French girl teaching English. Addicted to Disney, Harry Potter and so many series. 35+ Masterlist Requests accepted but be warned, it may take a while.
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Warnings: Angst, angry seduction, emotional infidelity, arranged/forced marriage tension
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 16th - “Every smile you fake.”
The feast still roared behind the closed doors.
Music. Laughter. Goblets striking tables. Your husband’s voice rising above it all, loud and pleased and entirely unaware his wife had slipped into the shadowed hall.
You needed air.
You needed silence.
You needed one moment where your face did not belong to anyone else.
“Running already?” Loki’s voice came from the dark like a blade drawn slowly from silk.
“Loki-” You closed your eyes. “You can’t be here...”
He ignored you stepping out from between the pillars, that quiet rag coming off him you swore you could taste it.
“I wondered how long you would last.” He almost snarled the words
“You don’t get to judge me.” It was you that snarled this time
“No?” His smile was sharp enough to hurt. “Then who does? Him?”
Your fingers tightened around the cup.
Loki crossed the space with that terrible, beautiful grace of his. “He laughs while you flinch from his hand. He calls you beloved yet fails to notice your distance. I watch every smile you fake.”
“Stop.” Your voice cracking.
“How long are you going to punish us both by keeping up this farce?”
“You think this was my choice?” You spat back.
“I think you let them make it for you.”
The slap cracked before you knew you had moved.
Loki’s head turned his face back, eyes burning, his smile sharp.
“There you are,” he murmured.
Your anger shook. So did your stinging hand.
He caught your wrist before you could step away, not hard enough to hurt, only enough to remind you he had always known how to hold you.
“You should have been mine,” the venom in his voice pierced you.
You hated him for saying it.
You hated yourself more for wanting him to it true.
Pairing: Fem!Reader x Steve Rogers; Curtis Everett; Jake Jensen; Lloyd Hansen; Robert "Mr. Freezy" Pronge
Word Count: 2,254
Summary: Despite the way they executed your father and brother without batting an eye, when it came to you? The group of killers-for-hire showed unexpected mercy.
Warnings: AU. Explicit language. References to untoward activities, murder, physical and emotional abuse, and being kept in semi-captivity (not by the babes). The babes are all mercenaries. Petite!Reader.
A/N: I've been sitting on this new series for a while and what can I say? Welcome to my mercenary AU era lollll. I hope you enjoy this story! 😘
You flinched at the distant sound of gunfire coming from the first floor of your family home.
Whimpering, you pressed your hands over your ears harder, desperately trying to block out the sadly familiar sound.
For all his effort to present a squeaky clean and kind public persona, your father was not a good man.
But he was a powerful one–a notorious one–and he was raising your older brother in his shadow and to one day follow in his footsteps.
Needless to say, this wasn’t the first time you heard such a commotion happening within the walls of the manor.
You jumped as another round of violence sounded from below, your heart hammering in your chest as you pressed yourself back against the wall in the furthest corner of your bedroom, praying that whatever was happening would be over soon.
You started mentally reciting all of the flowers in your mother’s garden out back of the manor. She was long gone and buried for almost a decade now, but you felt her around you anytime you were outside carefully tending to her greenery, trying your best to keep her memory alive in some small way.
You were just thinking of the white roses that had a whole corner of the garden all their own when you heard low, gruff voices outside of your bedroom door.
It was never a good sign when your father and or brother came for you after an act of violence.
It meant that they weren’t quite done wreaking havoc yet, and they seemed to take a perverse sort of joy in prolonging their adrenaline rush—their felt sense of power and superiority—by hurting you.
Your father always was so very disappointed that you hadn’t been a boy, that you ruined his desire for a brood of sons to mold just like him.
“You’re too fucking soft and weak, worthless,” he hissed at you on more than one occasion.
And your brother barely hit his pre-teens before he was spouting the same kind of awful commentary at you, his face just as dark and disgusted as your father’s at your mere existence.
So you tried your best to be scarce and invisible, never wanting to draw their attention, let alone their ire.
Especially on nights like tonight.
But as your doorknob jiggled, it seemed like it was time to be seen, at least for a little while.
You felt the dread coil in your stomach as you dropped your hands from your ears, pressing your sweaty palms against the wall behind you to try to stop the way you were shaking.
Or maybe to brace yourself for what was to come in some small way.
It wasn’t the expected click of a key turning in the padlock on the other side of your bedroom door that you heard next, but the sound of a solitary gunshot that had you jolting and gasping in fear.
Why would they need a gun to get through the lock?
Unless…
Unless it wasn’t your father or brother on the other side of your bedroom door.
Your heart hammered faster than before, and you swallowed against the dryness in your throat as your door slowly swung open and two large figures filled the doorway.
They were far too large and broad to be your father and brother, and they were dressed in tactical gear and held automatic rifles.
Your eyes were wide with shock and fear as they met the surveying ice blue gaze of the bigger of the two. He was tall and lean, the firm curves of his muscles obvious beneath his black military sweater. His hair was dark and shorn close to his head, matching the dark beard that shadowed his pale skin.
His intent gaze slowly dipped from your face, a tic popping in his jaw as you trembled harder at the intense, calculating look in his eyes.
But it was the delighted voice of his counterpart as he finally caught sight of you that had you startling and barely suppressing a whimper as he sauntered around the other man and moved closer to you.
“My, oh my, looky what we found,” he purred as he leered at you.
He wasn’t as tall as the other man, but he was just as impressively built. Fair and handsome despite the dark mustache adorning his upper lip, with brown hair that was shaved at the sides and pushed back from his face. His dark blue eyes had a mischievous sort of sparkle as he touched his tongue to his teeth and kept on talking.
“Who are you, doll face? You their mistress? Nightly entertainment?”
“Why would they lock her in here if she was either of those?” the other man asked as he shifted closer to get a better look at you. “Who are you?”
The firm, authoritative snap of his voice had something inside of you fluttering then clenching, and you didn’t even hesitate to answer.
You gave them your name, the sound of it a shaky whisper falling from your lips as they shared a look of surprise.
“A daughter never came up in any of our intel,” The first one, the scarier of the two, murmured.
The other shrugged, “Guess it’s our lucky day, Everett, what do you want me to tell ya?”
Impish eyes refocused on you as the second man crouched before you, his eyes dipping from your frightened face to your chest before snapping back up.
“I'm Lloyd, and boy is it a pleasure to meet you," his grin was wolfish and had you hugging yourself tighter. "Here’s the deal, pumpkin, your old man and shithead brother are kaput,” he drew his finger along the width of his neck, a universal gesture that you knew meant death and had your breath catching in terror.
“A-are you going to kill me, too?” You quavered.
He faux pouted at you before grinning, leaning in to purr, “Not if you make it worth our while, sweetness.”
“Hansen,” the other man snapped.
Before he could get much further than that, another man, even bigger than these two, confidently strode into the room.
He was so tall he towered over the others, his shoulders insanely broad and his waist almost absurdly narrow in comparison. His hair was dark blonde and swept back from his breathtakingly beautiful face, which was covered by a full, thick beard.
“What’s taking so long?” He snapped. And then he pulled up short beside the other two men, his eyes landing on you and lingering. “I see.”
“Seems daddy dearly departed had a secret knockout of a daughter,” Lloyd grinned in delight as he rose to his feet. “Can we keep her?”
The one called Everett leaned closer to the new arrival, who seemed to be the one in charge. “We found her locked in here, like a prisoner.”
Something intense shadowed the leader’s bright blue gaze as he moved closer and crouched in front of you. He just watched you for a moment, his eyes flickering down the length of your body, lingering on your thin sleep dress and bare legs before meeting your wide gaze.
“Why did they keep you locked in here?” he asked.
“Because they hated me,” you answered honestly. “My father wanted another son, not a daughter, and he thought I was a waste and a disappointment.”
There was a long beat of tense silence as he watched you, his eyes once again surveying you, but in a different way this time.
In a way that made you suddenly realize and self-conscious of how your shoulders were hunched forward and you were hugging yourself like your own touch could somehow keep you safe and unharmed.
Which you knew well by now that it definitely couldn’t.
“Did they hurt you?” his voice was gentler this time.
Tears sprung to your eyes as you thought back to all the times your father lashed you with his belt, or your brother pinched your skin until you cried and begged him to stop hurting you.
You thought of the many mornings you avoided your own reflection in the mirror because you didn’t want to see the reminders of their hatred marring your skin.
You swallowed back your tears, nodding as you whispered, “Yes, all the time."
Something in the man’s gaze flashed hot and furious, but somehow, some way, you just knew that his ire wasn’t directed at you, but at what you had endured at the hands of those who were supposed to love you.
“What’s your name?” You told him and he nodded before introducing himself. “I’m Steve.” He paused and watched you for a long beat, seemingly getting lost in your big, scared gaze before continuing, “You’re going to come with us for now, and you’re going to behave, do you understand?”
Your throat jumped on a nervous swallow as you glanced behind him, to the first two men who had found you, and another two who had joined the rest.
One was lean and pale with long, dark stringy hair and a pinched look about him. The other was another big, muscly soldier with spiky blonde hair and glasses, his lips curling into a friendly smile as your gaze met his and he gave a little wave of acknowledgement.
Your eyes flickered back to the leader, Steve, and you couldn’t help but ask, “Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
“A-are…are you going to hurt me?”
Something in his gaze softened as he watched you. “No, we don’t hurt innocents, especially women and children. We just take out the bad guys.”
And if you knew anything, it was that your father and brother had definitely been that.
Slowly, Steve held out his big, rough hand to you, and you stared at it for a moment before placing your own trembling hand in his.
You heard something in his breathing shift for a split second, not quite a hitch in his breath but close to, as he realized how much smaller your hand was than his.
You shivered as his thumb brushed over your knuckles, and then he was gently pulling you to a stand along with him.
“Get dressed and pack a bag of essentials. You have ten minutes, understand?”
You nodded shakily, hugging yourself as you realized you were barely dressed and under the gaze of so many big, scary men.
“Curtis, you stay with her," Steve ordered. "The rest of you, let’s finish securing the property before departure.”
“Why can’t I stay with her?” Lloyd huffed, looking put out as he glared at Steve.
Steve’s eyes narrowed as they landed on him. “Because I know you wouldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”
“So? We all know how it’s gonna play out with our new toy anyway—“ he grunted as Steve fisted the front of his shirt and yanked him close, until they were nose to nose.
“It’s gonna play out how I say it’s gonna play out. Now get your ass downstairs and finish securing the site.”
Sneering, Lloyd gave Steve a sarcastic, sloppy salute before shoving past him, then Curtis and following the others into the hallway and out of sight.
Sparing you a final, lingering look, Steve glanced at Curtis, reaffirming, “Ten minutes,” before he was turning on his heel and striding from the room.
You stared after him, your lashes fluttering as you blinked and struggled to process everything that had happened in such a short amount of time.
Both your father and brother were dead. And now you were being taken by their murderers and–
“Hey.”
The deep rumble of Curtis’ voice had you jumping and your eyes snapping to him.
“Get dressed and pack a bag.”
You nodded, darting toward your dresser and rifling through it until you were pulling out a pair of black leggings, a white T-shirt, and an oversized sweater to go over top of it. You hesitated before pulling out a bra and a pair of socks, your cheeks burning as you felt Curtis’ gaze on you.
Unwavering.
“Can you…can you please turn around so I can get changed?” You trembled as you held your clothes to your chest.
Curtis’ eyes sparkled at you, seeming darker than before, his lips quirking just a hair as he murmured, “Afraid not. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I let you out of my sight, now would I?”
When you just stared at him like a deer in headlights, he moved closer, until he was looming over you and your head was tilting back to meet his gaze.
Curtis’ eyes slowly fell from your face and lower, until you swore you could feel his gaze and your body was wracking with a shiver that ran from your head to your toes.
“Get. Dressed,” he murmured, his eyes snapping back to yours and shining with satisfaction as you nodded jerkily before turning to drop your clothes on the foot of your bed so you could change.
You only hesitated briefly before tugging on your leggings beneath your sleep dress to try to preserve some sense of modesty. Then you were pulling your sleep dress up and over your head, keeping your bare back to Curtis and hyper-aware of his hot gaze burning into you the entire time.
When his rough voice reached your ears a second later, you couldn’t help the way you paused in tugging on your bra, your stomach swooping and all of your hair rising to attention as he purred:
“Good girl.”
Y'ALL. I AM SO NOT OKAY. PLEASE, SEND HELP! 🆘 (Okay but now I'm looking at that emoji and laughing at the thought of it standing for, "Send other sinners." lollllll)
NEXT PART
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Wow 😵💫 I bet it’s gonna be intense. Very intense. I am conflicted here. Yes, those gorgeous men are rescuing her from a dreadful fate but what more valuable do they have to offer. There will be lots of good sex I assume but at what cost ?
Steve seems to be nice but when does it stop ? And Curtis’s attitude didn’t please me. She just asked for him to turn around out of respect and he couldn’t even offer her that. Respect. Are they truly better than her brother and father ?
Pairing: Jonathan Pine/Andrew Birch x Female Reader
Warnings: Flirting, sexual tension, undercover tension, suspicion
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 16th - Every Breath You Take - The Police/ “I’ll be watching you.”
Richard’s parties always looked better from a distance.
Up close, the gold softened into greed. The laughter sharpened. The champagne tasted expensive enough to hide what paid for it.
Andrew Birch stood near the balcony doors with a glass in hand, listening to Corky talk too loudly about someone else’s yacht. He smiled at all the right places. Tilted his head with just enough interest. He was integrating too well.
That was the problem.
You watched him over the rim of your glass, noting the stillness beneath the charm. The way his eyes moved before his body did. The way he looked for exits.
But…Richard liked him.
Richard was not often wrong, but when he was, people tended to die for it.
Birch glanced up, caught you watching. Instead of looking away, he smiled.
Polite. Infuriating.
You crossed the room before you could decide not to “You’re very good at this.”
His brow lifted. “At parties?”
“Pretending to enjoy them.” You added dryly.
Something almost amused touched his mouth. “That obvious?”
“I wouldn’t say anything about you was obvious.” You’re smiling shifting as you stepped closer, close enough to catch the clean scent of his shirt beneath the smoke and citrus drifting through the room. “But I haven’t decided what you are yet.”
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. Controlled. Careful. Not careless enough for innocence.
“What does Richard think I am?” The stab clear.
“Useful.” You offered
“And you think otherwise?” Birch’s expression warmed, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Should I be worried?”
“Maybe.” You leaned in just enough for your voice to sit between you. “I’ll be watching you.”
For one breath, his mask slipped.
Not fear.
Pleasure.
Damn
“Good,” His tone quieter. “I’d hate to go unnoticed.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: Bad Habits - Ed Sheeran / “I got nothin' left to lose, or use, or do”
Warnings: Alcoholism. Please let me know if I missed any!
Word Count: 221
Leon gently shakes the bottle, eager to get that last drop he knows is still in there. What little of his brain is still functioning knows he's gotta make every dollar last so he's not letting any of his precious liquor go to waste.
And so you find the legendary Agent Kennedy tonguing a bottle with enough skill that it makes you rub your thighs together.
"Agent Kennedy?" Your voice pierces through the mental fog of Leon's drunken state.
"Who wants to know?" he slurs.
You introduce yourself making sure to slow your normal speech patterns. The man seems too drunk for normal conversation so he probably needs a gentler approach than your usual clientele.
"I represent someone who specifically requested you for their security detail."
"Tell Redfield I'm not doing it," he grunts.
"It's not Chris Redfield," you state.
"Then tell Wesker to fuck off. I know I got nothin' left to lose, or use, or do but I'm still not helping him."
Leaning in closer than you would like, you brave the stench of alcohol to whisper in his ear, "Ada needs your help."
Leon freezes as if her name was a pass code to all of the locks in his brain.
"Give me a day to get this crap outta my system and I'll be ready to go."
Warnings: Pregnancy fluff, nesting, gentle domestic teasing
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Connected to.. this and this (warning 2nd one is heavy)
Prompt: June 15th - Daydream Believer - The Monkees / “But how much, baby, do we really need.”
The cart had started innocent. Just a few things you needed.
Packet of onesies. Two soft blankets. The little knitted hat you had pressed to your chest with wet eyes until Curtis wordlessly put it in the cart himself.
Now it was full.
Tiny socks, washcloths, burp cloths, three different swaddles because what if the baby hated one kind, a stuffed rabbit, and too many outfits in sizes you were no longer certain made sense.
You wanted to prepared.
Curtis stood beside you in the baby aisle, one hand on the cart, the other resting warm at the small of your back. He had been patient for two hours. Steady. Quiet. Encouraging smile whenever you held something up with that hopeful, worried look he never seemed able to say no to.
Until you reached for another blanket.
“Sweetheart...”
You froze, turning looking at him “But?” Curtis eyes softened immediately, because you both knew what tone that was. Not scolding. Not annoyed. Just Curtis preparing to be reasonable while you were feeling anything but.
“But how much, baby, do we really need?”
Your hand tightened around the blanket. “I want them to have everything they need.”
“They will.” His thumb moved slowly over your back. “Just doesn’t all have to be in one trip.”
You looked down at the cart, then at your belly, guilt tangling in your chest. “I’m nesting.”
“I noticed.” He agreed, a small chuckle in his voice. You huffed, but his mouth twitched.
Curtis leaned closer, voice low, but you felt his warm breath near your temple. “You’ve got two months. And impulse buying makes you sad when we get home.”
He was right, and slowly, you put the blanket back.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Warnings: Party aftermath, implied substance use, emotional crash, hurt/comfort
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 15th - “I got nothin’ left to lose, or use, or do.”
The house always looked worse after dawn.
When reality set in.
Empty bottles on the floor. Ash and white powder smeared into the coffee table. Someone’s jacket abandoned over a speaker still humming static. The rooms that had felt alive hours ago now looked hollowed out, all the music and heat drained away with the dark.
You sat on the kitchen counter, barefoot, nursing the last warm inch of your drink.
Your hands would not stop shaking.
Chris found you there.
He did not say your name right away. Just stood in the doorway. Just watching like you might break.
He crossed the kitchen slowly, like you were something frightened and small enough to startle. “You eat?”
You shook your head.
The party had left your skin buzzing and your chest empty. Everything that had made the night bright was gone now, burned out beneath your ribs until all that remained was the kind of silence you could drown in.
“I got nothin’ left to lose, or use, or do,” you whispered.
Chris’s face changed.
You looked down at the cup in your hand, shame crawling hot up your throat. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Okay.”
“I mean this house.” Your voice shook. “This life. But I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Chris reached for the cup first, easing it from your fingers and setting it in the sink. Then he stepped between your knees and pulled you into him.
You folded instantly. His arms came around you, firm and warm, one hand at the back of your head.
"This isn't living. No matter what Silas says." You kept going, he didn't interrupt.
He rested his cheek lightly against your hair.
"We'll figure something out."
For the first time in a long while, you almost believed him.
Warnings: Toxic situationship, drinking, smoking, self-destructive choices
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles Again first time writing EB Frank got inspired from @soelstress entry from Lost my Light
Prompt: June 15th - Bad Habits - Ed Sheeran / “My bad habits lead to you.”
You told yourself you were done with Frank. You’d said it in the bathroom, one hand braced on the sink like you were someone capable of making better choices. Be better. Go home alone. Find anyone else to fuck..
But then came shots. Bad choice one.
Then the refusal to join the others as your friends, still laughing too loud, disappeared into cabs. Bad choice two…
Your feet started walking in the wrong direction, bad choice three..
Frank opened his door barefoot, shirt half-buttoned, cigarette caught between his lips.
His eyes dropped over you, slow enough to make shame curl hot in your stomach.
“Not even a call this time.”
You stepped close, plucked the cigarette from his mouth, and took a drag just to have something to do besides kiss him.
“I deleted your number.”
Lie.
You were just drunk enough that calling had felt harder than showing up.
Frank’s mouth curved regardless. “Still here though.”
That was the problem.
You could delete messages. Ignore calls. Tell yourself he was too much work, too much damage, too much like looking in a mirror after midnight.
But how were you supposed to delete the way he made you feel?
Dirty. Wanted. Alive.
Like hating yourself could be part of the pleasure if his hands were the ones dragging you under.
You exhaled smoke between you. “My bad habits lead to you.” A small smile creeping onto your face.
His laugh was low, rough at the edges. “And you got a lot of those.”
“No one’s perfect.” You shrugged.
“No,” Frank agreed stepping back to let you in. “Definitely not us.”
You brushed past him.
Because you could not date him. Fuck you weren’t that self-destructive anymore
But when you wanted someone to make you see God, Frank was your guy.
Warnings: Angst, toxic relationship, possessive Nick, confrontation
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 10th - “Every night’s another reason why I left it all.”
You should have known Nick would find you.
A rented room two towns over, cash payment, false name at the desk. It had felt clever for almost six hours.
Then the knock came.
Not loud. Not frantic.
Certain.
You opened the door with your bag already in your hand, and there he stood in the hallway, coat dark with rain, jaw tight.
“You ran.” his eyes fixed on you as they narrowed down with the one betrayal.
You swallowed hard “I left.” Correcting.
“Without a word.”
“I wrote a note.”
His mouth hardened. “That was a coward’s exit.”
The sting landed, but you were too tired to bleed for him anymore.
“You don’t get to call me a coward when staying with you meant disappearing piece by piece.”
Nick stepped inside before you could stop him, presence filling the cheap little room until it felt smaller than it had any right to be.
“You think this is freedom?” His eyes swept the peeling wallpaper, the single bed, the bag clutched in your fist. “This?”
“I think it’s a start.”
Something shifted in his face. You’d really wounded him.
“You were not unhappy every night.” His gaze burned.
“No,” you agreed, voice breaking despite yourself. “Some nights I loved you so much it scared me.” You didn’t stop the words “But every night’s another reason why I left it all. Every secret. Every lie. Every time I woke up beside you and wondered what part of me I had traded to stay.”
Nick went still. For one breath, you thought he understood. Then he reached for your bag taking it from you.
“No.” You pleaded “Nick.”
“You can hate me in the car.”
“I’m not going with you.” You wouldn’t go back
His smile was ruined and beautiful. “Yes, you are.”
Prompt: June 14th - Play That Funky Music - Wild Cherry / “Til you die?”
Character: Matt Murdock (demon au)
I know it’s short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! 💞
"If only..." You murmur to yourself. You sigh and lean your head back, staring at the ceiling.
It must be so easy to be like them. To be normal. To be beautiful.
You blindly flip your phone over and press the side button. Looks aren't everything. That's what they say. Well, that doesn't make you feel any better.
Looks might not be everything but you have nothing. You're not smart, not funny, not unique in any true way.
"What I would give..." You whisper as your eyes water.
You tip your head forward and hide behind your eyelids. You imagine a world where you're gorgeous. Where you're interesting. Irresistible even.
"And what would you give?" A voice startles you.
Your lashes flick open and you slowly lift your chin. You stare at the man in dark sunglasses, staring at you. Just a man in a suit, gripping a white can, hair tidy and parted.
"Matt?" You utter at your neighbour.
"What is the price of your desire?" He asks.
You shiver. You don't understand.
"Your soul?" He grins, flames glimmering in his dark lenses.
The room flickers and you see him change. His can becomes a staff with an onyx head and his suit smokes as scales cover his body and horns protrude from his skull.
"Would you be mine?" He asks.
"Til death?"
His teeth gleam, his fangs growing longer. He takes off his sunglasses and reveals two black puts with no light.
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
Nick waves you ahead of him. Your stomach flips as you climb the stairs up to the open jet door. An attendant waits inside, though she doesn’t wear a uniform like the airlines you see on TV. Just a sleek black dress and heels, her hair pulled back into a tidy chignon.
“To the right, sweetheart,” Nick calls from behind you.
You nod and follow his direction. The attendant leads you into the body of the plane. There aren’t rows like a commercial flight; there’s a cushy looking leather sofa with seat belts tucked into the corners, two seats with reclining backs and foot rests, and a whole dining set with cushioned benches.
“Sit wherever you like.” The attendant says. “I’m Cassidy and I’ll be your in-flight attendant.” She smiles. “You and Mr. Fowler.”
You introduce yourself with a squeak.
She looks past you. “Sir, is there anything I can get you?”
“Once we’re in air, she’ll want a drink. Something bubbly.” He says sternly.
“Yes, Mr. Fowler. And you’re usual?” She offers.
“I’ll have the same as her.” He shoulders by her, his eyes on you. “Sweetheart, what are you feeling? You can lay down, have a nap. Or maybe a window seat? You can watch take off.”
You rock back and forth and play with the brim of your crochet hat. “I… sure. That’s cool. I bet taking off is scary.”
He grins. “I’ll be here.” He winks and stares at you.
You clear your throat and look around. You move cautiously to the chair by the window and sit. You clutch your belt bag around your waist and lean forward to peek out the window. Your neck is alight with self-awareness.
You glance over as Nick lowers himself into the seat beside you. He’s watching you. Still.
“Sorry, I’m nervous. I drove to LA, you know? I probably said that already.” You smile sheepishly.
“Any turbulence, just hold onto me,” he assures you. “I don’t mind.”
“Um, that’s nice.” You nod and look out the window again.
“Simon’s a good pilot. Don’t worry too much.” He says.
“I’m not worried. Just… excited, I guess.”
You sit back and wait. Nick rests his arm on the rest between you. His fingers flutter.
“You sure you’re okay?” He asks.
You can hear movement in the plane as they close the doors. Voices call back and forth as they check the windows. You fidget.
“Really, it’s just… Just the other day I was running trays across a lot and now I’m… going to Venice.”
“Hollywood moves fast,” he clucks. “But not when you need it too.”
“Right, er…” You giggle, more nervous than amused.
“Hello, Mr. Fowler,” the attendant greets, adding your name as well, “we’re almost ready for take off. We need belts on.”
He flicks her away with his fingers and searches for his seat belt. You do the same. He clasps his and sighs. You take a bit longer, mindful of his observation.
“Here,” he reaches over to help you adjust the belt and the buckle finally slips in. His fingers graze your stomach, knuckles pressing into you right before he pulls away. “Nice and safe.” He brushes across the back of your hand.
“Thanks,” you eke out and turn back, lean over to the window.
You peer through as the plane clangs and juts and the engines begin to hum. The wheels start to roll and you blindly latch onto the armrest, only to grab onto Nick’s arm instead. You show your teeth and laugh at yourself, apologising before you pull away.
You stare through the window as the runway blurs under the plane and feel the tilt beneath you. The motion disorients you as you watch the world sink beneath you. You stare down at the grids of the city, the green, the tarmac, the water.
You feel a tickle on your arm, up and down from elbow to shoulder. You gasp and smile as the clouds surround you and you sit back. You look at Nick as he strokes your arm. You clamp your lips tight.
“Wow,” you say.
His fingers linger for a moment then he drops his hand away. His brow ticks. He sits back and nods. “Pretty amazing, huh?”
“Yes!” You answer. “I think so, at least. I bet for you it’s not.”
“I still enjoy it.” He says. “Even more with someone to share it with.”
“And thank you. I never… could’ve dreamed.”
The plane levels out. He takes off his seatbelt and you copy him. You wriggle in the chair and pull your purse around. You dig inside.
“What’re you up to?” He wonders.
“Oh… you don’t mind if I read?”
He shrugs and looks away. He raises his hand and Cassidy appears. She has two glasses in hand with pink wine and berries inside. She sets them on the low table in front of the chair.
“Mr. Fowler.” She dips her head.
“Thank you,” you say. Nick leans his chin in his hand. He stays like that for a minute before he drops his arm and sits up. He reaches for the glasses. “Here. Have a taste.”
He offers you a glass. You leave your book in your purse and push it to the other side of your lap. You accept the wine and look at the bubbles running up the crystal. You sniff it. It smells sweet.
You take a sip. Your cheeks pinch. You can taste the berries but the wine is still stringent enough to make you choke. You giggle and mop your lips with the back of your hand.
“Sorry,” you murmur.
“You don’t like it?” He keeps his away from his mouth.
“No, I do. I’m just not used to it. I don’t drink, you know?” You say. “Not very much.”
“You really are new to LA,” he chuckles and clinks his glass on yours.
“Yeah… I’m a total noob.”
“A noob?” He muses.
“Um, yeah…” you look at the wine as your cheeks burn. “Oh!” Your eyes flick up. “You’ll have to be my translator. I tried some duolingo but I can’t roll my r’s. I just kinda sound like I’m drowning.”
His brows arch and his cheeks dimple. He takes a deep sip of wine then pulls the glass away. He licks his lips.
“No problem at all. You’ll wanna keep close to me anyway.” He once more pets your arm. “You know, Venice is a tourist trap and lotta people know that. Easy to lift a wallet off a distracted traveller… or worse.”
“Oh?” Your eyes round.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got security. Yours now, too.” He sits back and shifts around. “You mind?” He taps the armrest between you. You shake your head and he flips it up. He settles in, closer to you. “Make sure you don’t go anywhere without me or one of my guys, alright?” He leans his head back and looks at you. “You’re precious cargo.”
Gosh he is so pushy it’s pathetic. Get a grip, man ! Reader should run away if you ask me. ASAP. Something tells me if she doesn’t, she will be drastically changed when she takes this plane back home.
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A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: Play That Funky Music - Wild Cherry / “Til you die?”
Word Count: 206
"Another late night?" you sigh over the phone, already knowing the answer.
"I'm afraid so," August confirms. "We just got a breakthrough in the Jimmy Ford case."
"I can't remember the last time you were home for dinner," you whine.
You know it's unfair. As a CIA agent, August warned you there would be a large number of nights away from home. National security took precedence over your relationship. But you also warned him you would be pouting, at least on occasion.
For his part, August actually appreciates the pouting. It means you care about him. You want to be with him. If you ever stopped, he'd worry.
"I've made sure my calendar is clear for our anniversary next month," he promises. "If things go well, maybe we can get a day or two extra for it."
"I'll plan for the one day," you giggle. "Don't want to have to cancel plans."
"If we do get that extra day or two we'll be spending it in bed."
"Dirty man," you tease. "Just promise me you won't overwork yourself in the meantime? No sense in working 'til you die. Especially when you could be coming home to a fox like me."
Prompt: June 12th - Tainted Love - Soft Cell / “I cannot stand the way you tease”
Character: Jonathan Pine
I know it’s short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! 💞
"Lord Pine. Mister Cross has delivered your post." You inform your master as he sits in his study.
He doesn't look up as he drags a pen across paper. "Put it there. I'll tend to it in due time."
"Yes, my lord." You set it in the tray he keeps for his letters. "Your tea must be cold. Would require a fresh cup?"
"If you've the time and kindness," he accepts as he continues his scrawl.
"Yes, my lord. Always time for tea. And you." You take the saucer and cup. "Would you like anything else? Meril has baked oat biscuits."
"Tea will do." He says firmly.
You leave him and go down to request a fresh pot. When you have a steaming cup, you return to the lord. He sits up in his chair as he rests his chin on his knuckles. You place the tea around his side of the desk. He stares.
"My lord..." You back up nervously. "Have I forgotten something?"
His lip twitches and he hums. "Not at all. I am only... Perturbed."
"Perturbed?" You wonder.
"Chagrined. Unsettled." He elaborates. "It is only I cannot stand the way you tease."
"My lord? Tease?"
"When you say you've time for me always..." He runs his pink up to his lip. "What else do you have for me?"
