Dead Dove December: The Deepest Cut

April Showers Prompt

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our lovely coloring book! This was fun to add the lyrics of "Purple Rain" and overlay an IG filter for The Birthday Celebration! Only our guy could look this good in a storm. Thanks to @jolapeno for organizing the event, and be sure to check out the hashtag #JolapenoAprilShowers to read everyone's stories and see their artwork!

I never meant to cause you any sorrow I never meant to cause you any pain I only wanted one time to see you laughing I only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rain Purple rain, purple rain Purple rain, purple rain Purple rain, purple rain I only wanted to see you bathing in the purple rain I never wanted to be your weekend lover I only wanted to be some kind of friend, hey Baby, I could never steal you from another It's such a shame our friendship had to end

My Darling Muse; My Darling Dieter

Dieter is in LOVE. He's just not sure if he's met them yet. But in the interim, he's keeping a journal to house all of his inspiration, poetry and recipes, before they fly out of his head. And once he meets the ONE...or ONES...this is going to be his gift to you. Along with those sexy time IOU's he's always handing out. I so enjoyed the writing prompt for "Get Dieter Sober" @bitchesuntitled! D is with you!

Triggers: it's Dieter bub so this series will DEFINITELY include profanity, drugs, alcohol, sex, smut and any meanderings D wants...He's endlessly inspired by art, poetry, songs, sex and YOU!

Doctor's Notes for Journal Entry,

"What would you do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people". "But what can be done, the one who loves must share the fate of the one he loves". "Who told you that there is no true, faithful, eternal love in this world! May the liar's vile tongue be cut out!" "Cowardice is the most terrible of vices." *written in the margins: Patient's Name, Dieter Bravo. Addiction: YES. Detox + Psych. Eval. Art Therapy. Narcissist/Low Self-Esteem. Yoga + Kit-Kats.

Dieter has been quoting "The Master and Margarita" as his mantra of choice during his rehab. stay. Here follows our correspondence...

My Darling Dieter,

Oh my honey, I'm sorry the "cinematic narrative of your life is flashing before your eyes". Just a gentle reminder that you have only been in rehab for 24 hours, and I couldn't be more proud of you! Keep up your steady diet of celery juice and Kit-Kats. And yes, I will give you a sponge bath when you get home. Sincerely, J

My Darling Dieter,

The doctors say you are doing well, particularly with your consumption of Kit-Kats! I know this is a difficult time, but I am so proud of you! Everything is on schedule for "Cliff Beasts 7"! You will be appearing as your own clone, in the year 2500 A.D. I hope this news provides some respite. Sincerely, J

My Darling Dieter,

Your reply gave me such joy, though I'm not sure this is a good moment to smuggle in your favorite whiskey. Perhaps I could persuade you with some chocolate chip cookies? I'm glad you are finding comfort in "The Master and (the) Margarita"! But no, I don't think rehab. is a good locale for a coup....Yours, J

My Darling Dieter,

The doctors say you have rounded the corner with your ongoing recovery! I am so excited to attend your upcoming one man show, "Dieter Deconstructed". I'm sure it will be a smash hit at the rehab. center, and yes, maybe we can start developing it as a musical. I'm not sure tap dancing is your forte, but let's talk more...Yours, J

My Darling Dieter,

I am so excited for you to come home and teach me about your new coping skills! I have purchased a nurse's outfit, as per your request and have stocked the fridge with copious amounts of celery juice, Kit-Kats and chocolate chip cookies. The Tik-Tok of you dancing in your hospital gown went viral, as expected....Love, J

*thanks @kodaswrld for the cool dividers!

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter’s PA. This has been an exciting week for all of us, as Dieter checked himself into rehab. after the recent election. He said he was feeling particularly “wibbly-wobbly” and wanted a tune up before starting his next project of “Cliff Beasts 7”. His fellow actor and good friend Pedro Pascal recommended the book “The Urge; Our History of Addiction” and “The Master and Margarita”, which has given D a tremendous sense of hope. While I doubt this is the only time Dieter will need rehab., I can assuredly say it has taken our friendship to a new level. We both feel this is not the opportune moment to pursue an exclusive relationship, but I will happily be giving D sponge baths for the foreseeable future, as part of my PA responsibilities. Dieter is currently snoring contentedly in his sensory deprivation tank, and has requested more chocolate chip cookies for the end of his session, so I better go…Happy healing to all!

Sexiest Man Alive

Alright, don't everybody get your panties in a bunch, it's not real, it's not real…But, now that some time has passed we KNOW Pedro Pascal IS the sexiest man alive, if such a thing is quantifiable. Did you know since its origin in 1985, there have only been FIVE men of color selected for this enigmatic honor? I think Pedro Pascal won the vote, but declined in favor of personal privacy, and I'm not the only one...

Pike's Place Roll-a-Trope Challenge

I fell hard for these two, in an unexpected way. It wasn't until @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" that I managed to really sink my teeth into this delectable winter treat. Since y'all love them as much as I do, I've completed a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent!

Triggers: profanity, car trouble in snow storm, heartbreak, discussions of pandemic, slightly tipsy Pike, mostly fluffernutter...

Episode One: It's a Wonderful Life Episode Two: The Holiday Episode Three: Elf Episode Four: A Christmas Story Episode Five: Nightmare Before Xmas Episode Six: Love Actually Episode Seven: Die Hard Episode Eight; When Harry Met Sally

Shorts

A Christmas Confection Pedge Tweets WIP Poll Pike's Place PIke's Picture

The windshield wipers were beating at the same flurried pace as your heartbeat as you gripped the steering wheel fixedly. Looking out at the swirling flurries of wind and snow your skin began to take on the same pallid white quality as your eyes darted furiously across the pristine landscape. California Girl, you sulked, huffing heavily in frustration.

WHY had you listened to your therapist? This was the most asinine, ridiculous escapade yet, as you watched the fuel gauge dipping lower and lower. It had been the strangest of four years, shifting from the pandemic, to working from home, to becoming more and more isolated every day. Watching your world get increasingly smaller, and feeling helpless to do anything about it. Pre-pandemic you had already felt isolated, and after four years of relative solitude you had almost become accustomed to the depravation. Almost. So, what had your therapist recommended? A change in scenery. Get out more! Feeling depressed about the holidays? Grab a few sweaters, a bottle of Merlot and take your emotional baggage with you! You scoffed with self-deprecation, wondering if a death by blizzard would be quite as cinematic as it sounded in your romance novels. Snagging a last minute Big Bear Airbnb had been easy this week before Christmas, but finding it was proving a bit more challenging. Good Old Bessie the Hyundai had limped along for years, but the heater had long since sputtered into a quick demise. Not a real problem in California, until now, you reasoned, thankful you had dressed in a head to toe snowsuit from your East Coast college days. Quite honestly, you were surprised it still fit, but you were steadily growing more and more aware that your Girl Scout training from childhood did not prepare you for a snow-pocalypse, regardless of how fashionable you were.

Straining to see any signs of civilization you thought you caught a small flickering beam of light, as you groaned upon hearing the tell-tales signs of impending doom. That metallic clicking sound had only intensified and it was just a matter of time before…BOOM!…a small popping sound backfired into the snowy stillness as gears shifted and ground to a halt, bringing Bessie to her final resting place in the glassy tundra.

Welp. So ends the life of J. A small death, for a small person…you rolled your eyes dramatically. Get a grip woman. You didn’t get 56 Scout Badges in Arts and Crafts to merely lie down on the ground singing “Do You Wanna Build a Snowman”. Live! Live goddamit! You smirked, weighing your options. Cell phone coverage was dotty at best. You could wait for a philanthropic passerby, but it was a week before Christmas, and you hadn’t seen one car on the precarious drive here. Wherever here was.  Watching the steady stream of soft snow cascading onto your windshield you re-assessed that flickering beam of light before you. You MUST be hallucinating, but it seemed like a small cabin with puffs of smoke billowing from a chimney of some kind. It was a fuckin’ Norman Rockwell painting for heaven’s sakes. Or “Misery”. You pulled the snowsuit hood up over your head and took a big breath. Only one way to find out.

After trudging the 100 or so feet from Bessie to Norman Rockwell, you were trying to cast a foreboding figure, though this was proving difficult in a hot pink snowsuit from the 90’s. You confidently held a crowbar and cell phone in either hand, delusional that this would be off putting to a potential serial killer. At least you would look fabulous in the Real Life Crimes Documentary, you rationalized, banging on the door with your crowbar and attempting to seem simultaneously friendly and capable. Your teeth were chattering together with anticipation or cold, as you thought you heard a rustling sound behind the wooden door. You plastered a frozen smile on your face, hopeful the occupant wouldn’t ignore Elle Woods in the woods, as the door flung open violently to reveal...

Happy Holidays, Pike. Marcus grumbled to himself, pouring another glass of red wine and swallowing a coal lump of annoyance. Was this really the best idea? he wondered, settling in for the Christmas Movie Marathon on AMC. If he was trying to get over a heartbreak, he wasn’t sure “It’s a Wonderful Life” and a bottle of red was the way to do that, but in a blizzard there were only so many options. Fresh from his disappointment of the moment he bit his lower lip, watching George Bailey drunkenly meander around snowy Bedford Falls, on the hunt for redemption. He looked over at the sorry state of affairs in the kitchen, as piles of Thai Food containers dotted the landscape, thanks to a week of DoorDash and Instacart. How had he arrived at this pathetic excuse of a Christmas? Hoping to clear his mind of women altogether, he had settled on berating himself for constantly falling in love at the drop of a pin. Okay, he was a romantic, he frowned with irritation. And why not? He was on the Art Squad, he wasn’t Rambo. He wriggled his socked feet, thankful for the fire in the fireplace and nodding at George Bailey’s plight. That’s right, Jimmy Stewart, maybe it’s better to just go it alone. Not everyone has a Donna Reed. You can’t just expect love to show up on your doorstep, it’s better to think realistically and recognize your own limitations. George Bailey dangled precariously over the Bedford Falls Bridge, watching the snow fall into the murky depths. Just a couple more steps and….

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Pike jumped about a foot, as George Bailey paused to notice Clarence the Angel jump into the waters before him. What was that?

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Pike sat up, adrenaline coursing through his slightly intoxicated frame, gripping his chest with surprise. Was someone knocking at the door? Who could possibly be wandering around in a blizzard? He took a quick glance at his somewhat disheveled state, stubbling beard, gray sweatpants and thread bare white t-shirt. No time to clean things up, he scoffed, stumbling to his feet and flinging the door open to find…

Hello gorgeous. A pair of saucer shaped brown eyes blinked back at you, as you stood poised between crow bar and cell phone. “Howdy!” you shouted, quite a bit louder than anticipated watching his face register several emotions simultaneously, gulping in surprise.

Howdy? What the fuck? Were you Annie Oakley? Your eyes quickly took in the situation, eyeing his broad frame, gray sweatpants and patchy beard. This was the cutest serial killer you had ever met, you smirked, shaking the sexy thoughts out of your mind as quickly as they entered. “Sorry to bother you this fine holiday season…”

What the fuck was going on? Had you forgotten how to speak to other humans? You sounded like a character from an old film noir. Willing yourself to act normally you continued, “My car is konked out on the side of the road, and I wondered if I could use your…landline, sir?”. Okay. Stop talking. Stop with the words. You held your breath attempting to appear…like anything other than your awkward self. Apparently you had rendered this hunk of a man temporarily speechless. He was probably mortified at your inability to string together a sentence with two hands and a crowbar, but the silence began to stretch in front of you. A reddish tint bronzed his adorable cheeks as his eyes registered surprise, delight, confusion, irritation? There seemed to be a lot happening in this moment of indecision but speaking wasn’t one of them. You shifted with discomfort, licking your chapped lips and chattering loudly.

“Oh my gawd, yes!” he finally bellowed, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into the warming living room and slamming the door behind you. Flakes of snow were dotting your eyelashes but you thought you caught the broadest of smiles immediately hidden by a facade of a frown. 

“Uh, please, make yourself at home…miss” he countered, running to mute the television and tidy up slightly. You took the moment to gather as much information as you could, gazing at Jimmy Stewart’s flickering countenance. Seemed like you had burst onto a cozy, Christmas Hallmark movie for one. Tipping your snowsuit hood off and shaking like a golden retriever you watched the gray sweatpants dart into the kitchen, as he wiped food containers into the trash bin with a long sweep of his forearm. 

Glancing over at the side table you noticed a badge of some kind and a lanyard that read “Agent Pike: Art Squad”, featuring a smiling, clean shaven version of the business lumberjack you saw before you. He grabbed a suit jacket strewn over the kitchen chair and returned to look at you, wide eyed and confused. Cutting quite the figure in gray sweat pants, fuzzy socks and suit jacket, you plastered your lips together to avoid giggling. Alright, this Crime Documentary was progressing just fine, you found yourself with the helpful detective, not the serial killer, after all. He bit his cheek with embarrassment, taking a final helpless look around the living room. “How can I help you?” his voice cracked comedically.

Oh I can think of a few ways, you scandalously surmised, wondering if your holidays were starting to improve. Maybe this was going to be a Christmas gift neither one of you would soon forget…

Thank you @unknown-till for the cool winter dividers!

Silva's Songs

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy!

Triggers: music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut

Pedge's Jukebox Pedge the DJ

Silva's Songs (Spotify)

*Silva can often be found traveling quietly on horseback, singing under his breath and enjoying the beauty of nature *Silva who loves to lay by the light of the fire at night and reminisce on beautiful melodies and poetry *Silva will always pause to listen to Ranchera Singers, ostensibly under the guise of harnessing his horse, or inquiring about local town business *Silva can be found humming and singing more profusely after a few glasses of wine, but is never obnoxious or demonstrative *Silva carries a small pocket journal to notate lines of poetry or song that float through his mind. He didn’t have much time for school in his youth, but has picked up enough reading and writing to get by *Radio didn’t exist until the end of the 18th century, but Silva often enjoys listening to the sound of nighttime crickets, howling coyotes and the soft breathing of his stead, in the evening musicality *Silva isn’t bothered by the sound of a bar room piano, but prefers the lilting sound of a guitar as it is more gentle, quiet and sensual *Silva often fantasizes about tenderly holding his love and humming quietly into their neck until they fall asleep *As a child, Silva was drawn to corridos and would act out some of the well known folk tales with local friends

*thanks @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the cool dividers!

Boxed or Unboxed?

The One With Thanksgiving

Wow. We made it y'all. We have survived the Thanksgiving. Barely. Sometimes the holidays feel like an obstacle course of delights and disasters and Pedge and I had a few. We're conflicted about the holiday, politics, health issues, YOLO pressure, parentals. It was a cornucopia...a feast if you will, in more ways than one.

Also, Pedge you have been FEEDING us lately. I can barely keep up! One minute I see you coifed and collected in interviews and premiers, the next you're baring your soul and your soft little tummy for our ogling eyes and I just gotta say...."thank you". Ooops, I think I embarrassed him, he's burying his head into his blanket and demanding chocolate chip cookies. I almost feel lucky "The Uninvited" is stuck in transit, I'm not sure how much more I can take!

Also, his arms are apparently always falling off, so we need to take very tender care of our guy, as only Tumblr knows how. I know you can put your literary imagination to the task.

I'm headed back to the doctors this week with chronic health stuff. Pedge says he has anxiety sometimes, so he'll go with me. And I gave my parentals the heads up that I wanted to discuss some difficult topics this Thanksgiving, so we had a side of sobbing with our punkin' pie. Par on course for a complex holiday which exceeded expectation on all counts!

I'm trying to pace myself, but Pedge and I get excited! We've got EIGHT Advent Calendars this year! EIGHT. I said it was too many, but Pedge is a naughty boy and convinced me otherwise :) He's always right. I've almost finished my gratitude journal and we were stoked for a Gift Exchange, Sunday Party and Parental Festivities...

But things started to go sideways. I fumbled some of the parental discussion, my body had other plans, and the doctor's appointment has been hard to schedule.

Love Means Never Having to Say...Anything (w/ Pedro Pascal)

I'm making progress, but my body ground to a standstill. Needless to say, this morning involved a bunch of cancellations, foam rollers, vitamins, medicine, copious crying and a bubble bath...

Honey, I think it's okay if we don't always look like we're going to a movie premier. Our friends will understand, and we can get some better medicine. And maybe we can even have chocolate chip cookies later! Oh good, Pedge is snuggling in for a little nap! Okay, just some final thoughts before cuddle time...

However your holidays are progressing, Pedge and I just want you to know that we see you. If you spent some time alone, or avoided some toxicity-- you still get to celebrate YOU! If you have all the privilege in the world but experience survivor's guilt or feel unappreciative, WE GET IT. You don't have to be anything other than your amazing self, seeking out the best version of YOU.

Whatever challenges you are experiencing, Pedge and I are right there with you, and that's something we can all be grateful for. Alright, Pedge and I are going to go back to making love to our foam roller, and considering a small piece of pumpkin pie leftover from Thursday...

Pedge would like me to remind us all to be good to yourself and be good to others. AND the medicinal value of chocolate chip cookies. Yes, Pedge, I'm typing it right now, scoot over! You're hogging all the pillows. Many gratitudes to the Tumblr peeps for the plentiful smut and silly memes. It does a body good :) And Happy Thanksgiving!

Men I think it’s important that you know that more than just your dick is sexy. Your HANDS. Your ARMS. Your BELLIES. Your THIGHS. Your SHOULDERS.

Intimacy and Empathy

I really have no excuses this time. This has completely devolved to a pure literary self-indulgence, utilizing our hero and sexy time villain, Papi Pascal. Fluff, fluff, and fluffer nutter with a little smut at the end.

Triggers: RPF, committed relationship, exploration of intimacy/empathy, hetero M/F description, oral fixation, mention of food, exploration of consent etc...Mood board is for aesthetic only. No affiliation with Coca-Cola lol...

It was the perfect Sunday afternoon. The windows were open as a cool breeze blew through the house, curtains fluttering in the wind. You and Pedge had set up camp on the living room sofa, “being alone together” as a jazz record played on the phonograph. Two Diet Cokes sat perspiring on the coffee table as you each devoured your Sunday book of choice. Your feet lay propped on his lap, as he sunk further and further into the cushions, weighted down by literary gravitas. You peered up at him, over the corner of your book "Intimacy & Empathy" with a mischievous glint.

“Babe?”

“Hmph…” he barely grumbled, chewing on his lower lip, brows furrowed in concentration.

“I have an idea.”

“Yeah?…” he mumbled, turning the page.

“Intimacy,…”

“Yes!” he jumped to his feet, slamming the book shut in comedic theatrics, laying down on top of your giggling form in one fell swoop.

“Okay, hold up cowboy” you laughed, feeling him nuzzle into your breastbone with delight “My book is exploring the subtle differences between intimacy and empathy…”

“Emmmmpathy…” he began to drone, nibbling over your t-shirt at your nipple.

“Stawhp!” you giggled, writhing in faux exasperation, cupping his jaw in your hands and bringing his eyes up to meet yours.

“Yes ma’am” he sighed brazenly “you have my undivided attention. Innnnntimacy…”

“Yes, intimacy and empathy” you re-started, curling your fingers around locks of his hair and tenderly stroking his eyebrows. His eyelids immediately grew heavy while your thumb absentmindedly moved in circles across his cheeks. “This author is talking about how the dom dynamic subtly operates around themes of empathy…”

Pedge’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead, lightly gripping your finger between his teeth. “Mmmhmmm…” he started sucking on your finger, swirling his tongue around it.

“Are you concentrating?” you smirked, finding yourself distracted by his ministrations. He bobbed his head excitedly, hair flopping loosely around his temples. You tittered underneath him, trying to steer the conversation forward, regardless of distraction.

“This book says that the nature of sexual domination in its healthiest form, is akin to empathy, in that, the needs of the sub are paramount, in helping establish an intimacy of self.”

You relished the slight popping sound as he pulled his mouth off of your finger and moved his hands to your waist. “Babe, I’m in the middle of Henry IV, so…I’m still in Shakespearean mode.” He reached up to delicately pinch your lip between calloused fingers, “I can’t concentrate on anything that pretty pink mouth is saying, but it sounds like…I’m about to order some padded handcuffs on THE Amazon, methinks?” he queried, licking his lips inquisitively.

“To be honest, I have no idea what I’m suggesting…” you quizzically twisted your mouth in confusion as he waited patiently. The wind chimes bounced in the distance, as you heard some birds chirping, and attempted to coalesce a cohesive thought.

“Maybe we could explore…”

“Yes!” he jumped up again, downing his Diet Coke in one gulp, staggering slightly and offering his hand out to you enticingly.

“You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever known” you teased, shutting your book and following suit. You hooked your fingers into the back loops of his jeans as he began to salsa into the bedroom, humming under his breath.

“Empathy, ecstasy, empathy, ecstasy…” he abruptly stopped and twisted around, grasping you in a hug and falling backwards onto your bed.

You both laughed, as he stayed pinned to the mattress, you in his embrace, peppering sloppy kisses all over his neck and face. “But babe, I don’t have any plan. No ground rules…I mean, we still have our safe words, but I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m suggesting…”

“Do you usually have an itinerary for our sexy time?” he joked, catching your mouth in a small tender kiss.

You pondered the question, and his lips for a moment before realizing, that yes, you were always intent on an achievable goal. For the moment, that point seemed moot as he licked into your mouth eliciting a small moan. You’re not sure how long you enjoyed kissing one another before you collapsed back into him catching your breath.

“I think I actually do. Plan, I mean”.

He stroked your back lightly, “Plans are good. Are there blueprints? Is there a power point presentation?” he rumbled as you kicked your feet childishly atop him.

“Maybe I want permission…to just follow my whims, without censorship? I don’t know, it might be…unpredictable…” you trailed off, unsure of where this sexy time adventure was headed.

“I think we can probably arrange that” he smiled. “Life is unexpected, so it makes sense that sex would be too.”

You shrank into his body bashfully with a small smile.

“What?” he laughed, hugging you tighter.

“You said, ‘sex’” you whispered, rubbing your legs together like a cricket.

“I meannnnn…” he gently flipped you over, now caging you in with his elbows and humming into your neck. You wrapped both legs around his waist, squishing his stomach in pulsing movements.

“Eeee, eeee, eee, eeeee…Bee..eee..care…ful…I did have that Diet Coke.”

“Okay, you sound like a chew toy.”

“Fine by me, honey. Chew me up and spit me out…” he buried his head into your chest once again and started gnawing at your shirt. “Off pleeeeeease…”

You lifted your hands above your head as he peeled your t-shirt off and threw it to the side. He blew a big raspberry into your stomach as you giggled and squirmed underneath his weight, squeezing his mid-drift even harder.

“I’m not a toothpaste tuuu—uuube” he teasingly grimaced, kneading your stomach and thighs with his fingers.

“Mmmm, I can taste that Diet Coke now. ‘Be open like never before’” you winked, taking his face in your hands and kissing his nose. You sighed into his mouth as the make-out session continued. It was easy to move your body against his, circling your hips and pulsing up and down. You felt his length harden between your legs as he dragged your hands above your head.

Breathing heavily, he started sucking on your neck, “You okay? Is this intimate enough?”

“Ohhhh yes” you exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m feeling very empathic”. You felt him smile into your collarbone as he moved south, dragging his lips down your torso.

“Wait!”

His eyes whipped up, as he paused at your stomach, surprised at the outburst. You started giggling in embarrassment as he dipped his tongue into your bellybutton, sucking and biting. “Are we done? Did we achieve intimacy?”

You laughed to yourself, thankful for the respite. “I’m not feeling super confident about that…right now…” you admitted. Pedge began to pout, resting his chin atop your stomach and moving his hands under your knees.

“Fair enough. Expect the unexpected” he parried “Are we retiring back to the library, or is there an amuse bouche?”

You pursed your lips together, mulling over the many, many options.

“You?”

His eyes lit up with recognition, the corners crinkling into happy exclamation points. “Where do you want me, coach?”

You took a deep breath of relief, trying to NOT overtly plan your next move. “Lay down on the bed for me, please.”

“Yay!” he moved enthusiastically to the side, quickly stripping off his own shirt, and folding his hands over his stomach in anticipation. You removed your sweatpants and straddled his legs, gently removing his hands. He blushed, balling his fists beside him.

“Preeettty” you admired, dragging your hands down his stomach and fingering the trail of hair leading to his hardening length. Slowly, you unbuttoned his jeans as he lifted his hips. You could see him tightening against his boxer briefs and you nuzzled your nose into his stomach, breathing deeply. As you lightly nibbled at the fabric he unexpectedly bucked into your chin.

“Easy there, heavyweight” you coo’d, peering up at him as a smile crept over his face.

“Sorry” he flushed, a crimson hue creeping up his neck. “You’ve got me all wound up, chiquita”.

“Alright, let’s take care of you, sweet pea” you mused, already aroused by the foreplay of the day.

His eyes drifted to your breasts as he chewed his lower lip. “Do I have any lines?” He reached up for your waist, making eye contact and fingering your lace waistband. “Am I embodying intimacy or empathy? I need my motivation…”.

You lazily dragged your heat over his upper thigh, lightly grasping his length in the palm of your hand. “I don’t think you’re going to be lacking in motivation” you countered as he hissed an intake of air.

“Wait”.

It was your turn to be surprised as your eyes shot up to his face, a small look of embarrassment creeping over his countenance.

“Are we….just doing me, tonight? I mean…” he cleared his throat with discomfort “that feels a little…selfish…for me."

You sighed heavily, endlessly impressed with this man’s attitude. You turned your eyes down shyly and clasped your hands in front of your body. He took them in his own, playing with your fingers. “Hey, look at me, bebita. I’m here for whatever you need, whatever you want. Absolutely no complaints. You know. “An Actor Prepares”. I’m ready for those blueprints.”

The corners of your mouth turned upwards, as he placed your finger back between his teeth with anticipation. What WERE you asking for?

“I think…I’ve been so up in my head lately…If I could just lose myself in you…it would take some of the pressure off. I just…love you, and stuff.”

He stopped abruptly, crinkling his eyes with amusement and bringing your hand up to his face. “Okay, we’ve got our character breakdown. You’re the empathy. I’m the intimacy”.

You flashed your teeth in a cheshire grin, waiting for his acquiescence. He theatrically huffed, furrowing his brow in mock frustration. “What is a man to do when faced with such a question?”

Shrugging your shoulders with curiosity, you held your breath in anticipation. Gently bringing your lips to his, he whimpered softly.

“Sounds like a yes, to me” you smiled.

Afterglow A Different Happy Ending

Hey y'all, this is a part of the "Afterglow Series" that delves into more intimacy than usual. I wanted a safe space to explore our sexy time activities that are unexpected or confusing.

Triggers: mentions of experimental M to F pegging (F receiving) and aftercare, lite profanity, mostly a lot of talk and crying (always crying)...our heroine is intent on expressing her needs and Marcus Pike seemed the most accommodating Pedro Boy to listen...

Series Masterlist

Your eyes shot open in bleary confusion. Something was up. Perhaps a bad choice of words as the evening’s events cascaded into your memory from a blurry, dark reaching corner of your body, as you started to take stock of your immediate situation.

You gently rolled over, hissing with discomfort and swallowing dryly. Marcus lay on his side, placid expression, breathing deeply as you smiled at his peaceful countenance. You rubbed your legs together as a pang of arousal and pressure shot through you like a lightning bolt. A pathetic whimper escaped your lips as Marcus blinked rapidly, joining you in the land of the living. His eyebrows immediately furrowed together as he rasply asked, “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” you answered a bit too quickly, shifting away from his transparent expression and attempting to hide your chagrin. It was your birthday, and you had been begging, pleading even for a sexy time adventure slightly different than the straightforward and delectable classic vanilla that Marcus excelled at. Marcus didn’t leave you wanting in any way, but the gals in your Pilates class just couldn’t stop talking about some of their sex-capades, and you wanted to experiment too. I mean, with enough lube, ANYTHING was possible you had reasoned, and brought your birthday request to the man himself.

You weren’t surprised to discover his hesitancy, primarily because of his concern that he would hurt you, but you were determined to bend your body and every orifice as much as your heart would allow. Seems that while your heart was malleable as fuck, your other rose had puckered to tightened heights. The euphoria of the previous evening washed over you, even as you gripped your thighs together, wriggling uncomfortably. Damn. All that talk, and it seems you had enjoyed yourself a bit TOO much. You looked down at your midriff to see bruised fingerprints splayed across your hips and etched into your thighs from his vice of a grip. You smiled at your bodily trophy, but already aware of the deleterious effect it would have on your bedmate. This would not go well if you couldn’t play it off as the momentary speed bump it was. 

“Did you enjoy your birthday present” a seductive hand wrapped around your stomach as Marcus began kissing at the back of your neck, adding more pressure to your…pressure. You cleared your throat with embarrassment, trying to steady your breath.

“Oh yes, it was everything I dreamed and more!” you tried to sound breezy and flippant but you were starting to become concerned. Did this mean he wouldn’t experiment further? You were such an idiot, thinking you could keep up with the twenty somethings at the gym. Marcus paused for a moment, trying to get a read on your tone of voice. Damned if that man wasn’t a mind reader of some kind. Always concerned with YOUR pleasure, YOUR orgasm, YOUR needs. But in this moment you were silently praying Marcus would lose his telepathic abilities.

Resuming a trail of kisses down your back and getting dangerously close to your discomfort of the moment he continued on unawares, “Does the birthday girl get a morning surprise?”. You felt his hardened length bump against your ass as you twitched slightly, willing your body to quiet down.

You gulped loudly, feeling the blush creep up your neck unceremoniously. This swirling vortex of emotion was starting to get out of hand. You couldn’t even pick apart everything happening; embarrassment, arousal, annoyance, concern, fatigue. But maybe there was still hope! That gnawing thought in the back of your mind threaded its way into your consciousness as you definitely wanted to experiment more. New sensations, new abandonment…and total submission. Out of the mind, out of the ass, out of the heart. Cum on. Butttttt….Marcus immediately stopped with your silence, a growing awareness clouding his morning ministrations until you heard his voice drop about an octave.

“Oh my God”.

You rolled your eyes anticipating the emotional wreckage, “Baby, it’s not that big a deal…”. You awkwardly shifted back to meet the roundest, warmest saucer shaped eyes that have ever existed. He looked like he had stopped breathing, and tears were already threatening to spill from those chocolate-colored orbs swimming before you.

“Oh my God” he caught sight of the light purple bruises peppered across your hips, covering his face with both hands. “Baby, gawd! You told me to keep going!” he whined, sitting up quickly and laying a feather light hand across your stomach. “What can I do? Advil? Water? Do we need to go to Urgent Care?”

Your mouth dropped open in comical surprise, taking his face in your hands. “Urgent Care? Honey, they’re bruises! This isn’t that scene from “Twilight”, you haven’t broken anything…”. His face didn’t register any shift at all, and you wondered if your words had even penetrated….nope…another bad choice of words as you winced slightly at the new seated position.

“Oh my God. I’m calling my sister…” Marcus reached over, hands trembling to grab his phone, as you deftly removed it from his hands and dangled it above his head.

“No thank you Romeo, I do not want the entire Pike Family up in my business as much as you were last night…” you heaved a heavy sigh of remembrance, trying to ass-certain how you might convince him for future sexy time experimentation.

“How can you make jokes at a time like this?” he pleaded, drawing his hands around your shoulders as though you were a porcelain doll. “I’m gonna draw you a bath. Can you walk?”

You started to chuckle with incredulity until you wondered if his question wasn’t altogether ridiculous. You bit your lower lip before it started wobbling out of control. You and Marcus had been together for a while, but you still wanted him to find you attractive and exciting. This was hardly a page out of “Sex and the City” if you couldn’t even walk to the bathroom after a birthday celebration YOU had demanded.

“Um. I think so” your voice seemed to disappear as you noticed more plumping bruises across your ass and breasts. This was all your fault. “Gosh, I was just having so much fun, maybe I got a little carried away” you said, almost to yourself.

“Well, I’m glad THAT part of the celebration went as planned” he sighed with a bit of relief, cupping your face with his hand. “You are taking it easy today, young lady. No work. Only movies. Ice packs. Advil…” he rubbed his lower back, getting out of bed and stretching for a moment. “I’m gonna look online for over the counter remedies, and draw you that bath…” he kissed the corner of your mouth with a nearly infinitesimal amount of pressure. “AND WE’RE NEVER DOING THAT AGAIN” he smiled with solidarity and headed into the bathroom.

Everything he had said sounded good to you…except that last part. Your heart shattered into a million pieces as you sucked in a desperate breath. My body, my rules, you thought. It obviously takes two to tango…or however you would describe what you tried last night…and you would never want Marcus to be uncomfortable. But you wanted to make sure he understood your desires. Despite the bruised fingerprints to the contrary, you had offered more than an enthusiastic YES, and it had only peaked your curiosity, not dulled it. But maybe your request was…unreasonable? Marcus wouldn’t hurt you to save his own life. The tears threatened to reappear as you thought of all the ways Marcus took care of you; pancakes, flowers, post-it-notes, hand made lunches. And here you were, the Scarlet Woman, debauched and depraved, hoping your boyfriend would rail you into the mattress until you broke. A lump started to form in your throat as you blinked away the tears. Pull it together, pull it together, pull it together. A small pain throbbed in your nether regions as your breath began to hitch in your chest and tighten. Come on woman, it’s your birthday, you rationalized, but that thought only pushed you closer to the emotional precipice you were already balanced precariously upon. And then you couldn’t help but wonder; what if Marcus never touches you that way again? What if he never touches you at all?

Your face wrenched up in a contortion of immediate distress. This was a bruise completely unseen but burying itself into your imagination. You started to squeak like a small chew toy, perseverating on this most ridiculous thought and hugging yourself around your ribcage. A small sob escaped your lips as you heard the bathtub roar to life and Marcus’ voice drift in echoing, “Okay, do you want lavender or eucalyptus epsom salt?”

You bit down hard on your lower lip, irrationally determined to stop the overflow of emotions, but tasting salty tear after salty tear that annoyingly dripped down your cheeks. 

“I think I found a bath bomb!” he melodiously intoned, but stopped abruptly upon seeing your small nervous breakdown. He rushed forward, kneeling at the bedside and grabbing his phone again, “I’m calling my sister”.

“Stawwwwwp!” you whined, throwing the phone across the bed and starting to hyperventilate. Unfortunately every hiccup radiated through your lower body with unnerving sensitivity as you gulped and winced and laughed at your own predicament.

“Baby, please, how can I help?” Marcus went into full puppy dog mode, lightly rubbing your leg and lower back. “I’m so sorry”.

“No, I’M s-s-orry!” you wailed, growing more distressed as the moments passed. Marcus shook his head, continuing to rub your back. “I was h-h-having so much, f-f-f-fun…and it was such a g-g-good b-b-b-irthday…” Marcus reached up to wipe a trail of snot from your nose as you unraveled. “And n-n-n-ow you’re never gonna t-t-t-ouch me again!!!” you cried, throwing up your hands in despair. There. The Scarlet Woman, debased and unhinged, mockery of society and bedroom sexcapades, humiliated for all to see.

“Take a deep breath for me please, birthday girl. And let’s take that from the top, with feeling” he mused, wiping another tear away and tucking an escaped hair behind your ear tenderly. You took a big breath, holding it in your mouth theatrically as he counted to five, and puffing it in his face surprisingly as you burst into cautious laughter. Wincing slightly at the lamaze-like activity your hiccups started to quiet down as he rubbed large circles across your back, smiling broadly.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that…for some inexplicable reason…you…enjoyed our celebrations last night, and want to make sure I’m not over-reacting?” he tentatively pondered, as your nodded emphatically in the affirmative, hiccuping and wincing some more. “Alright, and maybe in a couple days, AFTER you take your Advil, and AFTER we watch “Casablanca” and AFTER I make us some pancakes you wouldn’t be opposed to…an encore of some kind?” he ventured, nodding in agreement with your bobbing head as your sniffles quieted down. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, considering your request and dragging a finger slowly down the front of your body and pausing at the top of your clit tentatively. “I have a complimentary request as negotiations proceed” he whispered watching your pupils dilate with lust and watching his finger hover over your heat expectantly. Not hearing a response he continued, “I’m going to need a lot more prep time, giving you the attention you deserve if you expect me to split you in half on every birthday”.

You swallowed loudly, surprised at his uncharacteristically lewd comment, but hopeful that he meant every word of it. You nodded slowly as he tapped your clit VERY lightly eliciting a small jump from you and a giggle of affirmation. “Yes please” you managed to get out as he stood up from the floor, ghosting his lips over yours tantalizingly.

“Ummm…can you carry me to the bathroom please?” your nose wrinkled up with embarrassment, not entirely sure if your legs would carry you themselves.

“Your bath awaits, m’lady” he drolled, hooking an arm softly under your backside and pulling you into an embrace...

*thanks @samspenandsword for the cool dividers!