𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐲: "𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞; 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫."
NEW YORK, 1967
It's 1967 and Margot Murdock's life is falling apart. I...
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CW: Spanking, daddy kink, interrupted smut, knives, and head injuries, mentions of suicide and PTSD.
Margot has abandonment issues and issues with emotional regulation and impulse control. I'm kind of reluctant to diagnose her, I just wrote her the way I acted when I was younger before I started going to therapy for my own shit. A lot of me is woven into her, as it is with every character that I write.
I typically alternate Margot and James chapters, but this is all Margot for many reasons. Next chapter is gonna be James's POV.
PLEASE comment on fics. It doesn't take much time and it means the world to writers who bust our asses to bring y'all updates 🩵
"To love me is to love a haunted house." - Brenna Twohy, "Anxiety: A Ghost Story"
MARGOT
Hell's Kitchen, New York
June 2, 1967
We lay on the couch in his office. It's past seven and he's ordered us pizza. I called Kate and told her I was staying with an old boyfriend in SoHo for the night, some story that I got off of work, went for a drink and bumped into him. I have no idea if she bought it, she was mostly yawning when I was talking.
James has his feet on his coffee table, his dress shirt open and my stocking feet rest in his lap as the two of us quietly munch on pepperoni pizza.
"Thanks for the food."
"You're welcome." He smirks. "This isn't the dinner I promised you, by the way."
"Right, you'll be cooking for me."
"That's right," he whispers.
I sigh softly and look around his office. He's fairly young for someone so successful. He doesn't have many lines on his face save for a crease between his brow and a few on his forehead. My eyes trail a small line of freckles along his stubbled cheekbone as he uses his thumb to wipe the pizza grease off of his lips. He really is beautiful.
"How old are you?" I ask.
"Turned 30 in March."
I nod.
"I'm 26."
"I know. I read your rap sheet."
I chuckle.
"I guess you formed quite the judgment about me."
"Only when you walked in the room, opened your mouth, and sound came out," he retorts. I snort with laughter and he grins at me. "But otherwise, I try not to judge people based on a piece of paper. A rap sheet only tells you how they broke the law, it doesn't tell you the why. The system doesn't care about the why, even though they say they do."
