have to feel again. When you have to get up and face the world.
You throw your hand over your eyes and think of popping half a perc with your coffee. Those losers at the shop can be patient while you find their brand. Especially that idiot who expects you to remember which lites he prefers.
You sniff and rub your cheek hard. You wonder if Tonya got her new script yet. You really don’t want to pay Gregory double for his grandma’s sock. You flop your arm down on the bed and open your eyes.
Your heart floods with adrenaline. Bed? You don’t remember getting that far and this is much cushier than the stiff old futon on the floor. And the wooden trim around the ceiling isn’t dusty and faded like the old plaster of your flat.
Where the fuck are you?
Sitting up makes your head pound. You blink and look around at the dark wainscotting. Shit, did you somehow wander off and break into someone’s estate? You’ve done some zany shit on pills but mostly you just sleep.
You shake your head and it pulses again. You groan and rub your temples. You cradle your skull as you move slowly to the edge of the bed. You’re still in your loose pajama bottoms and baggy tee.
You stretch your neck and stand. You grab onto the orb at the top of the footboard’s post to keep from tipping. You scan the room again.
The windows have iron grating across the outside…
You turn and stagger to the door. The long curled handle doesn’t turn. You grip with both hands and jiggle. You crank down as hard as you can. Nothing.
You huff and let go. You cross the room, tripping on the edge of the carpet, and grab the window frame. You can slide it open but the metal cage doesn’t budge on the other side. The hell?
This can’t be real. You back up and stomp back to the door. You thump on it with your hand and holler, “Hey!” The echo shakes your brain. You cup your ears and whine.
You back up and sit on the bed, bending over your lap as you rock. Goddammit. You need out of this place. You need pills.
You stay like that, slowly leaning to the side as your eyelids droop. You’re weak. The thunder in your head travels down your spine.
A click makes you flinch. You turn your head and peek out from under your arm. You force yourself up to stare at the man that steps inside. It’s Raymond.
“Ray..” you murmur.
He stares at you, eyes pensive, disapproving behind his lenses. He tilts his head. You gape back at him, confused.
“You need to stop running away from the inevitable.” He says. “I told you to quit that junk.”
You blink again.
“Ray Ray, what do y’mean?” You gurgle.
“I walked straight into your place. You never knew. Not the first time.” He crosses his arms. “Coulda been someone a lot damn worse than me.”
You frown and shake your head. “What are you doing? Where am I?”
He tuts. “Cleaning you up.” He backs up and turns to the door. “You’re welcome.”
A surge of terror and rage strikes in you. You lunge up to your feet and towards him as he grabs the handle. He easily elbows you away and you fall to the floor with a thud. You cough and look up at him.
“You can’t do this!” You cry out.
He calmly opens the door. He stops inside the frame and looks back at you. You shakily sit up.
“And who’s goin’ to look for you, dear.”
He spins and slams the door at his back. The lock clicks. You growl and kick your heels into the floor.
Holy shit.
💜
Click.
You’re ready this time. The door opens and you jump. He’s ready too.
Raymond catches you by your jaw, squeezing until you’re still as he balances a plate in his other hand. You groan as his grip thrums in your neck and skull. He marches you back to the wooden chair at the desk.
“Sit.” He demands.
You whimper. It’s been hours since you had anything. Getting close to a day. His thumb pushes in behind your jaw until you obey.
“You need to eat.” He lets go and places down the plate of food. Mandarin slices peeled and divided, cottage cheese dressed with pepper and sesame, and baked chicken sliced with zucchini and broccoli.
You growl through your teeth. “I need some damn pills.”
He lets go and taps your cheek, enough to just sting.
“No. Eat.”
You touch your cheek and glare at him. “What’s wrong with ya? Why are ya–”
“Helping you?” He interrupts and points at the plate. “Eat.”
“Let me go–”
“You can eat or I can feed you.” He warns and shoves you..
You look down at the plate and curl your lip. There’s a plastic utensil; one end a spoon, the other a curved spork. You sigh and reach for it.
You hover it over the bland white heap. You grip it tightly and act as if you might take a bite. Instead you twist and jump up, aiming the tines at his face. He catches you and knocks the utensil from your hand.
He grasps the back of your head and turns you back to the desk. He pinches your neck and forces you into the chair. He bends you over until your face is right over the plate.
“Act like an animal. Eat like one.” He smushes your face into the food. “I’m not leaving until the plate is clean.”
The cheese smears all over your face and a piece of broccoli nearly impales your nostril. You cough and grip the edge of the desk.
“You choose how this goes.” He snarls.
You wriggle and grunt. “Let me go. Ow! I’ll… eat.”
He pinches until you whine but relents. You sit up and he reaches into his pocket. He offers you a fabric kerchief. You rip it away from him and wipe your face.
You keep your head down, crumpling the cloth in your fist as you grab a mandarin wedge with your other hand. You put it in your mouth and bite down. You eat quietly. Your stomach churns at the smell of the broccoli. The taste only makes it worse.
You cover your mouth and your shoulders rack. He backs up and returns with the bin placed at the corner of the desk. He holds it patiently beside you. You turn and wretch into it.
“First few days will be bad. Week or so, you’ll feel better.” He pats your back and you stiffen. “Drink water. Stretch your legs when you can.”
“You’re an asshole.” You mutter into the bin.
“And you’re an addict.” He drones back smugly. “No one else’d do anything for ya.”
💜
“Hey, jerk! Hey, Hey!” You yell and stomp, stomping to hammer on the walls with your fist.
For hours, you laid in bed, restless and dizzy, until you just couldn’t stay still. Now you’re pissed. And sweating. Somehow soaked in sweat but freezing. You sniff through your clogged nose and hit the wall again.
“Lemmeouttttttt.” You shout so loud it makes your ears ache. “Lemme–”
You stop as your stomach clenches. Ugh. Not again. You hurry into the bathroom and panic. You don’t know what end it’s coming out of.
You end up sitting, curled over your knees, shaking and sniveling. When you’re done, you barely have the strength to get yourself off the bowl. You flush and wash your hands, shivering endlessly.
You’re light-headed. You stumble into the wall and turn your back to it. You slide down and hug your legs. You hang your head forward and close your eyes. You stay like that for a while, dazed and dull.
The scent of something sweet tickles your nose. You lift your head. You didn’t hear him. You’re embarrassed as Raymond lights three wicks of the candle and slides it back on the counter.
He turns to you. You stare dumbly. He picks you up and drags you to the tub. He sits you on the edge and grabs the top of your tee shirt.
“What’re you–”
“Told you to wash up, didn’t I?” He tears the cotton over your head. “You need to keep care of yourself.”
He exposes your chest and you quickly hug yourself. He tosses the shirt. You sway.
He takes your arms and you struggle to keep them closed. He shakes his head and forces them open and around his neck. He stands you up and pushes the elastic of your pajamas past your hips and ass. His palms graze your skin firmly.
It’s been days. He told you yesterday to take a bath. You ignored him, too anxious to do more than pace and ramble. What the fuck is this guy’s problem? Why is he doing this to you? Can’t he mind his damn business.
He leans you against the tub again. You lift your hand and he mirrors it with his own. He points at you.
“You do not want to do that.” He sneers.
You believe him. You drop your hand and look down. He bends over the porcelain and cranks on the faucet. He tests it with his thick fingers.
“Ray, why…”
“Does it matter why I’m helping you?” He stands up, his hands on his hips.
“I don’t want help. I want to be fucking high.”
“Ta!” He slaps your cheek lightly.
You recoil and cradle your cheek. You glower at him. His eyes bore into yours then drift down. You cower and cover your nudity.
“Get in.” He orders. “I don’t want to hurt you, otherwise I’d have left you as you were.”
“What do you care about me?” You scowl.
He’s quiet. He grabs your arm and forces you to turn. You lift your leg over the edge and he helps you down into the deep basin.
He stirs the water with his hand. You cross your arms and bend your legs. He stares into the clear ripples around his fingers. “You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”
💜
“You’ve been good.” Raymond declares as he enters. You sit on the bed, exhausted. You can’t shake the fatigue. “You can choose your reward; chocolate, caramel, or cherry?”
You stare at him. “I don’t care. I don’t want it. I want to go.”
He clucks. “You’re doing so well, don’t make me rescind the offer.”
You sigh. “Caramel.”
“Good girl.”
Later, he brings you a salted caramel sundae with your dinner. You don’t admit it out loud, but it’s delicious. You could cry. It’s much better than what he’s been serving you; unseasoned protein and fruit.
“If you’re good tomorrow, you can choose your supper too.” He says as he puts the empty dishes on the tray.
True to his word, he lets you choose supper the next night. You ask for Nandos. He acquiesces, though he seems less than impressed by the meal as he watches you eat. He clears away the remnants and tells you to brush your teeth and clean your face.
You don’t do either of those things until he returns to make sure. You don’t need him shoving the brush halfway down your throat again. He supervises you until you’re dressed in the satin nightie he brought you.
He kisses your cheek with a good night and leaves you to your cage. You don’t sleep. You shut off the lamp beside the bed and stare up at the shadowy ceiling as the static silence fills your ears.
You toss and turn. Rolling one way then the other. You just can’t settle down.
Your hand goes to your cheek. Why did he do that?
Click. You tense but don’t let on that you heard it. Maybe you didn’t. It can’t be.
It is. You hear him approach the bed behind you. Feel his weight dip at the edge. He whispers your name and touches your arm.
“You can’t sleep.” He says.
You don’t react. He spreads himself behind you, his warmth swathing over you.
“Can’t either.” He slings his arm around you. You twitch.
He lays like that, right against you, for a while. Quite, breathing in the scent of your hair, exhaling out his thoughts. He nuzzles behind your ear.
“You’re doing better. Do you feel better?” His lips graze the rim of your ear. You don’t answer. His hand stretches along your stomach and he pulls himself even closer. “I’m proud of you.”
You bite down. His touch slowly crawls higher, tickling you through the thin satin. You shift.
“You’re almost ready.” He purrs. He presses his palm over your tit. You growl and catch his hand.
“Ray…” you whisper.
“Shh,” he hushes you as rolls his hips. “I’ve not earned my reward yet.” He drags his hand off your chest and snakes his arm around you, squeezing you until you stop squirming. “Sleep, love. You’re almost there.”
I believe I was unfamiliar with his game. Wow, Raymond. He just took us because he could. And wanted to. He saw a wife in the rough and was determined to see us all polished up. He’s bad omg! But his reward system was quite effective and I can’t complain. I’m glad he allows desserts. He wants her so bad, but he has to deserve it too. Ugh, I love him! He was rough when he needed to be but he tried to be as nice as he could. Obviously, we need a firm hand though. Thank you for this I’m woozy
Warnings: this fic contains arranged marriage and suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 9th’s fic!
Curtis Everett + “You really thought you could leave me?”
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
Callouses graze along your throat as teeth sink into the muscle along your shoulder. You whimper as another hand tickles along your hip and grips tightly. Curtis growls into your hair and snaps his teeth.
You shiver and clasp his wrist as he squeezes your neck. He inhales your scent and nuzzles your ear, teething the tender brim. You close your eyes as your muscles knot.
Fear courses coldly beneath the tide of heat flowing from your core. His hand slips down your pelvis and toys with the curly hair there. You tense even tighter as he inches closer and closer to his need.
His roughened fingers dip between your folds and you gasp past the vice of his other hand. He rubs you, lightly at first, then presses firmly and drags across your clit. You whine and bite down.
“Shhh,” he hushes you as his naked torso grazes your back.
He plays with you, deliberate and determined. He swirls and twirls his fingers, changing his motion each time you make a noise or twitch. Your insides clench over and over as you fight the rising pressure deep inside.
You squeeze his forearm and bite your tongue as you drone. Your body shakes and spasms as your voice flows out of you with the tension, the release trembling in your thighs. You gulp and gasp as your orgasm storms through you.
He doesn’t stop. Not even as you beg. His fingers are so certain, so adept, that it isn’t long before you're cumming again, thighs pressing against his large hand.
His fingers glide back and he delves inside you. One finger, into its limit, then out. A second, down to the knuckles, several thrusts of his hand as you whimper. Then a third, forced past the tight resistance until you wail.
He hushes you again, sniffing the back of your neck, his nose tickling you. He extends his tongue and licks the drop of sweat as it trickles down your nape. You roll your head over his locked hand and let it hang forward.
He slides his fingers out of you and smears the wetness up your cunt and pelvis. He snarls and shifts behind you. He pushes his fingers between your folds again and spreads them. You twitch as he angles you up.
His tip flicks down your cunt and he catches himself in the crooked of two fingers. He guides his dick to your entrance and wiggles, teasing you as he growls. He pushes his tip into you with his fingers as you groan.
He holds himself there, just inside you, as you squirm. He pushes his nose into your hair as he slowly enters you. You tighten around him and writhe. He stills you with a squeeze on your throat and rubs your clit.
You heave and dangle from his embrace as he bottoms out. You squeal as your insides tremble. Your arms fall straight and you clutch at the barren mattress. He rears back, slipping out inch by inch, then thrusts back in with a single sharp thrust.
You wail and slap the sides of his thighs. “Please, ow–”
He shushes you a third time. He picks up his pace with each delve inside of you until he’s in full rut. The friction and impact of your flesh echoes through and around you. You hang weakly as he fucks you without relent.
He falls on you with his full weight as his voice rumbles in his chest. His head hangs down next to yours and a roar breaks free like thunder. His hips pump relentlessly as he shakes the creaky metal frame.
He cums as he smothers his voice in the crook of your neck. You can feel it inside, spilling out around him as he keeps thrusting through his climax. When he finally stops, the world seems to as well. He pants heavily beside your ear as his weight crushes you.
You don’t move. Not even as he slides out of you. He kneels over you and plays with the cum leaking out of you. He pushes it back in with a hum, spreading his fingers wide as he stretches you, then pulls out gruffly.
He shoves off and the bed lurches. His footsteps slap away. You bury your face in the bed as your heartbeat steadies. You wait.
He doesn’t return. Slowly, you roll over. It takes some time to find the strength to sit up. You look down at the gush that spills out between your legs. You quiver.
A hand claps down on your shoulder and pushes you to your back. Curtis is behind you, snarling down as his dick bobs above your head. He bares his teeth.
“You really thought you could leave me?” He grits.
“No, I was–”
“You don’t move unless I move you.” He smacks your cheek lightly. “That’s a warning.”
Oh HELLO! How did I miss this masterpiece? That melted me into the floor. And then Curtis having to prove himself as her man? Ugh delightful. But he better be nice. She laid there for a while! He took too long to come back. I just know he’s not done with her yet. He might be a bit insecure about their relationship if he’s so intense. Oh but the sniffing and hushing her was killing me ugh. I was not readyyy
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