dana👑

she/her🩷 ⁞ fanfic writer ⁞ loyal to King Thranduil👑 ⁞ REQUESTS: CLOSED

[itsonlydana]

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this is a sfw blog, grab yourself your favorite drink, make yourself comfortable and enjoy your stay <3 you're always welcome in my ask box, even if you just want to say "Hello!"🌻

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• Requests: (CLOSED)

: ̗̀➛ latest series:

➸"passenger princess" [Thranduil, modern!AU| 46k] ✅️

: ̗̀➛ recent works:

➸ see also: compromising [hurt/comfort, torchwood!reader]

➸ For Queen and Country [Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x reader, smut]

➸ Smoke break [Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x reader, fluff]

📖 about the author:

Hello! My name is Dana, and I'm from Germany (CEST-timezone), and I'm trying to get better in my writing and English with fan fictions about different things!

I use she/her pronouns and am a part of the lgbtq+ community. I want this blog to be a safe place for everyone, a place to find comfort <3

My ask box is always open if you want to chat (anons are very welcome), even if my requests are closed!

🔍 where to find me:

: ̗̀➛ ao3

©itsonlydana 2026 don't copy, repost, modify or translate my work to other blogs here on tumblr or on other sides without my permission.

[itsonlydana]

YOUR LOTR AND HOBBIT STUFF IS SO GOOD 🙏🙏🙏 ik ur not taking requests but i do hope you keep writing for them !!

AWW thank you!!!! I miss these men so much haha! Thranduil and Bard have my heart forever and ever.

[ccsrecrtlove]

It’s just a rough draft, but I’m already too excited to wait, I have to post it🥰🥰

[bookqueen101]

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kate Lethbridge-Stewart/Petronella Osgood/Reader, Kate Lethbridge-Stewart/Petronella Osgood Characters: Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, Petronella Osgood Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Mermaids, mermaid!Kate, mermaid!Osgood, human!POV, Miscommunication, smidgen of jealousy, Smut, (in later chapters) Summary:

The coast holds more life when you look closer, that’s what you’re here to study after all – rockpools and sand dunes teeming with life if one only pauses and leans in to wait for the tell-tale signs.

It’s one thing to see flashes of a tail, as you watch your friends swim. It’s quite another to see it in full, and be confronted yet again by the unassailable truth that you are nursing a crush on someone who is not human.

[itsonlydana]

Us against Time [Craving You for Eternity] || doctor who

pairing: Kate Stewart x fem!reader

When you started working for MI6, you would've never thought you'd have to protect your heart more than your own country - but then you met Kate Stewart and realised there was something far more dangerous than active bullet fire.

warnings/tags: explicit sex, dirty talk, referenced cheating, public sex in a club, oral sex, fake marriage, bets, established fuck buddies, so much sapphic yearning

word count: 12.9k

authors note: i had so much fun writing this, you have no idea. This is loosely set between Flux & Power Of The Doctor and Kate's outfit in the club may or may not be the one in the picture above. A screenshot of that video has been my laptop wallpaper for a few weeks now and WHEW, let me tell you, I blush every time my laptop starts.

+ masterlist + rules +🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The sun was setting over London, and Kate was having one hell of a day. The sort of day where, by eight am and the end of her first briefing, she’d already decided she’d be making a beeline for home, pouring herself two fingers of whisky… no, three, and, with any luck, she’d pass out on the sofa before she’d even finished whatever takeaway she was about to order.

The headache, brewing like a thunderstorm of heavy grey clouds and humid air behind her eyes from too little water and far too much coffee, barely made the list of today’s problems. How difficult, really, should it have been? She’d had a squad of highly trained soldiers, a handful of exceptionally bright, autonomous scientists, and one warehouse in bloody Hackney to secure. All they had to do was contain one mucus-spitting alien.

Apparently, considerably more difficult than advertised.

Kate felt the answer in every unpleasantly sticky movement. Suppressing an exasperated sigh, she offered a brief mental farewell to her Ralph Lauren blouse. One unpredictable extraterrestrial later, and a thousand pounds’ worth of tailoring was effectively beyond salvation. Not even dry cleaning would be able to remove the disgusting scent from the fabric. It was such a shame, really; the blouse had done wonders when discussing budgets in Westminster. 

Now, nearly every single person she passed more or less successfully managed to control their features or at least put in an effort to seem unaffected by the stench clinging to her, and Kate was glad that her role meant her subordinates wouldn’t be able to go out of their way or treat her any differently, even though her reapplication of Armani’s Sí fought a losing battle. There was something to be said for instilling enough fear and respect in everyone, even if it was solely for her ego in this moment.

Kate was halfway to the communal kitchen to keep herself going with some caffeine, and oh, how her mouth watered at the thought of the sound of Brazilian ground beans, when her mobile vibrated in her trouser pocket. 

“For fucks’ sake,” she muttered, a frown etching itself into her forehead right where the migraine was already pounding insistently. 

Whoever wanted something from her now would have to join the back of the queue. She really didn’t have the nerve to deal with her landlord or—God forbid—her daughter-in-law. Lisa was really lovely, but Kate had been up since three in the morning. A chat with Gordon’s wife and the thought of the zero chamber and a bottle of wine certainly sounded like a splendid use of her time.

A sceptical eyebrow joined the frown when Kate saw the unknown number, though it quickly morphed once a red manicured finger tapped to open the message. 

“Now, now, Kitty, who did you shag for that office view? x”

Kate’s steps fell into a slowed saunter, then a fully distracted stop in the middle of the hallway. 

There were perhaps four people on the planet who still called her Kitty. Three of them had known her before she was twenty, playground friends and one high school crush, right when Kate found out why exactly she found herself drawn to pretty girls in thigh-high socks and skirts and with brightly laughing pink, sticky cherry lipgloss lips. The fourth one was the only one with the audacity to break into her office right under Kate’s nose and to sign whatever message from the latest unknown number with a kiss, without being dragged in on their knees with the help of Kate’s cybersecurity support.

A quick smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she caught herself. Damn you.

Fifteen years of disappearing acts, classified operations and inexplicably impeccable timing, and you still had an uncanny habit of materialising in Kate’s life as though you’d only stepped out for milk. MI6 had trained you to vanish without leaving so much as a fingerprint. It had evidently neglected to teach you that you could easily ask for Kate at reception without having to break into secure government facilities.

Or other people’s offices.

Your arrangement—if it deserved such a dignified description—had never survived sustained exposure to reality. There were some dinners, lots of shared drinks, and always mind-blowing, sensational sex. The weekend ended with one of you boarding a plane or being recalled to a crisis neither of you could discuss. Months passed. Sometimes years, though Kate rarely wanted to think about those longer times; the longer you disappeared for, the more ludicrous the list of possible reasons for your silence became. Then another message would arrive from an untraceable number, crashing into Kate’s life without regard for wherever she was.

“On my way to London and there is a table for us at ‘Carlotta’ for 8 pm. Should I wear a necklace, or will your fingers do the trick? x”

“I went back to that bar just off Rue Cortot. They still have our Polaroid hanging up. Still can’t even sniff a glass of pinot without gagging. Happy birthday x”

“Heard you’re in San Sebastián as well. What a coincidence. Want to watch a sunset together and come on my fingers? x”

Kate had long ago stopped pretending she knew what to call whatever existed between you. Friendship seemed dishonest. Romance implied a consistency neither of you possessed. Convenience ignored the inconvenient truth that Kate always found herself smiling before she’d quite realised she was doing it and would trace every love bite, every bruise, every nip of teeth on her body every night until they were gone from her body like you from her life. At least for a while. The thoughts stayed longer.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The erratic, unrelenting flutter beneath her ribs battered against the careful walls she’d spent years building around herself. Her hand drifted to the centre of her sternum, palm pressing lightly there, as though she could soothe the restless thing back into a sensible rhythm.

All it took was the knowledge that you were here.

──────────────────𓂃 ོ☼𓂃──────────────────

Tracing your fingers over the photograph of a stoic-looking man in military uniform and with a formidable, very attractive, near Daddy-issues-evoking upper-lip moustache, you took a sip of Scotch and threw a wink and two-finger salute towards the frame on the desk next to your propped-up boots. 

“Don’t worry, Ali,” you raised your glass towards the Brigadier, “I’ll take good care of Kitty.” With her legs over my shoulders, if all things go the way I’d love to, you added mentally and grinned into your glass, Scotch on your tongue and a reminiscing throb between your legs. 

It’s been a couple of years since you last dropped into Kate’s life; a destined side-effect of your occupation, and the chance and prospect of feeling your favourite blonde’s claws in your heart and body again had you almost giddy on the flight back from Toronto. Your latest cover hadn’t left any possibility of sneaking off for a cheeky reconnection with the Commander of UNIT, though you were looking forward to it all the more. 

You heard the sound of heels on metal stairs, a measured stride echoing through the steelwork and clicking closer, drawing nearer. Letting the rhythm pulse through your ribs, you smiled into the glass, imagining the swing of her hips, the curve of her arse, that look of determination on her face.

God, you’d missed that sound of expensive heels.

Not because of the shoes. 

Because nobody walked like Kate Stewart. 

The first time you had seen her, she’d walked out of the Tower of London and had given you a right bollocking for wandering around the grounds unaccompanied, all beige long coat cinched tight around a small waist, clipped-back blonde hair and a stiffness in her slim shoulders that spoke more of overplaying certainty than really wearing it. After you had flashed her your ID with a wink and “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not here to steal something. I don’t think the crown jewels go with my shoes!” she’d dragged you inside, away from the inquiring eyes of early-bird tourists, and you couldn’t take your eyes off her shoes and the stride with which she marched you around. 

Ever since that dewdrop-kissed morning, you were revelling in the sight or sound of Kate walking towards you.

You took another sip, letting the smoky warmth settle, roll over your tongue, before licking a stray drop from your lower lip. Not bad, she was still buying the eighteen-year-old. Some habits refused to die. Leaning back farther in her chair, it gave a protesting creak, and you crossed one ankle lazily over the other. 

The footsteps reached the door and didn’t pause for a single second before the handle turned.

“About time,” you called without moving an inch. “I’ve already started on your good Scotch.”

Nothing could ever prepare you for the sight of Kate.

It didn’t matter how many photographs you unearthed from classified archives, how often you found yourself typing her name into a search bar after one glass of wine too many, or how many grainy security stills you quietly borrowed from MI6’s databases under the guise of operational necessity. None of them prepared you for the way she stole the breath from your lungs.

Even now, however determined you were to remain composed in her chair, your pulse plummeted as your eyes drank her in with quiet greed.

Kate closed the door behind her and rested against it, her hand still curled around the handle. You caught the tiny rise of her chest, the minute swallow that followed, the way her fingers tightened once around the brass handle before relaxing again while a rosy blush coloured her cheeks. 

She sighed, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Clearly.” Heels on the floor, a prowling stroll across the room. Kate unbuttoned her jacket and shrugged it off, and you eagerly raked your eyes over her willowy shape. Arching an immaculate eyebrow, Kate pursed her lips and pointedly looked at her desk. “And you couldn’t have done that without your boots on my desk?”

You shrugged and grinned, delighted to hear her voice. “Come on, we’ve done far worse things to your old one.” 

Like the time she’d spread you out on top of it—back in the tower—sitting comfortably on her chair and sank her head between your legs, fingertips digging bruises into your thighs as she worked you apart with her mouth until you’d lost count of how many times she’d wrung you through it, unrelenting and unhurried, her tongue drawing patterns, her chin glistening with slick. Or one of the earlier times, when she’d been all sharp-tongued impatience, snapping at you to get on with it, until you’d finally given her what she wanted—your hand between her legs, fingers knotted tight in her short blonde hair, while you fucked her mercilessly against the sturdy wood.

A whack to one of your shoes ripped you away from the memories. 

Kate glared at you from the other side of the desk, her unfinished paperwork shuffling underneath the sole of your boot as she waited for you to give in and lift your legs back to the floor. Only then did she walk around it, one hunting kitten-heel-clacking step at a time. 

That invisible rope around your heart drew tighter the closer she came, and your pulse forgot itself. A thundering soundwave ricocheted through your veins, deafening, drowning out reason. It was always like this—an adrenaline rush of blood pounding, heating up, and a free-fall of emotions incomparable to the most dangerous mission you had under your belt, washing away the self-composure you were known for and trained for, all because Kate was near you again. Close enough to see that time had been kind to her. Close enough to notice it had been cruel, too. The silver kissed into pale blonde hair. Closer, to notice the command that hummed under her skin, that directed UNIT soldiers with the wave of a hand and coursed through her into every swing of her hips. Closer, to smell—

“Oof! What’s been decaying in your pockets? Did you forget some cat treats in there?” 

You wrinkled your nose, trying to block out the pungent smell. 

“At least I know you aren’t here to charm my trousers off,” Kate observed wryly. She leaned against the desk, arms folded loosely as her eyes wandered over you with undisguised appreciation. You held her gaze, taking your own unhurried inventory. 

You saw each other too infrequently to waste the first few moments looking anywhere else.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to eat her alive or have her devour you first. 

“Who knows?” you smirked and walked two fingers over the armrest of the chair, “I’ve gotten in your knickers with far less effort.”

“You stole my knickers, if I remember correctly,” Kate said dryly, shifting so the long line of her body relaxed ever so slightly. 

“Oh, you still aren’t over that?” 

“I liked them for more reasons than the price tag.”

Your grin grew wider at Kate’s slightly sour expression. “I clearly liked them as well,” you teased, wondering how long it would be before she’d let you trace that frown with your fingers again. 

“You could have asked.” Kate drew out and challenged you with another twitch of her eyebrow. 

“Would you have said yes?” You looked at her and the strand of blonde hair that curled around her chin, practically tempting you to reach out and push it away. You knew you both would say yes to each other thousands of times, in myriad ways that would grant you as much of each other in the shortest amount of times 

Kate tilted her head, pretending to consider it. Her eyes were so narrowed you weren’t sure if the look she threw you was smouldering or reprimanding; your breath quickened all the same. 

“Absolutely not.” She would’ve.

“Thought as much.” I knew you would’ve.

The grin lingered for another heartbeat before you let it soften. “Actually…” You rolled the scotch around your glass, watching the amber catch the light. “I do have an ulterior motive.”

Kate pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I’m shocked.”

“You wouldn’t have the time to accompany me to Spain, would you?” You smiled innocently at her lifted eyebrow, which contradicted the way her body swayed slightly toward you. Got you, you thought, waving your hand towards the planner sitting on the corner of her desk. “Well, I know you do, but since you always disapprove of me snooping through your calendar, I thought I’d behave and ask nicely for once!”

“Behave,” Kate repeated in a raspy laugh that skipped from your ears to your heart and sank deep into the pit of heat curling in your stomach. “That’s remarkably considerate of you.”

You nodded solemnly. “I’m trying this new thing called personal growth.”

“Mhm, is that so?” Her fingers deftly ran around the buttons of her blouse before folding the fluttery fabric back to expose her watch and a thin golden bracelet around a slender wrist, and all at once you remember how you bought her that bracelet in the streets of Cairo. Kate’s eyes followed your gaze, and she seemed to reach the same memory as her lips curled around the words.

“I give it another ten minutes.”

“You know I’m quicker than ten minutes when it comes to you.” You shot her a wink and god, you were dizzy with this flirting, with the reality of Kate in all her glorious, sexy existence. 

“My my my,” she drawled. Your eyes instinctively followed the elegant line of her leg as Kate extended it. “Aren’t you presumptuous?”

The pointed toe of her kitten heel caught the underside of your chair and, with an almost lazy tug, rolled you towards her. Your knees brushed her shin, and you withstood the urge to grab her hips and fuck her right there on your lap. 

“It’s been—what? Ten minutes?” Kate asked and looked down at you, “And you’re already talking about sex.” Then, with another last impatient pull, there was nowhere left for your legs to stay. You unfolded them almost instinctively, making room for Kate to cross hers again, one thigh over the other, the tip of her heel resting on the cushion of the chair close to your throbbing cunt. She bent her foot ever so slightly as she leaned forward to rest one elbow on her upper leg, her fingers swirling in front of you. “Neediness isn’t a good look on you, darling.”

“Yeah, well,” you swallowed at the familiar yet devastating petname and how it had sounded when she’d made you ride her strap for the first time, a ‘It’ll fit, darling, trust me,’ ruining you for everyone else. “You seem to inspire me whenever you want.”

Kate’s eyes flashed with an electric charge as she slid off the desk again and stood in front of you. Two fingers found your chin, tipped your head back, hard enough to race a shiver over your spine, forcing your eyes up to hers and keeping them there. Not a request; Kate never bothered with those.

“So,” she smirked and stroked her thumb over your chin. “What makes you think I’m going to say yes to this?”

“An international date?” you spoke, and felt her grip tighten around your face. Your hands found her thighs. You dragged them up slowly, feeling the muscle shift under your palms, over the flare of her hips, until your fingers hooked into her belt loops and pulled—just enough to close the last inch, just enough to feel her breath catch. “Come on, Kitty, if there’s one thing you hate more than not getting your own way, it’s not knowing what I need you for.”

“I can usually suss out what you need me for,” she said flatly. “Though I supposed that you do make things interesting by changing locations, God knows how often.” 

“See?” You licked your lips, watched her eyes track the movement. Let your gaze drop, drinking her in—the line of her waist, the flex of her stomach under her shirt, the freckles on her chest—then drag your eyes back up to hers. “You can’t resist.”

Leaning back and stretching herself in your grasp, Kate reached for her planner. Your fingers roamed over her trousers and to her backside, massaging enough that her hips rolled forward unconsciously, as she checked the month. Her eyes creased in the corners, and while she seemed to be deep in thought, the scent of pure, wet arousal let you know she’d be booking a flight to Madrid within the hour of your leaving. 

“Care to make this interesting, then?” she asked, almost in an unbothered voice.

“Always.” 

You would’ve licked over the golden buckle of her belt if she hadn’t been wrestling aliens. Instead, you nuzzled into the hand that Kate absently dropped into your hair, then to your cheek.

“A wager.” She tilted her head, the silver in her hair catching the light. “You will be on your knees begging me to fuck you before you get whatever work you need to be doing done.”

You grinned. “And if you crack first?”

“I won’t.” The certainty in it should have been infuriating. It was, a little. It also went straight between your legs.

“Bold, Kitty.”

“Realistic.” She stepped away from your touch, giving you room you hadn’t asked for and didn’t particularly want. “Go on, then. Prove me wrong.”

You held her gaze a moment longer before you unfolded yourself from the chair and let your hand trail across her desk as you walked past her. There was the smallest sound of her breath when your fingertips grazed her stomach and slightly pushed, nudged the palm of your hand close enough to her crotch that Kate’s pupils blackened out and she looked at you like she would want to sink her teeth into you. 

You walked toward the wall of glass windows that looked out over London going dark gold in the evening light, shoving both hands into the pockets of your trousers. You didn’t need to look back to feel her eyes on you the whole way, a physical thing, dragging down your spine like fingernails in Greece. 

You stopped at the window, appreciated the view of a blurred, slim figure in the reflection, and waited. A rare thing, you waiting for Kate. 

It didn’t take her long.

The click of her heels was unhurried and unbothered. She came to a stop directly behind you, close enough that you felt her heat before she ever touched you, close enough that the city lights blurred in the glass between the two reflections of you both. It wasn’t enough; you wanted her to melt into you, to sink her clever fingers inside of you and fill you, stretch you, break past any limits so the only shape your body had was one crafted by her.

Her hands found your waist first. Then her mouth found your neck. She didn’t kiss you, not exactly—she dragged her lips slowly along your pulse point instead, open-mouthed, wet, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath stutter, stopping just shy of marking you. Your eyes fluttered shut at the contact, a hum under your skin rising into the chorus of a thousand beehives, before the silence washed over the noise and all that you felt were Kate’s lips sucking on your neck. 

I’ve missed you, you thought quietly. 

Five years of uncertainty whether she was out there, a constant questioning and overthinking, laying in a bed that was neither yours, hers, nor one you would be able to share, and even when your priority had always been your work and the protection of your country, every sunrise that wasn’t shared with her and every sunset burning in the colour of her nails made you painfully aware that it was another day further away from the last time you had seen her. Touched her. Breathed her in with the intensity of astronauts landing back on Earth. You would hear the name the files had given you for the operation and dream about Kate moaning your real one into your skin. Would wander through Canada with new hair that had never been pulled by Kate, with clothes she wouldn’t rip off you to have her way with you, talked about a made-up identity that wouldn’t be able to know Kate Stewart or UNIT and took away any chance of touching yourself to a picture of her. 

“I’m going to win this,” Kate murmured lowly against your skin, her thumb tracing slow circles at your hip. “You know I am.”

Your reflection in the glass betrayed you—eyes fluttering, chest rising too fast. Kate’s smirk was audible even without you turning around. She would be the reason of your undoing, your own femme fatale.

“We’ll see,” you managed, though it came out rougher than you intended.

“Mm” Her lips grazed higher, just beneath your ear. “Ya lo veremos, cosita linda”

──────────────────𓂃 ོ☼𓂃──────────────────

The Spanish heat greeted Kate instead of you as she stepped out of Madrid airport and pushed her sunglasses back onto her nose from her hair, letting the soft strands fall free when she tugged at her hair tie. 

Her back ached slightly in the way it now just did; not because of any missed yoga classes (which she missed a lot) or wrong posture at her desk (an occupational hazard), and no one ever asked if she’d had a wild weekend (a bottle of Riesling from the Mosel and sleeping in to after seven am.). Instead, she would roll her shoulders back like she did now, and someone would comment, “Ah, that age, huh?” and Kate had to accept that dedicating her life to studying what had been the unimaginable fantasy for millennials didn’t mean that she could outrun time. 

The surprise of you still lingered inside of her in that same ache. No, lingering was the wrong word. You lingered whenever you disappeared and left Kate to fuck strangers wearing your perfume, laughing a little similarly, never tasting the same. You lingered then, in the back of Kate’s mind like a trapped animal, scratching at the iron bounds Kate had to shackle the memory of you into or she would be unable to go through her day. UNIT demanded nothing but her full attention, and you devoured it. 

Now you were back, the image of you sprawled in her chair, drinking her scotch, leaving her on the edge of insanity once more, breathing in the Spanish air and wondering what the fuck she was doing here and why she hadn’t dragged you to her flat that instant, made you scream and sing for her.

There was only the maddening, animal fact of you—your hands, your voice, your body in her reach for Kate to ruin—and Kate hated, loved, resented how completely you unmade her rationality, how a woman who had faced the most terrifying deaths could be reduced to this: aching, single-minded, counting down the hours to Spain like a woman starved, terrified that if she let herself feel the full weight of wanting you, it would swallow her whole and leave nothing recognizable behind.

Kate pressed her tongue against her teeth and shoved the rest of the complimentary ‘barquitos rellenos’ from the airport staff into her mouth, crumbs flying down her white shirt. 

A commercial flight would probably have been kinder to the environment, but the uncertainty of whether you—defying all logic, fuelled by a stubborn pinch of irrational hope—would actually be waiting in the arrivals hall had made the two-and-a-half hours above the clouds nearly unbearable as it was. Add screaming children and a delay at the gate into the mix, and Kate would certainly have lost what remained of her patience. So instead she’d spent the flight running through every possibility of what to expect today, since you, predictably, had given her nothing beyond a time and a hotel.

And yet, here she was. 

She’d gone so far as to log two of her accrued holiday days into the system, enduring her secretary’s repeated “Are you quite sure that’s not a mistake, ma’am?” Was it truly so shocking, so wildly implausible, that even Kate Stewart occasionally took time off?

A warm breeze slid over her skin as she reached for her bag. Fortunately, she’d come prepared. Even without a single clue, without so much as a shred of cooperation from you, Kate was fairly confident she wouldn’t be forced to rely on her credit card for an entirely new wardrobe by the end of it. Though, admittedly, when she thought back to that short trip to Verona—where she’d worn nothing but your love bites for two days straight—your surprises came in all forms. 

“Señora? Katherine?” 

Kate turned to find a clean-shaven, fairly handsome young man swiftly walking toward her, waving a hand in the air in a greeting. Her habitual suspicion prompted her to tighten her grip on her bag. Her other hand moved, seemingly casually, towards her front trouser pocket until she felt cold metal against her palm.

Ah, another advantage of flying privately. She didn’t have to go through the hassle of producing all sorts of paperwork for her handgun. 

“Puedo ayudarle?” Kate asked in a clear voice, pushing her shoulders back and glanced at him over the rim of her sunglasses. 

“Sí, bueno, señora Stewart sends me,” he answered in a thick accent. “Le llevaré al hotel.”

“Señora Stewart?” Kate repeated, confused and slightly incredulous. Then the penny dropped. “Ah,” she laughed out loud. Of course.

The young man nodded fast, clearly relieved that he’d met the right person, and gestured for her to follow him toward a sleek black car idling at the curb.

“How exactly,” Kate asked, falling into a step beside him, amusement pulling at her mouth. “Cómo sabías que era yo?” Not many people had arrived at the private sector of the airport, but still, Kate was curious.

He laughed, a little sheepish, opening the backseat door for her. “Señora Stewart—your, eh, esposa—” he tripped slightly over the word, glancing at Kate as if checking it was the right one, “—she says una mujer hermosa will land. Very beautiful! She say look for—” he frowned, visibly hunting for the English words and staying with the Spanish when he failed, hands gesturing vaguely, “—como un gato?”

“Un gato?” Kate repeated, eyebrow arching. 

“Sí, sí, gato.” He struggled a moment longer, clearly wrestling with his vocabulary, before abandoning words entirely. He lifted both hands to the sides of his head, fingers pointed upward, mimicking a pair of pricked, listening ears.

Kate barked out a laugh, delighted despite herself, and rolled her eyes skyward as she folded herself into the car. “Yes,” she said, placing her bag onto the middle seat. “I understand perfectly.”

Impossible, Kate pursed her lips, putting on her seatbelt. You impossible woman.

──────────────────𓂃 ོ☼𓂃──────────────────

You had a job tonight. You were fairly certain, somewhere in the back of your mind, that the job involved actually paying attention.

You were not paying attention. Not to the music of a string quartet playing in the entrance lobby, not to the ballroom decked out in gold light and waitstaff drifting past with trays of bubbling champagne, nor to the guest list you were meant to be watching. Barely anything registered, except that Kate was wearing the suit trousers.

Not just any, though. The one tailored so precisely, cut close at the hip and thigh, and you knew with the certainty of long, devoted study exactly what they did for the endless line of her legs and the curve of her arse when she walked away from you. Tucked into the high waist, cinched tightly, was a shirt you hadn’t seen on her before, an ethereal, flowy thing in deep wine, with wider sleeves that moved as if she were underwater every time she gestured, unbuttoned enough that her collarbones were bare in the light. Her hair was different too, half pinned up, soft curls left loose to frame her face, a few pale blonde strands already escaping. 

Kate said something to you—you registered the shape of words, the low, easy cadence of her voice trickling down your spine where her hand rested low on naked skin—and you kept staring, tracking the line of her jaw, the curve of her throat where the shirt gapped open, thinking increasingly unprofessional thoughts about how quickly you could get her out of the crowd and mess up her hair even more. 

“—and I said we’d need to speak to him before the toast, which is why I need you to actually listen to a single word I’m saying, darling.”

Nothing. You were still stuck somewhere around the dip of her collarbones, how the perfume she had sprayed on glittered on freckled skin, and the way the fabric shifted with every breath.

It wasn’t until Kate’s arm slid around your waist, fingers finding the soft give just above your hip and pinching sharply, that you stopped trying to get a glimpse of her tits. 

“Ow!”

“Welcome back,” Kate murmured, close to your ear. “I assure you, they’re the same as any other time.”

You blinked. “...What?”

“My eyes.” She held your slightly dazed gaze for one exquisitely smug beat. “Whatever were you looking at?” Her thumb rubbed innocently over the spot she’d pinched.

“You are the most gorgeous woman in the room. I couldn’t help it.” 

When you had imagined the words, they were supposed to come out much flirtier, but Kate’s eyes widened at the sincerity that you poured into the breathy answer and you felt her inhale faintly. 

She seemed distracted for a moment, and you could’ve imagined yourself leaning in to kiss her slightly opened lips, slip the heart you had on your tongue into her mouth and hope that naming the truth aloud wouldn’t break the delicate spell of unspoken understanding you’d both been preserving for nearly two decades.

The hand at your waist had stopped moving, but a little nudge of you towards her and Kate was pressing her nose against your temple, her lips on your skin. “Compliments won’t make up for the fact that you’re losing our bet,” she scolded without any force. “Try looking at the guest list with half the enthusiasm you’ve been devoting to my chest.”

“Easier said than done,” you found yourself saying, steering away from the pond of honesty that would probably lead to drowning, considering the weight of what strapped you both down. You let your mouth ghost over hers, stealing a bit of her exhale to whisper into her ear, “You know how much I love your tits.” 

“Down, girl,” Kate reprimanded you, and you almost laughed. She looked around, eyes sweeping the entrance hall that was nearly empty by now. “Christ, we should really head inside.”

“After you,” you said, gesturing for her to go ahead of you with a small, gallant sweep of your hand.

Kate’s eyebrow arched, clearly not expecting or trusting the sudden manners. “Why, how gentlemanly,” she cooed, already turning, already falling into that unhurried, effortless stride. “Look a you. Chivalrous and everything.”

“No,” you said, and made a show of raking your eyes over her figure, from her heels to her hair. “I just really want to watch your arse in those trousers”

Kate’s expression didn’t so much as flicker, though the look she gave you over her shoulder as she swept past could have stripped paint—or you naked. “Vulgar.”

You leaned back and didn’t bother arguing the point, mostly because your eyes had already dropped again, tracking the unhurried roll of her hips and how the tailored line of the fabric pulled taut with every step. 

“Sure,” you said distantly, mentally tracing the outline of her with your teeth “Whatever you say, Kitty.” 

To no one’s surprise, it was astonishingly easy to find out the information you needed when you were looking to strike up conversations with Kate by your side; no, you didn’t even have to go looking for them; all you had to do was step into the grand ballroom and immediately the men flocked to you. Your companion laughed, cracked jokes, and charmed everyone in a synchronised conversational dance, and although it was more than obvious that the two of you were here together—Kate introduced you both as ‘Stewart’. draped her hand possessively over your arms, your stomach, your hips, your bottom, so that the golden ring on her finger glistened and beckoned—the men told you everything you wanted to know as if doing so would give them a chance. 

After a while, you were separated by the natural tide of the party—Kate pulled toward a cluster of ambassadors; you angled off toward a group of wives who all fawned over the ring on your finger and the way you couldn’t stop catching Kate across the room. A glance over someone’s shoulder. The particular tilt of her head when she laughed at a joke that wasn’t actually funny and her hair curled against her neck. Once, you managed to stop an entire conversation because she caught you looking and held your gaze for multiple seconds, her eyes undressing you from meters away. 

You felt undone, completely and utterly undone. 

The conversations changed, boring you since nothing worth remembering was being said. You’d known this mission wouldn’t be a life-or-death situation, but rather a tentative read of the political climate. As easy and demanding as sitting in the office filling out paperwork was, it was the chance of meeting Kate again that had you practically blackmailing your boss into giving you this assignment. 

You drifted back to her orbit near the dessert table, where Kate had commandeered a small silver spoon and was inspecting something involving chocolate and gold leaves, a blonde lock of hair curling invitingly down her back. 

Spying the freckles there, more prominent than at any other time you had seen Kate, you found it of the utmost importance to inspect them now. There was a slight shift in her posture when you snuck up behind her, an almost flinch that seemed unlike her, but when your hands found her hips, she seemed fine again. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder and question what the years during which you hadn’t seen her had done to her, what she had experienced. 

“Don’t tell me you are already giving in,” Kate said without turning around. “The party hasn’t even started properly.”

“I would never.” 

You leaned in, nosing along the curve of her shoulder blade where the silk had slipped slightly askew, and pressed the first kiss there—featherlight, barely a kiss at all. Your hands slid slowly over her hips, thumbs tracing the waistband of those criminal trousers, and you felt her breath catch under your palms. You kissed higher. The knob of her spine, just visible where her hair had shifted aside. The curve where shoulder met neck, lingering there, feeling her pulse jump against your lips. Kate’s hand stilled on the spoon.

“Have you done anything useful today or have you spent your working hours lusting after me?” she asked, though it came out thinner than her usual crisp diplomacy, and she hadn’t moved away—if anything, she tipped her head, giving you more room, more skin.

“Mm.” You nuzzled along the line of her neck, breathing her in, chocolate and her perfume and, underneath it all, the warmth of her skin that you’d have known blindfolded in a room of a thousand women. Another kiss, just beneath her ear to the spot that could buckle her knees. “I thought you were aware of my multitasking abilities.”

“The last time you tried to multitask, it ended up with you gagging on my fingers and crying for my wand like a slut,” Kate murmured, but her weight had shifted back into you, the whole line of her spine settling against your chest. Her breathing had gone uneven, quick little pulls of air you felt more than heard, and when your hands tightened slightly at her hips, she made a soft, involuntary sound low in her throat. 

“Come on, Kitty—” You opened your jaw to nip at the dip of the shoulder and neck. “Beg for me.”

“Careful.” Kate’s fingernails found your wrist and pinched hard, sharp enough actually to sting, her whole voice dropping into something cold and clipped that had nothing to do with the breathless woman from thirty seconds ago. She barely turned her head, but you saw the glare she sent down to you slice across her sharp cheekbones. “You will behave yourself and stop treating me like something to gnaw on, or I’ll have you following at my heel like a dog for the rest of the night.”

Your mouth stilled against her skin. “That’s not much of a deterrent.”

“No?” Her nails pressed deeper, and a higher-pitched whine got stuck halfway in your throat. Her thin lips curved into a smirk. “That’s what I thought. Now stop mauling me in front of everyone like a needy bitch in heat and focus on your job.”

Your thighs pressed together on instinct, helpless clenching and doing nothing to ease the ache Kate had so efficiently created. No other woman had ever made you this pliable, this possessed with an uncontrollable lust. Ever since you had met her, you didn’t remember a time when you weren’t craving her. 

“Right,” you managed, voice thinner than you wanted it. “Focus. Yes.”

Kate’s smirk didn’t waver. She knew exactly what she’d done, the absolute menace, and she had the audacity to look pleased about it as she stepped out of your hold, much more composed than you, leaving you standing there with your pulse hammering in your cunt and nowhere else to put it. 

You made a hasty grab for the nearest flute of champagne, if only to give your hands something respectable to do, and put the barest sliver of necessary distance between yourself and the blonde currently wearing the expression of a cat that got the canary.

If it hadn’t been for your pride, the increasingly competitive urge to win this ridiculous bet, and the small, stubborn corner of your brain reminding you that you were, in fact, an intelligence officer who had talked her way out of considerably worse situations than being hopelessly distracted by one woman in an excellent pair of trousers, this would have been the moment you embarrassed yourself spectacularly in front of half the Spanish diplomatic corps. 

“So,” you swallowed down the bubbly champagne and cleared your throat.

“Open up,” Kate interrupted, already turning, spoon lifted, one hand coming to rest warm against your jaw. 

You opened your mouth, rolling your eyes. As she fed you the dessert, she watched your lips the entire time, and when you made an embarrassing little sound around the chocolate, her thumb dragged along your bottom lip. “Good girl.”

So help me, you thought and whined again. This game was getting to you. All it did was fuck with your head and prolong the inevitable, stretching this tension between you to an extent it hadn’t even reached in the years you’d been apart and needed to take care of yourself with hands, your own and strangers’, to chase an itch that could only be scratched by the woman dangling your pleasure in front of you. 

Even as you were trying to wrangle your suddenly racing heart back under control, the music shifted, taking on a rhythm that invited dancing rather than merely filling the silence between conversations. 

Your fingers suddenly tightened around the stem of the champagne flute with little regard for how fragile the crystal was, as memories wound themselves around your lungs like the taut strings of the violins. Every breath had to force its way through them, and where the orchestra should have filled your ears, there was only the relentless pounding of your own heartbeat. 

Still, you found yourself drawn towards Kate. 

Though her expression betrayed nothing to anyone else, you could read every unspoken word written beneath its careful composure. She turned to you, one hand held out between you, palm turned upwards. 

“Dance with me.” 

You didn’t even have the capacity to retort; you only reached for her hand and let yourself be pulled into her lead. 

Kate’s hand settled warm at your waist as though it belonged there, because, in every way that mattered, it did, and you rested yours at her shoulder, your thumb reaching out to stroke along her collarbone as you fell into an effortless, fluid waltz. There was no fumbling around, no missed count, no arguing who would lead—Kate did. Kate turned, and you turned with her, anticipating the shift a half-second before it came, the two of you reading each other the way you always had, on rooftops, at beaches, across crowded rooms just like this one, except here the only danger was how much you loved her.

To fall in love with Kate was as easy as recognizing that there was no hope for it to become anything more than this; a half-unspoken romance scattered across a handful of meetings over years where you both could hide behind the lust and the adrenaline of whatever you were diving head and heart-first into, without having to acknowledge any other reasoning than you working well together in every other aspect than a proper relationship. And most of the time you weren’t even hung up on it, because accepting the impossible meant getting a kaleidoscope of Kate, and Kate thinking this arrangement fitted you both—or ignoring any signs that you did long for more—allowed a colourful ray of vulnerability to flash through her mask and walls. 

In other moments, though, when you were no longer drunk on her nearness, no longer dazzled by the want that flashed in her eyes or the slow burn of her touch, when you were falling through the clarity of reality and heard the echo in your heart. 

That was where the ache lived.

And dancing with her once again reminded you so painfully of the time when everything had been so close to imploding in that cavern of greedy, ignorant, and self-destructive desire. 

Kate’s stride lost its easy rhythm, each step landing with a clipped precision, and her ring finger tightened around yours until the pressure bordered on pain. 

You didn’t need to ask where her mind had gone; it had travelled back a few years, to the same place yours had.

You’d texted her from a burner three hours earlier, mid-debrief, a blood-stained thumb moving under the table while your boss had droned on about how your extraction should’ve happened months ago, explaining to deaf ears the unnecessary risks you had been exposed to. 

”Geneva is boring you to death, I can feel it from here. Join me in Berlin? x”

Half an hour later, the world had already begun to spin with a pleasant softness, blurring the edges of bruises and stitches until they’d become little more than distant inconveniences, until there had been hardly any room in your mind for anything except the tall, willowy woman carving a path through the crush of sweat-slick bodies and flashing strobe lights in the dingy club you had disappeared into. You’d found each other instantly. Her gaze had caught yours from the opposite end of the dance floor, and the alcohol in your system held nothing to the lightning strike of exhilarating carnal fever that went straight to your spine and lower.

Kate had looked as though she’d wandered into the wrong universe. She belonged nowhere near the haze of weed smoke hanging beneath the ceiling and in the disco balls, the chemical sweetness of cheap perfume and spilt spirits, the neon glow of lightsticks weaving through barely-there outfits. Stood out like a wet dream of authority that instantly had drawn looks to her. The tightly tailored black suit, the dark-blue-and-white striped shirt that had been unbuttoned to the point where the edges of a lace bra and the swell of creamy breasts shimmered in the flashing lights, already damp at the collarbone. Expensive, red-soled heels on sticky floor, a shot of vodka appearing in your hand that you’d nicked back without saying a single word. A tongue in your mouth, licking behind your teeth to chase the burn of pure alcohol in a form of greeting that transcended the distance of months. You’d have crawled across broken glass for less.

The bass had rattled through your ribs, bodies pressed and swayed around you, skin sliding against skin, sweat mingling with sweat, laughter and music dissolved into one endless pulse. You were more than drunk, letting yourself be pulled by Kate into the middle of the floor where nobody had room to be anything but pushed together, moving in fluency. The lights had strobed red to blue to nothing over Kate’s blonde hair as she moved in front of you—swayed, undulated, rolled—hips finding the beat dirty, spine arching back against you, her arse grinding hard and shameless, circling, pressing, never quite enough. Christ, the drag of her. Your fingers roamed over her stomach and in-between the buttons of her shirt to feel blazing hot, slick skin while one hand of hers reached up and back to grab your neck so she could drawl pure filth into your ear, her breath hot and damp against your throat. “The things I want to do to you. I’ve dreamed about your fingers on me, fucked myself for hours to the image or you. I want to hold you down and make you scream, make you drip into my mouth. I’d tie you up, bind your pretty legs to my bed and make sure you can’t leave until I’ve had my fill of you, over and over again.”

More drinks, her teeth in your bottom lip, everything so loud, so fast and yet languid, so unknown and familiar. 

There’d been your bodies grinding against each other to songs you didn’t understand, a thigh pushing between yours and, God, the pressure of it, Kate’s smug grin against your throat and jaw taking you apart just as much as each roll of her hips at a time. “Are you going to come on my thigh? So needy and desperate…oh look at how gorgeous you look.” You’d grabbed handfuls of Kate—arse, spine, the damp small of her back—pulling her in harder, chasing the friction, needing more of her and her ragged breath, her low raspy laughter vibrating against your ear. More. Always more. Never enough. Her hand had slid lower, found you through fabric, fingers pressing, rubbing, matching the bass and the thrust of her leg to the rhythm until you couldn’t tell the difference between the music and your own pulse, every nerve lit up, drowning, desperate for more of her. You’d clung to Kate the louder the song and crowd got, eyes glazed over and only seeing the pass of time you had been apart on her face, the worry-lines, wondering dizzily what had happened to her, where she was in her life, while you’d thrusted into her hand, into her thigh, in the middle of Berlin. 

You’d come apart with her name moaned into a sloppy, biting kiss, and her slender hand at your throat, a new, golden, engraved wedding ring pressed cool into your skin. 

Neither of you ever spoke of it. 

You only knew that the next time you saw her there had been a picture of a girl around two years old on her phone as she met you in a bar in Paris, her ring finger bare, and a need to prove something in the way she fucked you. 

Now you were both wearing faux-rings, years and versions of yourselves later, changed by all the time in between and still, somehow, caught in the same limbo—two flames that had never once learned how to be anything but an inferno the moment you breathed the same air.

The music swelled back into the present, gold light and violins pulling you out of the memory and back onto the ballroom floor, Kate’s hand warm in yours, her waist solid and real under your palm. You wondered how she saw you, the splinters of every version of you she’d met.

“What happened to you?” you asked, struck with the urge to overcome this boundary of never talking about anything important, and trailed a hand over the buttons of her shirt, inclining your head. “I tried to get a hold of you two years ago, but there was no trace.”

Kate stiffened almost imperceptibly in your arms. Anyone else would’ve mistaken it for her settling more comfortably into the dance. You knew better. You’d spent enough years memorising every minute shift in her posture to recognise the difference.

“I had to disappear for a while,” she said matter-of-factly, her fingers tightening almost unconsciously at your waist.

“I read some files.”

She huffed a fond little breath through her nose, steering you further onto the dance floor. “Of course you did.”

“And no matter which channels I used—official or otherwise—” Kate’s hips brushed yours as she guided another slow step, one eyebrow arching in that familiar, wonderfully disapproving way that only made you want to push a little harder, “—nobody would tell me a thing.”

Apparently, you were compromised. That was the word from all your contacts. Ridiculous.

“Tsk.”

The concern that had flickered across Kate’s face disappeared almost as quickly as it had surfaced, replaced by the crooked smirk she’d perfected over decades of deflection. Her thumb traced a slow arc along your ribs, the touch feather-light, impossibly distracting.

“How sweet,” she purred, close enough that only you could hear. “You were worried about me.”

“I always—” you felt yourself being spun out, her hand gripping yours and for a second she held you there, a step away from her, both of your hearts in your throats, “have you on my radar,” you finished breathlessly and were pulled back so quickly that you almost stumbled. 

Kate’s nose bumped against yours. 

A faint breath passed between open lips, from her mouth into yours, or the other way around—you didn’t know. 

You were spinning in circles, always chasing each other like hands on a clock, and in the mids of dancing with the most beautiful woman, you could hear your time together tick forward, felt the drift of the earth and everything determined to pull you two apart; you couldn’t bare the thought of not using each second to the most with her, the guilt sprouting in your stomach like ivory vines. 

A mouth at your temple interrupted your thoughts and Kate took over the attempt to steer the conversation to anything less emotionally revealing. You heard and felt her inhale against the wispy hairs over your ear, her hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, fingers spreading, dragging you flush against her under cover of the turn.

“Do you want to know what happened to me,” she murmured low, “or would you rather I tell you what I’ve been picturing since you decided to declare us a married couple?”

Your breath caught. “Kate—”

“I want you bent over the nearest table,” she continued, mouth grazing your cheekbone as the warmth of her hand urged you closer to her once more, keeping you against her, “that ridiculous dress shoved up around your waist, and my hand over your mouth so you don’t embarrass either of us in front of the ambassador.” Her hips ignored the steps of the waltz. “I’ve thought about exactly how I’d take you apart. How many fingers would it take before you stopped being able to stand on your own?” 

“Bold plan,” you managed, and let your hand move to her arse. “Is that happening before or after you give in to our bet and finally do anything other than talk?”

“Oh, darling, I’m nowhere near as close as I bet you are,” she murmured, and you wanted her, wanted her so much it made thinking impossible. Curved lips found the corner of your mouth, not quite a kiss, just heat and the graze of teeth, and her words landed straight between your legs. “I want you soaked through by the time we’re back at the hotel. I want you thinking about my mouth every time the strings hit that particular note, and I want you desperate enough by the time I finally get my hands on you that you won’t last half as long as you’d like to.” She tilted her head, her mouth ghosting over yours. “And then I will fuck you again.”

Your resolve snapped in an instant, the only thought of clarity in a lust-muddled haze to get out of here.

“Kitty.” The name came out wrecked, all pretence gone, your fingers curling tight into the fabric at her hip. “I need you to stop talking and take me somewhere. Now.”

“Say that again,” she rasped, a hand circling hard around your wrist.  

“Take me to the hotel, Kate. Or I swear to God I will finish this myself, right here, and let the ambassador watch.”

──────────────────𓂃 ོ☼𓂃──────────────────

The taxi door had barely shut before Kate lost the last thread of whatever composure she’d been holding onto since the ballroom, since the dance, since the whole insufferable evening of watching you, levelling her touches to not bleed through the urge to rip into you. 

She caught the front of your jacket in one fist and hauled you sideways, back hitting the door with a thud you’d both feel tomorrow, not that either of you cared, not now, not with three whole hours of pretending stripped away in the space between the hotel’s marble steps and the safety of tinted windows, and Kate’s mouth found yours before you’d even finished gasping at the impact—hungry, open, no finesse left in it at all, just teeth and heat and the low, wrecked sound she made against your lips and made you swallow whole.

She kissed you filthy. Tongue pushing past your teeth, tasting champagne and chocolate and something that was just you, underneath it all, familiar in a way that undid every careful year she’d spent learning to want you quietly; she bit at your bottom lip hard enough to sting, soothed it a heartbeat later, dragged her mouth to your jaw only to come back for more because one kiss had never once been enough between you, not in Berlin, not in that tower office, not now, and God, she thought, dimly, distantly, from somewhere far beneath the roar of her own pulse, she didn’t care that the driver could see the shapes of you in the rearview mirror, didn’t care about your jobs or the end to this, because none of it mattered, nothing mattered beyond the reality of your mouth and your hands twisting into her shirt and the small, desperate noise you made when she pressed her whole weight into you, pinning you properly into the seat, consequences be damned.

Her hand found your thigh, dragged up under the hem of your dress with the same unhurried, entitled deliberation she’d used all night, except there was nothing unhurried left in her now, everything sped up, frayed, a woman running on pure want and decades of practice controlling herself finally, blessedly, giving out—she needed to touch you, needed her hands on skin, needed the small hitch of your breath against her mouth to confirm that you were real and here and hers again, however briefly, however impossibly, and she kissed you again, deeper, gulping the sound you made, thinking nothing coherent at all beyond more and mine and finally, her fingers tightening at your hip hard enough to bruise, chasing every inch of control she could claw back from a night that had spent hours taking it from her one filthy whispered promise at a time.

Madrid’s night and full moon shimmered in your widened eyes, in blown-out pupils, and Kate’s hands gripped you tighter, shoved you back further into the seat with an aggression that made you moan loud enough to have Kate consider paying the driver more, apologising for the ruckus you were causing in his car. Your whimper of Kate’s name had her quickly deciding the man was paid well enough to mind his own damn business and turning her attention back to you.

──────────────────𓂃 ོ☼𓂃──────────────────

You would’ve loved to say you took your time undressing Kate, getting your hands on her to unbutton playfully, to unzip her trousers with metal between teeth, to treasure the outfit just as much as the woman wearing it but every movement was frantic need, each graceless grasp for any fabric steered under the commands of Kate’s, “Get this off!”

“Missed you,” you managed against her mouth, honest in a way the champagne and the dancing had already stripped the guard from. Your hands roamed over her now naked waist, touching and re-remembering, tracing the moles and freckles and scars. 

Kate’s hands stilled where she was groping your arse, just for a second, something raw flickering behind her eyes before the hunger swallowed it whole again. “Show me,” she said, low, rough, and pulled you down with her onto the bed, the sheets and dip of the mattress cushioning the fall. 

You ended up straddling her like so many other nights before, boxing her head in with your elbows as your hips rolled against her, staring at nothing but her face. The sharp, patrician lines gone soft at the edges, her jaw slack, thin, kiss-flushed lips parted around unsteady breaths. Faint lines fanned from the corners of her eyes—new since you’d last catalogued her this closely, proof of years spent frowning over briefings and squinting into foreign suns without you—and the silver threading her hairline caught the low light when her head tipped back against the pillow. 

Her eyes stayed on yours the whole time, that puppy-brown consumed by darkness, half-lidded, fierce even now, like surrendering control of her body was no reason to surrender the rest of her. A flush had crept up her throat, blooming under her jaw, across her cheekbones. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” you murmured and surged forward, kissing her in an attack, tongue pushing into Kate’s mouth. “Stunning,” you rasped, licking into the hollow of her throat, leaving her entire neck and collarbones—which you can’t not shower with the same attention, with the peppering of kisses that end up being lips more dragged over the sharp bones, desperate to follow and trace it—shining with saliva. Your eyes wandered lower, your hands did too, and when you came face-to…chest with Kate’s chest, your forehead dropped against her sternum, and a broken moan escaped you. “Bloody love these girls.” 

Kate’s hands found your hair, fingers dragging in hard, greedy fistfuls, tugging your head up and along her chest. 

“Don’t stop there,” she managed, breathless, a command trying and failing to sound composed, her hips shifting restlessly beneath you, her back arching to press your face into the swell of her breasts. “Get your mouth on me. Now.”

A delicious pressure built between your thighs, and you lathered your tongue slowly, in a bow and arch, over the flesh spilling out of the lace cups, while you wiggled a hand behind Kate’s back, scratched along her spine on the way to have her breath catch and stifle a gasp, and undid the clasp effortlessly, freeing her breasts to your determined mouth. You knew exactly how sensitive she was, had her writhing in the sheets in her fancy apartment in London years ago through nothing but your teeth at her nipples. Testing the theory again, you flicked your tongue against one nipple, while you took her small, perfectly sized other breast into your palm to squeeze. 

“There,” she gasped, hips rolling up in search of more contact, more of you. “God, don’t you dare stop, don’t you dare—”

“Never,” you mumbled around the flesh feverishly, sucking at the stiffened tip and drinking in the sight of Kate’s hair spilling onto the pillow, nothing can stop me.

You continued her kisses and licks between her breasts once Kate was near incoherent, articulating her wishes and demands in throaty moans and her fingernails scratching at your scalp, hands still fisted into your hair to keep you where she wanted you, and when there was a scattering of marks—teeth, fingernails, blooming bruises where you’d suckled all around her nipples—over her chest, Kate pushed you down further. Agreed to you dipping your tongue into her navel only because you rushed with panting breaths and murmured compliments, kissed the caesarean scar, tugged at the skin of her hips, stroked your hands over her ribs and stomach. Her skin was intoxicating, the feeling of her moving beneath you a drug, this never-ending rush. 

“I need to taste you.” You reached for the matching black lace underwear in almost a trance—if it wasn’t that hectic— and tugged at the expensive fabric that barely covered the patch of wiry dark, glistening curls. “Fuck, Kitty, let me eat you out, please.”

Kate chuckled, resting back on her elbows, curled hair mussed and falling loose from its pins, the dark blush spreading high across her cheekbones as she stared you down with sultry eyes. Her chest rose and fell in uneven, unsteady breaths, “Aren’t you just adorable, darling—” she chuckled and was interrupted by you licking over the drenched underwear, her voice continuing more strained and her brows furrowed, “All those years of you talking a big game—” she rasped shallow, “and you turn into my best girl the second you get your mouth on a cunt.”

Head swimming with her voice, your pelvis rolling into the mattress for friction, you only nodded promptly. You had waited years for this, years, and every one of them collapsed down into this single unbearable moment, thought scattering, unable to hold a single one longer than a breath—years, and here, and finally, don’t wake up, please don’t let this be another one of those nights you dreamed her voice into someone else’s ceiling—and you weren't even sure anymore if you were thinking in words or just in the shape of her name, over and over, an echo with nothing left underneath it but want. 

Your hand stilled after the panties were flung into a corner of the room.

There, just to the side of her patch of hair, was the tiny wash of amber and rose that had once been so much brighter. Time had softened the colours, blurred their sharpest edges, but you would have recognised it anywhere.

A sunset.

Twelve years had passed since the two of you had stumbled out of that ridiculous little tattoo parlour somewhere off the Navigli in Milan, laughing too hard to stand upright, smelling of tequila and summer rain. You’d insisted on getting a matching pair, had stripped down your trousers and pulled down your knickers completely loosing it when Kate nearly tripped over her shoes and proclaimed she’d only agree if you sit on her face afterwards. Ever since then you wore the slightly crooked sunrise on your hipbone and more than once pressed your fingers against it when you brought yourself to a lonely orgasm, aware she was most days the reason you got up and continued.

You kissed it gently, then couldn’t help it and sucked as if to taste the ink, the sirup-golden rays, and Kate mewled, shuddered, raised and bucked her hips ever so slightly and you couldn’t have that, didn’t want her movements to spoil your dinner, and you wrestled your arms around her thighs, pinned her down in an effortless display of your strength and oh, you could see Kate drip at that, saw slick glisten and run to the bedsheet right in front of you; the fabric darkened instantly.  

“What do you think you are doing?” Kate snapped, impatient now that her pleasure was in your hands or on your tongue. It all happens at once: Kate’s grip on your hair tightens; she tugged at your scalp, forcing a moan so loud that Kate pulled even harder; it stung, it seared, your eyes watered. Kate’s voice, her words just as cutting, merciless and leaving you no chance to tease her any further, “Or do you need clearer orders, agent?”

You spread her open with two fingers, thumbed over the reddened, already wet lips and dove in, lapping eagerly and with the drunken hunger, dragged your tongue as wide as you could through the length of her for your first fill of your favourite ambrosia. 

Kate snarled a “Fuck,” through clenched teeth, breathed heavily, roughly, a huff and grunt that’s bestial, and reacted to the first touch in a violent, fully-body twitch, every muscle tensing up and coiling into the touch. All you wanted to do was stay there, Kate’s thighs clamping around your ears in a head-lock, her legs thrown over your shoulders for all eternity, and your lips alternating between kissing her labia and teasing her clit with brushes and the faintest of pressure to the point where Kate’s moans grew louder and louder and surely would draw attention soon, and wasn’t that a thought, that someone came knocking because she couldn’t stop groaning throaty explicits, curses, the entire range of “Yes—fuck, right there, so fucking good, oh god I’ve missed your mouth.”

You worked her further and further, end up cupping her arse and lifting her closer to your mouth, and Kate’s legs stretched higher—when you glanced up through strands of frizzy, messy hair you saw the strained muscles flex and contract under smooth, pale skin, and you were almost out of breath, could still bury your entire face in her cunt and suck on her clit with enthusiasm and deliriously, Kate’s hips jerking against your face when the orgasm finally ripped through the blonde, you thought this was what the waterboarding had trained you for. 

You didn’t even let her recover, manhandled her trembling form onto her stomach, pulled her up onto her knees and pushed her thighs apart to keep going. Kate exhaled sharply when your nose pressed against her arse, swore when you fucked her with two fingers, and came a second time, screaming hoarsely into a pillow bunched up between white-knuckled fists. 

──────────────────𓂃 ོ☼𓂃──────────────────

Kate had you riding her thigh, your entire body leaned back like you were balancing on a rodeo, and Kate was glad that your hands were playing with your own nipples and supporting yourself with fingers scratching over her shins and nowhere near where you could have felt the irregular pounding of her heart, that stupid muscle going against her will to calm down as she was caught in the fervent need to stay in the present to see how you were rolling your hips, hear how you were babbling out nonsense, save this sight of you spread wide on her leg, while the anxiety of loosing you after this fogged up her perception.

Kate’s mind kept snagging on the window, on the thin grey line just beginning to bleed into the dark beyond the curtains—not enough to call it dawn yet, but close enough to feel like a threat, like a countdown she hadn’t agreed to.

She hated it. Hated the part of her, small and traitorous, doing arithmetic even now—how many hours until a car came, until a flight number replaced your name, until she was back behind a desk pretending this had been nothing more than a pleasant diversion in Madrid. Every time your cunt found her skin she tried to just be there, fully, without the part of her brain that anticipated loss, and every time she nearly managed it, the watch on the nightstand seemed to tick louder, more insistent, a small mechanical reminder that nothing with you had ever once been allowed to simply last.

Not yet, she thought, fierce, almost childish in its want, dragging you back up by the hair when you moaned and rutted against her, slurred her name into the air even though only she deserved to hear you say it, greedy for every point of contact she could still claim. “Not yet, sweetheart,” she commanded gravelly, “Hold out.”

But God, she was unravelling now. Kate could feel it happening in real time, in the desperate clutch of her own hands, in how she kept dragging you back whenever you slowed, whenever either of you paused to catch a breath she resented on principle for stealing time. The sky would lighten regardless of what she wanted. The hours would pass whether or not she’d had enough of you, and she never had enough of you, that was rather the whole insufferable problem, wasn’t it—there had never once been a version of this where she got to keep you as long as she actually wanted. You were meant for this, both of you meant for hook-ups and affairs and endless craving. 

Whenever she looked down at her body and saw the bloody sunset tattoo, she was reminded of how every encounter with you ended just as predictably and unchangeably. You’d laughed yourself into a stupor in Milan, crying a “Did you get this because you’re going down on me tonight?”

No, Kate had wanted to say. No, this is because I can’t let you closer, she had wanted to say. This is because I only bring darkness while you are sunshine. 

So she’d take what the night allowed. Take it selfishly, thoroughly, memorise the weight of you and the sound of your breath and the exact way you said her name, storing it all away in that same locked place she kept the rest of you, because the morning would come regardless, and Kate intended to be entirely too devastatingly wrecked to think about it until it did.

──────────────────𓂃 ོ☼𓂃──────────────────

The room smelled of pure sex, and not even the open windows carrying in the refreshing night could air out that scent that clung to your shining, sticky bodies, intertwined on the wrinkled sheets, rolling and moving into each other. Foreheads pressed together, Kate’s tongue replicated the same languid pace of her fingers buried knuckle-deep inside you in never-ending kisses, spit between your lips and your arousal smeared onto her thigh and stringing sticky to her fingers as she deepened the kiss and licked over your whimper, rubbed over the spot that had you bucking into her palm like you had done in Berlin, coaxing you ever so closer to ecstasy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Kate murmured, basically breathing the words into your mouth, “I know you can give me one more.”

You shuddered, instinctively and uncontrollably when her fingers curled inside you and she never stopped circling them against your g-spot, wrecking you with gentle touches and her tongue caressing your by now nearly numb lips. 

“Kitty.” You couldn’t even remember what you wanted to say, could only clench around her and grasp at her arms and the sodden curls clinging to the back of her neck. 

She shushed you, another soft sound that blew her breath over your face and the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Let go, come on, darling…oh, you can do it.” Another kiss, one that swallowed your cries at the overstimulation of her drawing her soaked fingers over your burning clit in the tender figure eight, tighter and closer, harder and pointed, and the tip of her nose nuzzling yours. “There you go, my good girl, aren’t you just gorgeous?” 

──────────────────𓂃 ོ☼𓂃──────────────────

“Do you think we’re still allowed to order room service or will they throw us out the moment we open the door?”

Behind you, holding you on her lap, Kate snorted into your skin where her lips had been peppering kisses against your shoulder.

“What?” you managed, joining in with a breathless laugh.

“Nothing,” Kate murmured, though the smile against your shoulder blade said otherwise, her arms tightening around your waist. 

“No, really,” you said and turned with a huff, facing her, and immediately Kate’s hand lifted to your cheek, brushing away strands of hair that were fluttering in the gentle breeze. “I can’t believe you made me scream that loudly.”

Kate’s lips curved into a smirk. “I can and I’m sure half of Madrid can write a witness statement as well.”

Rolling your eyes, you still blushed.

“But if you’re that worried,” Kate spoke and leaned in to playfully sink her teeth into one of the many lovebites on your neck, “I will have UNIT buy this hotel and let everyone sign an NDA about this night.”

“Oh, how chivalrous,” you teased, then moaned softly. Kate’s hand had wandered between the fabric of your robe, fingers stroking over the red crosses her nails had scratched onto your skin, and you melted into her with a heavy sigh. 

It wasn’t fair how perfectly you fit together, wrapped up all into each other on the lounger of the balcony, a bottle of wine resting between your legs though neither of you had taken a sip in a while and meanwhile, the sky had turned into the same purple of the stain on Kate’s robe; the sun crawling over what had been an endless field of stars and pushing the twinkles away, thin strings of golden clouds replacing the sheat of night. 

Another day, another sunrise. 

“Kate?” 

“Mmhm?” Kate idly continued her caresses, and you saw how her eyes were trained on the horizon as well, the sun betraying her mask of composure and painting the tears glistening in her dark lashes golden. 

You couldn’t leave her.

The certainty settled within your entire soul. You had always imagined that, when duty and love finally stood opposite one another, your loyalty would instinctively reach for the gun at your hip, for the oath you’d sworn long before you’d met Kate. Instead, the words slipped free as easily as breathing in her perfume.

“I think my time at MI6 is over.”

A gasp that left Kate far too fast to be caught and then she stared at you, brown eyes racing over your face as if she couldn’t believe you.

“What?” It came out in a breathy whisper. 

You shrugged, and every scar you’d collected in the last decades lit up, burned and sizzled, glowed bright and blinded you. 

“I can’t continue,” you said and heard the shake in your voice, felt the tremor when you hoped the grip Kate had on you would never loosen. “I can’t—I love you so fucking much, Kate, it would kill me—”

The rest of your words died in your throat as Kate almost violently crashed her mouth against yours, kissing you like she meant to fuse the two of you into one shape, one breath, salt from her own tears slipping between your lips as she pulled back just enough to press her forehead to yours, both of you shaking, both of you laughing and crying in the same broken exhale, and she cupped your face in shaking hands, murmuring I love you, I love you, you impossible, wonderful woman against your mouth between kisses that kept interrupting themselves, messy and salt-slicked and entirely raw in a way nothing between you had ever been before in such sincerity and open display. 

And the sunrise faded into precious blue, and Kate was still there, holding you in her arms and not letting go. 

[itsonlydana]

there is nothing better than a tight grape and nothing worse than a loose tomato or a moist egg

[absolutelyterrifichonestly]

We Had An Arrangement

Pairing: DI Jill Raymond x f!Reader

Category: angst, smut

Warnings: explicit sex, toxic relationship, alcohol, smoking, fingering, oral sex, hate sex, explicit language, Jill being an absolute bastard.

Description: The arrangement made sense at first. Cutting ties with Jill seemed impossible, but staying with her might hurt even more.

When you stepped through the door and smelled perfume that wasn't yours, you sighed. The lock clicked behind you and you stepped out of your shoes, hissed at the blisters left behind, the sore patch on your ankle where your sock had rolled down and bared your skin to friction.

A giggle from upstairs, soft, followed by that baritone bark of a laugh that still crucified you in your tracks.

As you made your way into the darkened kitchen and rummaged in the fridge for the half-finished bottle of picpoul, the bedsprings began to squeak. You swigged the wine straight from the bottle and let the fridge door slam shut with a rattle-clink. Above, the squeaking springs paused, bracketed by a frantic whisper and a soothing mumble before starting the incessant beats again.

You swallowed your mouthful of wine and sat with the bottle at the kitchen table, glaring at the ceiling. Jill would be gripping the headboard, you just knew it. She always tried to show off whenever she got a new girl on the end of her strap, wanted them to see how she had toned her arms at the gym, how her hips could still keep a dizzying pace without her breaking a sweat. You knew she'd be smirking down at her catch whilst they writhed and mewled and did all the things they'd normally do, the exact whimpers to add another log to her burning ego. As you swilled the picpoul around your mouth, you wondered if she'd ever get bored of how easily she impressed these girls, if her metaphorical cock would ever stop leading the way the second she got restless.

An orgasm tore through the ceiling, and you took another drink.

When the bottle was empty, you sipped water straight from the tap and, begrudgingly, made your way upstairs. Despite knowing better, you paused by the bedroom door. The bedside lamp was on, casting shadows under the door that danced with sex-soaked whispers. You cleared your throat loudly. The whispers were swallowed by silence for one moment, then two. A woman's voice, tinged with worry, gently interrupted by Jill's drawl.

'Don't worry about her, darling.'

Another whisper, then a half-laugh, half-sigh. Lips meeting again. A rustle of blankets.

Your fist clenched, throat growing tight despite the familiarity that bordered on comical.

You settled in the spare room, turned to the wall and laid on top of the covers as the summer night stuck to you like sap. You were quietly aware of Jill's guest leaving, a trail of gentle giggles and several kisses fading as footsteps disappeared down the stairs and out the door. When Jill paced back up to brush her teeth, you felt her linger in the doorway, felt her understand that you weren't asleep and telling herself otherwise, felt the caress of her stare on the curve of your hips and the gentle rise and fall of your sleepless breath.

The morning arrived slowly.

"You were home late," Jill said casually as she poured herself a cup of tea. "I was getting a bit worried."

"Just work," you replied, voice clipped.

Jill hummed. "Rough shift?"

You sighed under your breath, pouring cereal into a bowl. Jill stared at your back, waiting on ceremony for however much you would decide to tell her.

"Yeah," you said finally. "I could have really..." you trailed off. Jill raised an eyebrow.

"Mm?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Don't do that, not this early," Jill scolded. "What did you need?"

You opened the fridge, eyes falling on nothing in particular.

"Could have really done with talking about it when I got in," you said tightly. "But then...well. You were busy."

Behind you, you felt Jill straighten up. Her voice grew softer for a moment.

"I'm here now, if you want to tell me about it."

"No thanks." you snapped. Jill stiffened.

"Suit yourself," she said simply. "Maybe tonight?"

You didn't say anything, slamming a carton of milk onto the counter with more force than you intended, with a dulled thud-slosh that made Jill snort.

"What did the milk ever do to you?" she prodded dryly, chucking her teaspoon into the sink with the teabag still on it. You gritted your teeth.

"Can you put that in the bin, please?"

"Why?"

"Because it's gross."

"It's a teabag, not a bloody used condom. And you're starting to sound like my mother." she chided flatly. You froze.

Jill seemed to sense the drop in temperature in the kitchen and, for once, didn't drag the point out any further. She cleared her throat and took her cup of tea out into the garden, setting it down on the steps as she sat on the patio and lit up her morning Marlboro. The smoke drifted lazily into the kitchen and you sighed loud enough for her to hear, slamming the door decisively. Jill peered back over her shoulder with a lucrative eye roll.

"Hey, I think the door blew shut." she called.

You stifled a scream and turned on the radio, the soothing cellos of Classic FM doing nothing to dull the incoming fight. The slammed door was simply a play for time.

As you washed up your breakfast dishes, you heard Jill take a phone call. You couldn't make out the details, and decided you were too annoyed at her to care.

"Right now? Can no one else- alright, alright. I'll be there in 20." she sighed, pocketing her phone. She stepped back into the kitchen and grabbed her car keys.

"Got to head in now. Forensics. They said-"

"Yeah, see you later." you mumbled as you scrubbed a stubborn coffee stain from your mug. Jill scoffed.

"Let's get dinner tonight? Marco's. I'll book us a table." she purred, stepping up behind you at the sink. "You can get that seafood linguine you keep going on about. Tiramisu for dessert, hm?"

You didn't say anything, ignoring how your stomach fluttered at the tone of her voice. Jill ran a finger over the back of your neck, brushing a a lock of hair away that had come loose from the bun. You shivered.

"8pm?" she murmured. You breathed out slowly.

''I was thinking,'' you swallowed. ''I'd go back to my place tonight.''

Jill paused her caresses, stiffening. "Oh, really?"

"Mhm."

"Didn't think this particular sulk was going to be a drawn-out one," Jill drawled, turning on her heel and grabbing her bag from the back of a chair. "You're full of surprises."

You span around, dishsoap suds spilling on the floor.

"We had an arrangement!" you snapped.

Jill sighed.

"We do have an arrangement. And I'm not discussing the terms and conditions with you when I need to be in the car driving to work."

"I felt... humiliated," you choked out, ignoring her shut-down as you wiped your hands on a tea towel. "If you're going to fuck whoever you want, can you at least fuck them when I'm not in the house?"

"You weren't in the house," Jill corrected, popping a mint into her mouth. "Not to begin with."

You shook your head at the audacity.

"I'm going home tonight," you snarled. "I'm done. I'm fucking done, Jill."

A flicker of something deeper shimmered across Jill's handsome features for a moment, before settling into her usual indifference.

"Do what you want," she sighed. "I'll call you later."

You threw down the tea towel as she slammed the front door behind her, the engine of her car revving moments later. You stood in the middle of the kitchen, head in your hands, hating every inevitable rope that would bind your wrists and keep you wanting her.

***

Your flat was silent save for the rumble of the main road. You showered, put on a load of laundry, and declined Jill's fourth call of the evening. She never left voicemails, which was infuriating, instead simply redialling until she was satisfied she wasn't going to get through. Perhaps inevitably, she rarely checked her own voicemails, meaning that she'd sometimes return from the shops one Tuesday with the packet of grated mozzarella you'd requested three months ago. You sighed away a fond smile.

When the front door opened and Jill swanned into the hallway, you stopped dead in your tracks. She dropped her key into the little dish you kept by the door, the one she'd brought you from Mykonos, and slipped off her loafers.

She was dizzyingly handsome, that would never be untrue. Even in the summer heat, she'd donned her tailored waistcoat over her shirt, though the sleeves were rolled up enough to show off her freckled arms and the wristwatch that always left a tan line. She had her glasses perched on her head, and her eyes narrowed with a mock intensity as she walked towards you, hands in her pockets.

"You weren't picking up," she said dryly. "Thought I'd stop by to drop off my key."

You swallowed. "Oh, right."

"Seeing as you're, as you put it, done." she continued, her eyes widening with teasing theatrics, walking into your kitchen and leaning back against the kitchen counter. "I figured I wouldn't need a key to this place anymore."

"Did you just come over to be a cock?"

"No, I had some shirts hanging in your wardrobe which I'd quite like back."

"Take them," you snapped, going to the fridge and grabbing a beer. "and fuck off."

Jill groaned.

"Y/N, it doesn't have to be this horrendous. We can at least talk it out so if I pass by you in Tesco it won't completely ruin your day."

"It's all just a joke to you, isn't it? Everything. The last six months. Me."

"This arrangement was your idea. As far as I'm concerned, we could have cut our losses a long time ago. But no, you weren't ready for that."

She leant back further on the kitchen counter, fingers tapping an incessant morse code rhythm on the granite surface. You caught sight of the delicate freckles on her stomach where her shirt had ridden up slightly as she stretched, and in that moment you hated them - truly hated them - because they weren't just yours to see, and she seemed to feast on the opportunity to make you remember that.

You had never been naïve enough to believe you'd get Jill Raymond to settle down. Those lengthly, neon-lit nights in alleyway wine bars and seeing stars as she ate you out in the threshold of her house because your legs gave out before she could get you upstairs. Repeated hook-ups that bled into morning strolls around the market and buying discounted peonies in the spring, joining her for her cousin's wedding and the delight you felt when she turned up to your birthday party in a new suit and danced with you in front of everyone. It walked the tightrope between bliss and dread, a liminal ocean of waiting for her to eat your heart.

You knew she would always have others. You could taste them on her lips and see the stolen nights in the bags under her eyes. When you couldn't find any more names to call her, she'd fucked you over the kitchen table and asked you how many times you needed to come to forgive her.

The arrangement had been whispered under the covers as dawn was breaking after another night of fighting.

I can't do this anymore, you'd whispered. Please don't make me.

Too entwined to pull away, but too painful to be pressed against her. The arrangement had worked, so long as she didn't remind you of it.

All she had to do was not remind you of it.

You looked at her now, mouth just slightly upturned in that smirk, and you knew all at once that she couldn't stop herself. That she'd never be able to resist the bittersweetness of making sure you knew she was craved.

"I need you to leave, please," you whispered. Jill's smirk faltered.

"Y/N..."

"You don't get to stand in my flat - in my flat - and laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing at you," Jill guffawed, head tilting. "Darling, I would never. But..."

"But?"

"But, this was your idea. And I understood, because you thought you could handle it. Nothing I could have said would have convinced you otherwise. You wanted to have your cake and eat it too."

You laughed bitterly. "Don't you dare..."

"No," Jill said, her voice suddenly laden with ice as she held up a finger. "No, don't you try to make this my fault. Don't try to tell me you didn't have a choice - every choice."

"And you didn't? Did I force you to stay with me?"

"Of course you didn't. Darling, I...loved our time together."

"Don't patronise me."

"For god's sake!" she snapped, slamming her fist on the countertop with a bang. You glared at her.

Jill rubbed her temples, taking her glasses off her head and sighing deeply.

"I'm not going to get on this bloody carousel of yours," she murmured. "Round and round, it's not going to stop. I should have put my foot down a long time ago."

"You loved the ride," you said, staring at her. "You did."

Jill smiled thinly. "I did, then you got needy."

You gritted your teeth, crossing the kitchen so you were face to face, fists clenched at your sides.

"Tell me I'm needy again," you growled. "I fucking dare you."

Jill straightened up, eyebrow arching, hands returning to her pockets.

"Are you squaring up to me?" she smirked. "That is...adorable."

"I fucking mean it, Jill."

She wet her lips, eyes scanning yours, an electric sparkle glinting in her dark irises.

"You're needy." she purred.

"Fuck you," you spat, eyes blazing. "Fuck. You."

Jill's hands moved at lightning speed, wrapping around your waist and pushing you backwards, slamming you into the kitchen table as her lips met yours. Your fingers dug into her linen-clad shoulders as you pushed your tongue between her teeth, tasting mint-shrouded tobacco and pride. You broke away breathlessly and looked up at her as she pushed you back onto the table, laying you flat and pressing her lips to your neck.

"God, I should hate you..." you whined, eyes fluttering shut. Jill hummed into your pulse, teeth nipping the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"I should hate- I should...oh..."

Her tongue licked a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe and you wrapped your legs around her waist. Jill pulled back, smirking at you as she gripped the waistband of your sweatpants and tugged them down.

"Go on, then," you snapped, biting your bottom lip. "This is the last time, make it count."

Jill's smirk widened.

"The last time, hm? Well, then..."

She slipped off your underwear with one swift motion, her lips placing wet kisses across your lower stomach, your thighs. You rocked your hips as she circled your cunt with one hand, holding you still with the other.

"What are you waiting for?" you chided through gritted teeth, aching for her touch despite the red hot rage that was simmering through your body.

Jill's eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"You know what? I don't appreciate your tone. You can glare at the table." she purred.

You frowned for a moment in confusion before she pulled you up and span you around, bending you over the table, hands gripping the sides as she pushed away books and magazines and unopened post.

"Spread," she growled, spanking you sharply. You paused, anger bubbling too fiercely to do as you were told, until she spanked the opposite cheek, her nails digging into the soft flesh. "Now, Y/N."

"Fuck you," you mewled, thighs trembling as you spread them wide and she slipped two long fingers across your slick folds.

"Oh, I will," she said matter-of-factly as she pushed a finger into your dripping cunt, holding it steady as you whined and pressed yourself back against her. "After you say please."

"What?! No..."

"Then you'll be here for a very long time, rutting on my fingers like a kitten in heat. It's no skin off my nose, Y/N."

You turned your head, glaring in her direction, fists balled as she teasingly stroked your lower back with her free hand.

"Just say please."

"You absolute piece of..."

Jill slipped another finger into your cunt, still not giving you the movement you craved, scissoring the supple digits inside you enough to make your insults die on your tongue.

"You make me call you needy, you might as well live up to the name, hm?"

You clenched around her fingers, earning a degrading chuckle that reverberated through your body. Tears of frustration burned your eyes.

"Please," you choked out. "Please..."

Jill moved her fingers gradually, a cruelly teasing pace.

"I think," she whispered as she began to pick up speed. "that every now and then, you'll still beg me to come over and fuck you just like this."

You mewled, brow furrowed. Jill continued.

"I think I'm absolutely right about that. Once in a blue moon, you'll remember that no one can fuck you like I do. There's no shame in that. And..."

She delicately traced your clit, making your hips buck.

"...I could never turn you down. Not when you whine so sweetly even when you're trying this hard to hate me."

Her free hand travelled down to rub wide, warming circles across your arse, fingernails scratching just enough to leave thin pink lines like she was trying to memorise every soft inch of you.

"I could never hate you, darling," she whispered as she toyed with your clit, the waves throbbing. "Look at you. Furious and so beautiful."

You pushed back with a high pitched whimper, hands clutching at nothing, grip lost to sweat and desperation.

"Come on my fingers, sweetheart," she instructed. "Don't you dare hold back. Not now."

The kitchen blurred into a kaleidoscope of light as her fingers caressed your g-spot, your clit singing on her thumb as you cried out, your throat raw, tears streaming down your cheeks as you waltzed with something that might have been laughter, rage, utter euphoria at what she could do to you, what she knew she could do.

Jill carefully slipped her fingers from your throbbing, cherry cunt and guided you to roll over so you could watch her suck them clean. You smirked with a half-sob, and she removed her index finger from her mouth with an obscene, slick pop.

She kept you pinned on the table, elbows bracketing your head, lips ghosting over yours. She wiped a stray tear or two from your cheeks, tracing the path from your red-rimmed eyes.

"Gorgeous for me, always," she murmured. She ran her tongue over your bottom lip and you tasted yourself, your fingers tangling in her golden hair. You brushed the locks away from her face for a moment before pushing her back up.

"Let me up," you growled. "Your turn."

Jill smirked, dragging you up by the collar of your t-shirt and letting you steady yourself.

You roughly unzipped her tight black jeans and tugged them down her long legs, your breath catching at the toned muscle of her thighs and the neat trim of her bush poking out from the edges of her underwear. She arched her eyebrow as she slipped her underwear down, leaning back on the kitchen table as she spread her legs.

"Well?" she teased. You glared, sinking to your knees and looking up at her and, for all that you despised her in that moment, tried to burn the sight of her looking down at you into your mind for the nights where you knew you'd ache for her.

She was soaked. The soft hair around her sex was damp and musty with sweetness, clit swollen to the point where your breath ghosting over it was enough for her to groan. You lapped greedily at her cunt, inhaling her, whilst her thighs trembled on either side of your head and all she could do was breathe your name into the heavy air.

You pushed the tip of your tongue inside her and she moaned sharply, her hands suddenly flying to your hair. She tangled her fingers in to steady herself, riding your face with her practiced ease which was smothered with need.

"Christ..." she gasped, her velvet voice dripping from your pores.

You ran your tongue over her clit, soaking it in her arousal before taking it between your lips, tongue teasing the throbbing core of her. Her feet left the floor as she let her legs fall over your shoulders, ankles crossed on your back, thighs clenched with the effort of staying on the table as she chased her orgasm. You could feel it build from the horizon until it centred on her clit, her willowy frame focused entirely on oblivion as she let you pull her over the edge.

She came with your name on her lips and her clit between yours.

Afterwards, she dressed in silence. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed, glasses perched on her head once again as she patted herself down. You sat at the table and watched her.

"So," she said softly. "See you around?"

You didn't say anything. Jill nodded once.

She slowly walked over to you, hand slung in her trouser pocket, the other reaching down to trace the outline of your jaw.

"Mm. Always gorgeous."

Despite yourself, you briefly leant into her touch. Before you had the time to think about asking her to stay, she pulled away.

You closed your eyes and kept them closed long after the door shut behind her.

[bernietaylors]

a look™

[bernietaylors]

a look™

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Commander Kate—“Unfortunately I was raised to finish my meals, so I don’t care if your legs are shaking, take it, darling”—Lethbridge Stewart.

[jeniferprince]

can we? 🥺

patreon // buy prints here

[commiefaggoth]

so embarrassing to watch yourself become obsessed with a character that feels tailor made for you specifically to become obsessed with. feels like i fell into a trap made just for me. like damn they got me. those are all the things i like and go crazy for

[itsonlydana]

love down the drain || silent witness

pairing: DI Jill Raymond x fem!reader

A heatwave makes it impossible for you to keep your thirsting after Jill a secret.

warnings/tags: explicit sex, age gap, shower sex, power-dynamic, colleagues, dirty talk, pet names

word count: 7k

+ masterlist + rules +🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The heatwave took everyone in London by surprise; a sudden, dramatic spike in the weather forecast that most people had initially met with typical British scepticism. After weeks of temperatures rising and falling without warning, weather reports had lost much of their credibility, and the warnings had been dismissed with the usual incredulous certainty that they were bound to be wrong once more. 

Somehow, half one arrived in the blink of an eye, the little wisps of clouds that had wavered across the sky throughout the morning faded on a bright blue infinity, and you were picking your way through a field of wheat under a punishing midday sun, sweat trickling down your back as you cursed, for the hundredth time, this shit-show of a case. 

The phone signal you were chasing had been enough. Just enough to narrow the last known activity to somewhere within the field boundary, a jagged green block on a map that looked deceptively simple until you were the one standing inside it. No road access worth speaking of, no clear track through the crop. Just wheat, heat, and the faint suspicion that whatever you were looking for was already too close to decay to be kind.

The humidity was suffocating, a cruel kind of warmth rising from the earth, heat bleeding up from the soil and threading through the tall crop, where it tangled with the relentless sun blazing overhead.

“I hate this,” you groaned, clenched out between your teeth and felt the fine, bristly hairs of the stalk rasp over your clammy palms as you carved yourself a path. 

Behind you, leaving all the annoying work of pushing wheat aside to you, Jill chuckled. “It’s not that bad,” she said simply. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know she was wearing that effortless, unbothered expression of indifference. 

A bead of sweat crawled down your neck.

It was almost as irritating as Jill, strolling around in her patterned shirt and a black, tight trousers combination, and without any sign that she was bothered by the weather. The only thing that gave the slightest hint was the blonde hair in a low ponytail, which, in this state, was otherwise only found at the pathology centre when bowed over a body, but even that, if confronted, Jill would dismiss as a matter of practicality in that infuriating tone that made you feel stupid for even bothering to try. 

She had that effect on you, that unsubtle air of superiority you found yourself drawn to as easily as a fly to honey, sweet and rotting, unable to help the way you kept reaching for the older woman’s attention anyway. Greedy for it, almost, the way you angled yourself closer to her presence, as if proximity alone might let you absorb some of it or at least let it glaze over you.

Especially when it was Jill doing what she did best.

Knowing it better. Doing it better. Being better.

Whenever she fell into that amused drawl of correcting you, contradicting you with that downcurved smirk and challenging arch of an eyebrow, you felt it pulse through your body and settle between your legs. All she had to do was roll her eyes at you, and you knew you’d be arching and writhing in your bed later, fingers lazily writing her name sticky and wet while you moaned her name into your pillow pathetically lonely. 

You swallowed around a dry throat and blinked into the sun until dark spots danced across your vision and successfully distracted you from that line of thought. 

The sun beating down on you and bringing you one step closer to a heat stroke wasn’t helping at all. 

Dragging your shoes through the crop and forcing your way through the dense, unyielding stalks, you fixed your attention on hating everything about it. The weather, the bloody field, the absurdity of trudging through it in this heat, even the certainty that you’d be rinsing dust and sweat off your skin again tonight.  

So when a hand landed on your shoulder, you nearly jumped out of your skin. 

Wheeling around sharp enough to feel a muscle in your neck strain painfully, your heart only tripped over itself instead of calming down at the realisation that the hand belonged to Jill.

The older woman raised an eyebrow, a hint of teeth flashing as she huffed. “Relax, kid. What did you expect? A scarecrow tackling you down?” 

“No,” you pressed out. 

You only noticed her hand smoothed along your shoulder blade to your arm due to the path of heat that burned through the material of your t-shirt. 

Jill’s eyebrow climbed higher, almost disappearing in the curl of blonde hair where she’d pushed her sunglasses up. 

“No?” she echoed. “That’s reassuring. For a moment there, I thought I’d startled a particularly nervous bunny.”

Bunny, your eyes widened, and you suppressed a needy whimper.

“I’m fine,” you spoke through the exhale of air, lifting a hand to wipe the back of it over your temple. “Just sick of this fucking treasure hunt,” you grumbled. 

“Good.” Her gaze travelled over you then, taking in the sweat plastering your hair to your forehead, the flushed colour high in your cheeks, and the way you were breathing a little harder than you ought to have been. “I’d hate to lose a detective to agricultural terrorism.”

You rolled your eyes. “Funny.”

“I thought so.”

She withdrew her hand and tilted her head slightly. The amusement lingered for another second before it faded. “How much water have you had?”

You blinked. “What?”

“How much did you drink today?”

“A normal amount.”

“That’s not a number,” she tutted. 

You opened your mouth and immediately regretted it when you realised you didn’t actually know.

Jill gave a short, unimpressed huff. “Right. So I’ll lose you to your own foolishness and dehydration.”

“Cheers,” you scoffed and wondered if you actually looked as close to passing out as it had felt when she had touched you. “I’m fine.”

“Mm.”

The noncommittal sound somehow managed to convey exactly how little she believed you.

You hated it when she did that. It made you far too aware of how little the dampness in your pants had to do with the rest of the sweat that rolled over your spine and stuck your shirt to your armpits.

The older blonde glanced towards the far edge of the field, where the wheat rippled in lazy waves beneath the heat haze. “How much further?” she asked and momentarily lifted her chin high enough that you were dazzled with arousal by the view of her side profile, the hawkish nose and thin lips, the splatter of freckles that came out more prominent in the summer. 

You quickly checked your phone, squinting against the glare on the screen. “Couple hundred metres. Maybe less.”

“Then let’s get moving.”

You frowned and then grinned. “Thought you said it wasn’t that bad.”

Jill rolled her eyes without looking at you. You wanted to get down on your knees right in the dirt and drink her annoyance.

“It isn’t,” she commented, and when you couldn’t even suspect a hint of red flushes on her evenly tanned skin, you actually believed her. She continued, dragging her gaze over you once more. “It is, however, turning you the colour of a fire engine.”

Before you could protest, she was already stepping past you, shouldering through the wheat with surprising efficiency.

“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “The quicker we find what we’re looking for, the quicker I can get you somewhere with shade before you embarrass the met by passing out in a field.”

“I am not going to pass out!” you objected indignantly, even though the sight of her arse in the sinfully tight trousers gave you a real challenge. 

“Good.”

Jill didn’t even look back.

“Try to keep up, then, bunny.”

By some miracle, you managed to keep your composure, even as the word ‘bunny’ kept looping uselessly in your head. Jill’s voice, with that low seductive drawl, cut through every attempt at professional thought, scattering them into something far less appropriate and leaving you with the overwhelming, inconvenient urge to follow her wherever she led. 

You’d abandoned every hope at representing the met competently—Jill could do that for the both of you—and so you blamed it on the heat, waved your hand with a, “It’s bloody hot, isn’t it?” when the local police officer threw you a questioning look after you had yet again zoned out with your eyes set on Jill’s profile as she took a sip of her water bottle and ran her tongue over the glistening bottom lip to catch a drop of water from the corner of her mouth. It was pathetic, how shallow your breathing became in contradiction to the loud pulse between your legs, a hammering thump thump thump that you damned. 

Why couldn’t your libido catch the hint and fall into that same languid sluggishness that had taken over the rest of your body when you were sitting in the passenger seat of the car? 

The windows were up, the air conditioning turned on more for your sake than Jill’s and you were blissfully slumped against the headrest, eyes fluttering close again and again as the countryside and its golden summer light falling through tree tops accompanied you over the curving and turning streets. Flickering patterns danced over the dashboard, making you drowsy.

Then, somewhere along the winding roads, the AC started to give up. At first it was subtle, less of a breeze, then nothing at all.

“What’s this bullshit now?” Jill furrowed her eyebrows, leaning forward slightly to twist the dial but nothing happened. She exhaled through her nose, sharper this time. “Of course.” 

“Oh no.” You lifted a hand to fan yourself. “Tell me this isn’t happening.”

Jill’s lip twitched, irritation flickering across her face as nothing she did resulted in anything but a palpable tension. She sat back in her seat, not responding to you right away. Instead, the windows clicked and then slid down, granting you the answer. Hot air rushed in immediately. You could practically feel her already deciding how to handle you complaining about it.

So you bit your tongue and kept silent. 

Heat pooled between the seats, clung to the upholstery, pressed against your skin until even breathing felt indulgent. A sheen of sweat had formed practically everywhere on your body, your hair sticking at your temples as you shifted again, trying and failing to find a cooler angle against the seat of this damn torture that leather seats were. 

“Thank you for driving,” you broke the silence between you after a while, catching what little air the speed of Jill’s driving offered. Opening your eyes, you turned your head to look at the older woman and almost immediately, the consequential throb of arousal awoke.

Jill was casually leaning back in her seat, one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting against the door, tapping a slow rhythm that only drew your focus on her long, deft fingers and her slender wrist. The faint blue tracery of veins underneath soft-looking skin, the fine hairs and scattered freckles that wandered all the way up her arm until they disappeared under the short sleeve of her green shirt. Her hair was still up, a few messy strands had escaped the bobble and curled around her cheekbones, glowing golden in the sizzling afternoon sun. The sunglasses sat on her nose, eyes trained on the street. 

Surprisingly, a faint sheen of heat had formed at her throat now, catching the light when she tilted her head slightly. The top buttons of her shirt hung open, and the flush blooming across her skin lured your eyes to stare at the just barely visible rise of her chest.

At your words, the corners of her mouth turned into another one of her devastating smirks. 

“I didn’t particularly fancy you crashing a Mercedes into a hedgerow because you aren’t built for this heat,” she said lightly. 

Jill adjusted her grip on the wheel, sunlight catching the edge of her sunglasses as she changed gear. The car purred forward through the heat-slicked road, and you didn’t even apprehend half of what she said; all you were able to focus on were her fingers curved around the wheel, and the sound of her voice rolling through your body. Nothing could stop the thoughts, couldn’t stop the delirious imagination of what else Jill’s fingers could do. 

What you wanted her to do. 

What an unshakeable longing you had for her, and how the weather caused everything else to melt away in a shimmer of heat, seeping into every single one of your pores

You squirmed slightly in your seat, holding back with dear life from crossing your legs for some relief. 

She tapped the wheel once, twice—passing another car with a lurch and victorious grin that made your head swim. The wind tugged forcefully at her hair, twirling the curls around her head. “And it’s not so bad letting me take over, is it?” Jill threw you a look in the mirror, “You just have to sit there looking pretty, bunny.” 

Your throat went a little tight at that, heat rushing up your neck before you could stop it. You fumbled for the water bottle in the cup holder, unscrewing the cap a touch too fast.

“Yeah,” you managed, far too quickly, and took a long drink that did absolutely nothing to fix the problem she’d just created. You kept your gaze determinedly on her for a moment after, cheeks still warm, the bottle cold against your palms and between your legs, your trousers soaking up every drop of condensation. Squinting, you let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you sweating?” 

Jill didn’t look at you more than a flick of a sharp glance. “I told you I usually don’t have problems with the summer heat,” she said, her emphasis scolding. “Anyone would break a sweat in a bloody greenhouse like this.”

There was a faint flush at her cheekbones, a brief press of her tongue against her lower lip. She reached up, finally tugging at the collar of her shirt, and you once again saw the shine along her collarbones. 

“Stop that.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the bottle as you wondered how it would taste to lick it up. To let your tongue dance across her warmed, sweaty skin. To find out where else the heat affected her, if her thighs were as warm as yours, if you could drag down the zipper of her trousers, feel her heat—

Jill’s voice wasn’t loud, not like the wind tearing through the open windows, not like the engine’s steady pull as the car surged down the narrow country road, though it didn’t need to be for the command to snap your attention to her face. The tone in itself made your spine straighten, and shame rising up inside you. Christ, what have you been thinking? Lusting after Jill, your superior, like this in front of her? You ripped your gaze away from her, staring at the reflecting road.

“I’m so—” you started, too fast.

Jill didn’t let you finish.

“If you don’t want us to land in a ditch, your eyes should stop begging me to fuck you right here in the car,” she continued, a muscle in her jaw jumping. 

Oh, let the ground open up and swallow you. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you tried to save yourself but Jill raised a single finger and silenced you effectively. 

“No, bunny. I may tolerate a lot from you, but being lied to isn’t one of them,” she chided.

A sense of dizziness came over you; you couldn’t tell whether it was the speed of the car, Jill’s awareness towards your pitiful crush or the heat. As you reached for the bottle of water again, your fingers brushed against it, slippery with condensation, and you hated how obvious this whole thing suddenly felt.

Jill shifted up her hips in the seat. Her sunglasses slid just a fraction down the bridge of her nose.

And everything changed.

That look in her eyes was unmistakable. Jill’s eyes devoured you, pinned you down into your seat with a predatory intensity that bordered on pure, feral delight, and a broken sound that took shape in the form of a whimper barrelled out of your lungs. 

“What?” Jill huffed, and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her neck where you could see her swallow. “Did you really think I wouldn’t catch on? Don’t insult my intelligence and perception.” 

“I didn’t want you to find out,” you rasped, heart pounding between your legs and in your throat. 

“No, of course not,” Jill said, steering the car onto the lane leading into London and pressing down on the accelerator pedal, “You just can’t help yourself, I’ve noticed. All I have to do is give you an order, and you’re all but creaming your pants.” 

The blush burned all the way to the tips of your ears, and you knew that protest was futile. Especially considering that you subconsciously pressed the bottle closer to your middle, right where you wished her fingers or face—preferably wearing that same expression—would be.

“There you go again,” Jill dragged the words out. She pushed the sunglasses back up, leaving you to make out her expression through the slim space between her eyes and the frame. “Let me make one thing clear,” she started, and there was a non-negotiable tone in her voice that had your eyes widening.

“I don’t date colleagues.”

“Yes?”

You wilted immediately. You’d seen it coming a mile away, had pondered over it multiple times, but the certainty of her drawing this line did little to soften the blow. 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jill clicked her tongue, “You make that face, and suddenly I’m the villain for having basic professional standards.” 

“Sorry.” You folded your arms.

“When this happens—” At that, you interrupted her with a gasp, and Jill let out a short breath through her nose. 

“Don’t—” She reached over without warning. 

Two fingers flicked your thigh—quick, precise, slightly painful, just enough to jolt you out of it. 

“—cut me off,” she finished. 

Your breath snatched in your chest, flames igniting where the snap of her touch rippled over your skin. “Hey—”

She ignored you, didn’t even glance at you this time. Her eyes stayed on the road, posture steady, hand already back on the wheel. “When this happens,” she continued, tone calm but edged with warning and you held back from getting giddy over the when, not if, “this is not a romantic relationship. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded fast.

“I don’t do exceptions at work. I don’t do special treatment. And I certainly don’t do discussions about it,” Jill punctuated each rule with a firmness, a tap of her fingers onto the wheel. “If you let whatever this is bleed into the job, you’re done. I won’t put up with any big teary eyes.”

Even though you clearly wondered how you would be able to separate whatever was about to happen from work when you couldn’t even manage to control your thoughts, you were fervent, ready to throw yourself over whatever came to earn Jill’s attention in the ways she was ready to give to you.

“I—I understand that,” you said, practically vibrating in your seat. 

“Good girl,” Jill drawled, and said nothing more about it. 

Until you walked into the changing room at work, ready to get into a far more comfortable—and more important, better smelling—outfit for the paperwork waiting to be filled out, and Jill followed you in. The door clicked shut, and with her dark eyes on you, Jill turned the key. 

You shifted on the spot, trying unsuccessfully to peel your shirt away from your skin. Sweat gathered at the base of your neck, trickling down your spine. You couldn’t think straight anymore, not with Jill and her flushed skin. Tiny beads of sweat gathered along her hairline. One droplet traced a slow path from her temple, disappearing behind the curve of her jaw. More lingered at the hollow of her throat, glimmering against sun-flushed skin.

She clicked her tongue softly and dragged it across her lips. 

You were sure your knickers were soaked through.

“Shower?” she asked, no, ordered, and pulled her shirt off without hesitation. 

Your train of thought detonated.

One second there had been words. The next there was only static.

Jill tossed the shirt onto a nearby bench, entirely unconcerned by the effect this might have on anyone unfortunate enough to possess functioning eyes. The white tank top underneath clung to her from the heat of the day, the fabric damp in places, outlining lean muscle and so much skin. Her arms were bare, tanned from whatever free-time activities that you could only take a wild guess about, considering she was always wearing some sort of shirt at work, and a fine sheen of sweat caught beneath the fluorescent lights whenever she moved. There was the clear outline of her bra, a white practical thing with straps as thin as the tank top, and of course, you had known Jill had breasts, but seeing the outline without a waistcoat? Without a shirt buttoned up? 

God.

You stared shamelessly. 

A bead of sweat slipped down the inside of her forearm as she reached for her locker. Another disappeared beneath the strap of the tank top at her shoulder. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling out her bobble and pushed blonde strands off her forehead. The motion exposed the line of her throat for a brief second.

Your thoughts scattered like startled birds. You couldn’t hold onto a single one long enough to make sense of it.

“Oh, sweet thing. Is there truly nothing you can do by yourself?” 

Jill prowled closer, opening the button of her trousers with one hand. The other came to rest on your sternum, from where she slowly stroked a finger up to your chin. For a moment, you fell for the gentle circles she drew into your skin, the depth of her brown eyes. For a moment, you inhaled her scent, that dizzying, musky perfume that smelled like patchouli and was sticking to her on sweaty skin. For a moment, you were in a freefall of wondering what sex with Jill Raymond would be like. 

Her thumb pressed against your windpipe, eliciting a gasp that opened your lips in a knee-jerk reaction that only served her right because Jill’s mouth crashed against yours and robbed you of every bit of air inside your lungs. She was firm against yours, unyielding in the way she closed the distance, her free hand slipping into the front of your trousers to yank you towards her. 

The sound you made was swallowed instantly.

Jill didn’t pause for it. If anything, it made her push in closer.

Her hand shifted from your jaw into your hair, fingers curling rough enough to sting at your scalp. She tilted your head without breaking the kiss, adjusting you mid-contact, biting onto your lower lip to slip her tongue into your mouth. 

Breath, heat, movement—everything blurred into it.

Another kiss followed immediately, then another, each one landing with the same decisive pressure, like she was pulling you further out of yourself with every contact. Your responses only seemed to sharpen her focus—every small sound, every instinctive lean forward met with the slightest shift from her that kept you exactly where she wanted you, and it wasn’t long until you were moaning, whimpering, hips stuttering only to be put back into your place by Jill’s groans and admonishing pinches and bites. 

Even as you were chasing her mouth and only managed to suddenly have her thumb pushed onto your tongue, Jill gave a husky laugh.

“Get undressed,” Jill demanded, taking a step back. “Or I’ll fuck you fully clothed in the shower. I don’t really care, even though I’d absolutely love to see you take my fingers.”

Good grief.

You must have set a record—that’s how quickly your shirt, bra and trousers ended up in a heap on the bench, and you tried not to look at Jill, as the sight of her would probably have sent you into another state of paralysis that you absolutely didn’t want to allow yourself to fall into. Leaning forward to take off your knickers, you caught a glimpse of Jill’s endlessly long bare legs out of the corner of your eye, and then there was a smack – a blossoming, wonderful pain where her hand massaged the right cheek of your bum. Once again, just like before in the field, you flinched and stood up so abruptly that you dropped your underwear on the floor. 

“Bunny,” Jill chuckled again, striding shamelessly and completely naked past you. No woman in her fifties should have such a perfect arse; that was the only thing you could think of before you stumbled after her. 

The showers at work had never been anything more than a place to scrub off whatever grime you could before heading home—physical, mostly, but also the kind of invisible residue the day left clinging to you. They had always served a purpose: get in, get clean, get out. No lingering. No unnecessary conversation at your most vulnerable.

Now, walking barefoot on the cool tiles, the sound of your own breathing oddly loud in the enclosed space, and arousal sticking to your thighs, that idea felt almost laughable.

Because Jill was there.

And the sight of her long, slender body presenting itself fully confident for you to admire and stray to. 

From now on, you were certain you’d never think of these showers as just showers again. 

“Aren’t you just the prettiest thing?” Jill purred and caught you by your neck and waist, her touch hot and firm, steering you under the spray that she’d turned on seconds before. 

A shower of water poured over you; the temperature cold enough to startle you and pebble your nipples instantly into stiff peaks, but not so icy that you’d feel the chill. It was the perfect contrast to the heat of Jill’s body and the burning sensation that scintillated and flared within you, gradually setting every synapse ablaze. With her hands never still—wandering hands, hands stroking along your ribs and kneading your arse—Jill pressed herself against you, breast to breast, belly to belly, all bare skin, her thigh immediately giving a persistent jolt that made your knees go weak and your cunt throb between your legs.

Kissing her under the stream of water was indescribable, an intimacy of closeness and wetness, and you raised your arms to place them, almost hesitantly, on Jill’s hips. 

“You can touch me,” Jill murmured lowly, scratching her fingernails along your spine. 

Her lips traced an elusive path across your cheeks, back to your upper lip, which she lingered over until you tried to kiss her back properly, then her teeth grazed a line up your jawline to your ear. Her thigh pressed against you, forcing you backwards against the wall, slick with water, and out of the stream, pinning you against the tiles with glorious strength and forcing your legs further apart.

“Considering I’m about to make you come hard enough to fuck every thought out of your gorgeous head—” Jill’s fingers followed your hipbone, scraping through your pubic hair and you moan low in your throat, helplessly awaiting every touch, “you are free to explore while you still can, little bunny.”

Permission granted, you dove forward—not so much that you could escape her resolute grip on you and oh, the way you slid forward on her thigh, rolling your cunt over the firm, wet muscle made you whimper right into the open-mouthed kiss. It was more tongue than anything, teeth clacking and biting down, her more than you, licking behind your teeth and tugging at your bottom lip. You smoothed your hands over her hips, to her narrow waist, roamed over her firm, smaller breasts and cupped them both in your palms, squeezed and dragged your thumbs over her stiff nipples, watched rapidly how her eyes slanted shut and greedily tasted her moan. 

“That’s it,” Jill laughed, and the hand that was back in your neck urged you forward and then down. 

Understanding what she wanted, you trailed kisses over her neck, licked a long line over her throat and pressed your tongue against the hollow dip, eager to get a sample of her perfume; you tasted salt and sandalwood, the purest form of an aphrodisiac. 

“Down,” Jill corrected when she had had enough of you lavishing her neck and tongue, lapping at her pulse points, not daring to leave a hickey—your instincts, like an animal in front of a predator—whispered to you it would have been a dangerous game. Your mouth enclosed around one nipple, and the groan that echoed through the shower room was the most arousing sound you had ever heard. “Atta girl,” Jill praised, and you glanced up, blinked despite the water, and it blurred the sight but what a sight it was.

The older woman had her head tipped back under the stream, water spilling over in a grin parted lips and cutting clean paths down the sharp line of her jaw, catching on dark lashes of half-lidded eyes before running in thin, shining trails across her cheeks, stretching as a “Oh fuck yes,” was moaned into the room. You looked up, that angle making her seem even taller, more imposing, a goddess to worship with her usually bright hair darkened by the water, clinging to her temples and neck, outlining every elegant angle of her face. 

All the while, you continued to chase the contact of her, gasping and pressing your clit onto Jill’s thigh, dragging sticky wetness all over her, only to be washed away by the water, the drops dripping along your body, collecting slippery between your legs. 

The hand in the base of your neck gripped you more demandingly, pulling you away from Jill’s breasts—which was a shame, you could’ve spent an eternity there, sucking and nipping them—and to Jill’s mouth again; you stopped mentally complaining over losing Jill’s breasts because Jill’s tongue was also quite marvellous. 

Your heart was pounding, almost as fast as the words of “Please,” that you rambled out trying to get Jill’s wandering hand from your belly to your centre.

“Oh, you beg so sweet,” Jill cooed, splaying her hand over your throat, letting it follow the waterfalls of water to roughly pinch a nipple. You slammed your head back, nearly avoiding cracking your skull open as she wasted no time treating your other nipple the same way. “And you cry even prettier!” she sounded amused, overjoyed as you could say nothing more than her name and a tirade of please and a combination of both, hands scrambling for a hold on her shoulders. 

“Easy, darling.” Jill leaned in, sucking at a spot on your throat, and you felt her grin. “I will make you feel so good,” she spoke directly into the hickey that was no doubt there, going by the intense, swollen sensation of your skin. “You need that, don’t you? Need your superior to take you apart like you’ve dreamed about…tsk tsk tsk.” Her teeth sank into the mark once more, ripping another gasp out of you. “How often do you touch yourself thinking about me? Trying to fuck yourself when you truly, really—” she paused, and her hand finally cupped your cunt, teasing you by hovering over your clit with her palm, “can’t do it half as good as me, mhm?”

And then two fingers sank into you in one smooth thrust, and your gasp turned into a whimper and a moan, a near scream as Jill curled her finger just right so the tips stroked promptly against your G-spot. 

“You’re soaked, bunny,” Jill grinned into a kiss, before her tongue was licking up the roof of your mouth, and you huffed a breath, kissed her back deep and desperate, starving for her lips just as much as for the stretch of Jill so deeply inside you. 

“Are you surprised?” you whined and panted as Jill’s fingers worked wonders in and out of your wet heat, stretched you open, curled and twisted and had you writhing and aching, your thighs clamping down on the one Jill kept between yours for leverage. 

Jill hummed, pleasantly low, and it harmonised with the wet squelch of the spray and movement of her hand, sounds of her fucking you into a stupor. “Maybe I will keep you like this,” Jill murmured and brought her other hand back to your breasts, squeezing them, scratching her nails over the wet flesh and leaving red angry streaks, “I finally have you doing what I want and not running your smart mouth.”

Jerking into her touch, you couldn’t even try to answer her in anything but a shaky inhale of breath. Your inner walls pulsed around Jill’s fingers, a coil winding tighter and tighter. 

“Mm. That’s it. Much better when you stop trying to manage it yourself,” she growled, her mouth hovering inches away from yours and breathing in your snappy, panting breaths. 

Wet hair clung to your neck and temple, the floor beneath your pooling with water, and you tried to adjust your stance on it, opened your legs wider for her to crowd closer, all naked, slick skin; her hard nipples against yours with traces of water between you, squishing everything together. Jill was merciless, fucking her fingers into you in a ruthless and tight pace, barely pulling out before thrusting back inside, the pad of her middle finger curling against that ridget spot inside you that made you tilt your head back into the spray of water and try to breathe without swallowing too much.

“Aren’t you going to let me know how good I am to you?”

You blinked blearily at her, trying to make out what she was saying over the delicious sensations rolling over your spine, searing like molten silver. A narrow breath tripped out of you when Jill’s fingers dragged out of you and she circled your clit, coated in your hot juices. 

“Jill,” you whispered hoarsely, hips bucking toward her in desperation.

Your orgasm was quickly building further and further, the nimble fingers stroking through your folds and over your clit, flicking and rolling it again and again, over and over, until you were clawing at Jill, moaning helplessly into the flesh of her shoulder, feeling the defined muscles there.

Her fingers pressed tighter onto your swollen clit, tapped it in time with the click of her tongue.

“Louder.”

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart.” 

“Jill, please—” you cried, uncaring now if anyone could hear the strain in your voice, the snap of her hand. “Please, please, you’re so good, you’re so perfect,” you rambled, eyes closing as you fought for breath when the circles of her fingers became smaller and quicker. 

“Oh, I know,” Jill purred, and you flushed hot all over, “and you’re a needy thing that’s going to come on my perfect fingers. Isn’t that right? Because all that it takes for a good girl like you is some fingers up your cunt, and getting fucked by an older woman in charge.” Her voice was honey, far too sweet for the words that engraved themselves on every inch of your skin, and her lips were right against your ear, “Show me how much you love that I’m the one fucking your pussy at work.”

Within a second, you came on her command with your tongue pressing against Jill’s shoulder, pleasure blinding in your gut, in your spine, curling in your toes; a high electricity running through your veins as Jill relentlessly fucked you through the orgasm, thrusted her fingers back inside you and continued the best she could with you clenching around her, everything in you locking up to leave you trembling, shaking, relying on a strong arm around your waist and a thigh between your legs. 

All but boneless and riding out the waves of your orgasm, you nuzzled your nose into Jill’s neck, tears of relief spilling over your cheeks and rolling hotter than the spray of the shower down your bodies. 

“That’s it, bunny, ride it out.” 

Jill didn’t stop playing with you until you batted at her hand, once, twice, a third time. The sudden emptiness made you whimper, hips giving one last weak roll against her thigh before you sagged completely into her hold. Her arm stayed locked around you, while the water beat down on both of you, cooling you down again. She brought her glistening fingers up between your faces, spreading them so you could see your own cum stretching between them. 

“Look at that mess,” she murmured, voice low and pleased. “Soaking an higher-ups fingers right here at work. What would your colleagues think?”

“That I’m exceptional team member?” you grinned breathlessly.

You could clearly see how the arched eyebrow and roll of Jill eyes were meant to distract you from the twitch in the corner of her mouth, those rare laugh lines showing for a millisecond. She pressed her fingers to your lips, pushing two of them past your teeth for you to slightly gag. “Clean them. Taste how desperate you get when I finger-fucl you where anyone could walk in.”

Your tongue worked obediently over her water-rippled skin, licking and sucking every drop while she watched with dark, satisfied eyes. You didn’t remind her that she had locked the door or that nearly no one used these showers anyways. For your obedient silence, Jill cupped your jaw, thumb stroking over your lower lip. 

“Hands on the wall,” she ordered, her finger smearing your spit over your chin where it mixed with the water. “Push that arse out for me, will you?” 

You obeyed without hesitation, turning to brace your palms against the cool tile. Jill stepped in tight behind you, moulding her wet body against your back, one arm braced beside your head while the other—as you checked with a glance over your shoulder to see her lean form stretched all over you, her breasts flattened against your shoulder blades—reached between her own legs. 

Her fingers found her swollen clit and started rubbing in fast, determined and familiar circles, a confidence of knowing herself visible in how the first touch of her hand led to her grunting and pressing her hips flush to your arse, grinding herself hard against the curve of your cheek with every stroke. The slick heat of her dragged over your skin as she rocked faster, chasing her own release. 

All you could do, in a vertiginous obsession with this intimacy and wild, feral lust that went into every controlled thrust, was to encouragingly push against Jill, your hands squeaking over the tiles and your back arching. There was the rhythmically smack of skin against skin, the drenched curls of Jill’s coarse hair, the splatter of water down onto you.

“Fuck—stay right there,” she growled into your ear, breath hot. Her free hand gripped your hair first, fisting it tight to pull your head back as you moaned and offered your neck for her to sink her teeth into. 

You would have stayed here forever, and for a brief moment, a flash of sanity broke through—a wild, untamed alarm ringing somewhere beneath the delirium, shrill enough to cut through the fog. It was a flare shot desperately from your heart, a final warning that this could only end in disaster, that heartbreak waited somewhere at the end of this road.

Then Jill’s nose dragged slowly along your neck, all the way to your ear, and the warning vanished beneath her rough hiss, “Gonna come all over this perfect arse.” Her voice broke, her fingers pressed harder, flicking and rolling in frantic motions. She panted, hips snapping forward in jerky, needy thrusts. 

You were unable to stop the whimper as Jill’s body locked up against yours, and she came with a low, guttural moan that intertwined itself around your heart with thorns, latched onto your brain like poisonous ivy and made everything except her riding out the waves of pleasure against you unimportant. 

Your knees were still trembling when Jill nudged you upright again.

Before you could even think about protesting, she reached past you for the wall-mounted shampoo dispenser and pressed a generous amount into her palm.

“Head back,” she said.

You obeyed unthinkingly.

A moment later, her fingers disappeared into your hair, working the shampoo through the damp strands before settling against your scalp. She massaged in slow, circular motions that drew a helpless sigh from somewhere deep in your chest.

Jill washed you first.

She cleaned away the sweat, grime, and come, and every so often, there would be a playful pinch at your arse or a sharp nip at your shoulder that made her smirk against your skin when you yelped.

Only once she seemed satisfied that you were clean did she turn her attention to herself, making quick, efficient work of her own hair and body.

By the time you made it back to the changing room, Jill had wrapped a small towel around her waist, the fabric barely reaching mid-thigh.

She caught your chin and pressed a brief kiss to your lips.

“Get dressed, bunny,” she murmured. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Dinner?” you repeated blankly. “I haven’t even bought groceries yet.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.” The amused look she gave you made you feel as though you’d missed the punchline to a joke. “I’m not finished with you yet,” Jill said, entirely matter-of-fact. “And I’d much rather you pass out from my strap than from forgetting to eat.” Her mouth twitched, that sharp grin reminding you of a wolf leering at its prey. “Hop hop, bunny.”

[itsonlydana]

hello today i am thinking about how kate could've literally died in every episode she was in (maybe except power of three) and i think while i do love her plot armour, the angstober fics need to be on point.

[rcrisu]

Breathes in-

PIFFINs!!!

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

I like my women like I like my coffee:

in a plastic cup

COVERED IN BEES

Voting ended onJun 20

[bookqueen101]

Project Hail Mary - Osgate version

I'm not going to write this as a fic but @itsonlydana and I were making each other sad with thoughts of this Osgate AU last night and I want to share.

Kate in Eva's role, Osgood as Grace, UNIT being a key part of the Petrova taskforce

There's some handwaving around the universe being populated by aliens in the Who world and how that relates to the possible solutions. Let's say aliens have left earth alone in terms of help, too concerned with their own worlds perhaps. Go with it.

As for the Doctor... We'll come to them.

As UNIT comes up with the plan for the Hail Mary, Kate's instinct is to keep Osgood on earth - they'll need her to survive the 20 years of the mission, UNIT will have their work cut out for them and Kate needs her scientist by her side for that.

It's easy to push aside any thought of whether it's selfish to keep the woman she loves with her while there's other viable options for the mission.

Until the disaster happens and they are left without a trained scientist.

Kate is frantically looking through files and records for another option. Osgood knew immediately when she heard the news of the disaster.

She knows she has to go but that doesn't make it easy. Both of them crying at home, Os saying "I have to go, don't I?" and Kate sobbing because she doesn't want it but there is no other way

(there is also a version of this where Kate acts like Eva and forces Os to go but I think Osgood knowing and volunteering fits them better)

So Osgood goes, knowing what she's there to do, no memory wipe, just a little bit of fuzziness from the coma.

She meets Rocky who's the same as PHM canon and it's not her first alien but it is her first time finding this level of connection with another species.

They figure out the solution, pack up their ships ready to take them off to their respective homes. Osgood is conflicted. Of course, she's happy to be going home, happy that she'll be able to see Kate again. But Rocky is now such a close friend, and the earth she's going back to will be 20 years out from where she left even though it feels like she's only been away a few months.

(in the version where Kate forces her to go, she'd have mixed feelings about returning to that Kate too)

Either way, when disaster strikes again and she has to go back to Rocky, a little part of her is relieved about it.

Before she sends the beetles off, she records two final video diaries. One official, explaining the situation. And one for Kate.

Osgood saves Rocky, goes back with him to Erid, spends her time there on scientific research and collaboration with the Eridians

Let's return to Kate. It's been 20 years, she's in her 80s now. She never fully retired (of course), and spent the decades holding earth together fuelled by coffee and determination to ensure that Osgood's sacrifice wouldn't be for naught

She thinks she's made peace with not seeing her again. But then the probes come back alone and the full force of her grief hits her.

But she watches through the video diaries anyway. It's the last she'll ever see of Osgood, she has to.

Presses play on the first one and it's the same Os from her memory. Nothing's changed there. She catches up on everything Osgood's been up to - learns about Rocky, marvels at them communicating, imagines the two of them working in one of the UNIT labs on earth.

And then Osgood mentions that Rocky can give her fuel and Kate goes so still. There was a chance. A chance that Osgood would come home to her.

But she's not here so what went wrong? Kate leans in closer to the video player, trying to work out what might have happened as she continues watching.

The penultimate video is from just before Osgood leaves Tau Ceti and there's hope in her eyes as she tells the camera - tells Kate - "I'll see you in a decade, put the kettle on for me"

She considers not watching the remaining two videos. She may not be technically retired but she's not in charge any more - there's other people who can watch it all, implement Osgood's plans. Can't she stay with that hope? Like she's still waiting for Osgood to come home?

She makes that cuppa for them both and sits with that 'what if' until there's only the dregs left

And then she presses 'play' on the last official video and learns the truth.

Osgood's last video for her is a love letter Kate will keep close to her chest for whatever time remains. She doesn't apologise for making this choice, for not coming home when she could have. She signs off the video with “I know you would have done the same” and Kate sees the truth of that

What is worse? Loving someone so much you will send them on a suicide to save the earth or loving someone so much you go on the suicide mission and know she won't hate you when you find out there is a way to go back but you won't go because someone else needs you just as much now?

There’s no good option

There’s only their duty and all the promises they’ve made to themselves about saving people when they can

The final addendum in this AU concerns the Doctor.

He didn't show up.

They waited as long as they could, to dispatch the Hail Mary. But they couldn't wait forever, they had to act.

Still Kate expected that he would show up eventually. Perpetually late, but at some point one of them would cross paths with her and she could frogmarch them to the TARDIS with strict instructions to fetch Osgood and bring her home.

She doesn’t get a chance to yell at him. He doesn’t show up for the rest of her life.

She records her own video message, sometime after the probes come back and Earth is saved. Or, no, two. One for the Doctor, yelling at him, releasing every scrap of anger she's ever borne him. And one for Os, for the Doctor to deliver.

[itsonlydana]

Have a quick doodle because a) the comparison with Eva and Kate is too real and b) i needed comedy after crying