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sammysvanfeet · 6 months

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Bobbie, I always come back for your updates despite my absences. Your writing obliterates me. Oh how I want Rosa and Jacob to be happy, despite knowing how it ends.

"…like a dream made real knowing we would not be parting at the break of dawn, and indeed I stayed in bed until the very last moment each day just to savour it."

This part especially got to me. Oh how I can feel that longing, delaying that inevitable pain. Another A+ chapter, bestie! 🩷

Rosa - Three (ii) - Interlude

Words: ~1350 Warnings: Reference to injuries. Author's note: You may have noticed I've been struggling to write, this year has not gone at all the way I wanted it to in terms of being productive. This has been sat for a while, so in order to start Chapter Four proper it's coming out as an interlude to bridge the gap.

He smelt of sea mist and gunpowder, tobacco and spiced rum. Hair and skin drenched in it, as though emanating from within him and not just a product of his life and surroundings.

I would take it in in deep, all encompassing breaths as I watched him sleep. The backdrop of the crashing waves his lullaby, my sleeping Pirate who despite near death found his way to my door. Chose my door.

I savoured every second of the four days he was with me, every touch embedded on my fingertips and banked to memory, his voice a melody to be recited in my mind like a folk song from my youth.

Sleep held him the first night, body weak and desperate for recuperation, but when he regained consciousness I found the sparkle still dancing there in his eyes. It was a relief, and joyous to be back with one another, but in spite of that he was itching to leave.

Several times I caught him trying to sit or reach out for his coat and boots, when we both knew well he could barely move without pain. He had never been incapacitated such as this, never parted from his ship so long and it was glaringly clear by his desire to get back there. I tried not to feel hurt, that he would wish away our time together, knowing that it was more the frustration at being bed bound and broken, away from those under his stewardship.

Joshua and Sammy took back to the ship that first evening, keen to instil some discipline on the rabble they would no doubt return to in Jacob’s absence. They would sail to Reaper’s Peak as first envisaged, before returning for their Captain in whatever state he may be in. The sea waits for no man, even the Scarlet Shadow.

The first night was the hardest, when I had to open the tavern and have everything appear as normal to the regulars when instead I was exhausted, emotionally drained. They were full of questions, why I had opened late, why I looked so pale.

“I came over unwell, nothing to worry about. What can I get you?”

But worry I did, about leaving him there in my bed up the stairs. Fetching him water, bread and honey, checking every hour in the hope that when I’d appear in the doorway he’d have stirred. But no, nothing. Just the rise and fall of his chest, the small mercy I could grab on to to keep me from falling to my knees.

I slept at the end of the bed, curled up like an overgrown kitten, too afraid to let myself near enough to touch him, but no part of me able to leave him alone. All I wanted was to stroke his hair and kiss his face, but I knew that his body was keeping him sleeping for a reason.

And then just like that the gulls woke me, when it felt like I’d barely slept a wink. Raucous, shrill, I was cursing them as I rubbed my eyes, only to feel a rush of pure elation at the sight of Jacob’s open and staring out of the window.

Like an excited child I scurried up the bed to his side, a hand to his cheek to check he was real, a kiss to his lips and sighing at the warmth of them. Living and breathing.

“I don't remember getting here, but I smelt you around me, sweet lavender and honey mead, I thought I must be dreaming. Then when I saw you, I realised there were indeed heavens on Earth.”

Each of the days that followed were brighter than any I’d known in so many months, and all because he was there. Even his grumblings, or when I’d find him staring out of the window longingly at the horizon, the stack of books I’d set out left entirely untouched.

“That’s normally how I look when I’m thinking of you.”

“Now we’re both looking for those red sails.”

We would talk whenever my time allowed, each moment of slow trade that I could waltz up the stairs and look into his eyes. Any normal thing a man and woman could speak of, even down to the weather, which for a Pirate and a Landlady in a port town was actually not a dull subject. We would spy clouds on the horizon and make bets when the rain would come. He would win most, but I was never close behind.

He would ask me about my father in a way that evoked pride instead of tears, and I would laugh through stories of childhood and good times past. He was warm, in those times he could forget his Ship and his commitments, he was a man with legs for land and no one in his heart but me.

When he could stand to be touched without hissing in pain, we would hold each other all night, like a dream made real knowing we would not be parting at the break of dawn, and indeed I stayed in bed until the very last moment each day just to savour it.

His hand on my waist and his lips on my neck, the stirrings and urges kept restrained by the angry wound at his side.

“What I would give to be well..”

“Oh tell me all of it, Captain.”

It was all too good to be true, and my stupid mind stopped me thinking of the end until it arrived too soon, without warning and without wanting it to. The tears I shamefully cried when he left in the darkness of impending sunrise.

“I wasn’t made for the land, sweet Love,” dabbing my cheeks with the cuff of his freshly cleaned sleeve. “But seeing you cry a river of tears makes me wish that I was.”

He stood in the doorway once again in his bold finery, his brothers calling him to make haste from a respectful distance so as not to overhear our goodbye. He clutched his side in pain as he turned to give them an unsavoury retort, unsteady still on his feet but no more time to lose.

I knew better than to ask him to stay..again. And even then I’d known what he would say, unsure why I’d decided to so brazenly hurt my own feelings by having him give me an answer. But then he truly caught me off guard, his parting words, like they had just sprung out of his head in a flurry as he took in my eyes for a final time.

“Come with me, Rosa. Sail away with me, I will give you everything, anything you need if you just say you will.”

Josh appeared then to hasten him further, all too aware of the specks of sunlight creeping up from the shadows of the horizon, A hand on Jacob’s shoulder and a polite nod of farewell in my direction as he did so. He did not have the strength yet to fight it as he began to step away, but his eyes stuck on me as my mind struggled to conjure a reply. Anything at all. Just a wide-eyed gaze pricked with tears, mouth left hanging.

“When I return, will you give me your answer? Will you come with me, my love?"

Taglist: @gretavanfleas @jakeslovehandles @sammysvanfeet @doodle417 @dannysnipplehair @writingcold @aljen-malti @peacefulfuckinarmy @jakekiszkasbestie @sc2106 @myownparadise96 @lallisonl @joshsindigostreak @gretasmokerising @highladyofasgard @jakeyboiiiiiii @greta-van-chaos @gretavanlace @gardensgatedaisy @joshyvanfleet @lightmylove-gvf @notthedroidz @zoe-tally06 @myleftsock @stillstreetjoshua @hellowgoodbye @fakeplastiqtree @lexii-nv-c @ageofbajabule @josh-iamyour-mama @keighoe @idk-maddie @samssymmetricalstache @thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction

#fic recs #my best bestie

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sammysvanfeet · 6 months

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i have never felt more personally about anything a day in my life

THE SLEEVES??? THE MAKEUP???? THE BODY CHAIN????? HES SICK HES SICK HES SICK

📸 credit: ageofstarcatcher on instagram

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sammysvanfeet · 7 months

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hey

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sammysvanfeet · 7 months

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i want my long distance besties to be local besties is that too much to ask

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sammysvanfeet · 7 months

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i look normal but deep down i think about love and the moon a lot

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sammysvanfeet · 7 months

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sammysvanfeet · 7 months

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I feel like I’m too gay for this fandom anymore and it really sucks

#🙃🙃🙃#personal

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sammysvanfeet · 7 months

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the boys via phoebe’s ig [x]

#not gvf #but my current hyperfixation

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sammysvanfeet · 8 months

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just wanted to take the opportunity to remind everyone of this photo because it absolutely changed my life

#not gvf

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sammysvanfeet · 8 months

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I’ve been impatiently awaiting this one! Talk about leaving me on tenterhooks!!! I am absolutely invested and I need more asap!

Rosa - Three

Word Count: ~5100 Warnings: Fighting, detailed descriptions of injury and death. That Pirate life.. Author's note: I thought we should get to see the Shadow in action. Though Rosa may wish he'd returned under different circumstances.

There used to be a time I would rise with the gulls in the Summertime. First light, still waves, a list of chores as long as my arm and nature far better to rouse me than the shrill chime of the town clock.

This Summer, however, has been different. After the howling storm of Winter and all that came with it, the night that changed everything and took my mind from the tavern and its mundane tasks and instead, out through the window to the sea.

Jacob, that Scarlet Shadow. Who’s shadow had not darkened my door in almost five months now, every passing day leaving my waking moments filled with wondering where he might be, whether he was well. Whether he may be thinking of me at any same moment.

There had been a handful of letters received over the months, and though my heart had burst and spread a giddy smile on my face that would last for days, of course there was no return address to reciprocate and share my thoughts, say just how much I missed him.

Sweet Rosa,

I write to you after a formidable few weeks, at times perilous for we wayfaring wanderers, but rest assured I am well, you need not worry.

Our latest victory brought with it a vast bounty, and so captivated by this star ruby was I, that I felt compelled to have it set on a chain and sent back to you. Please wear it for me nestled next to your beating heart, so I can take those beats away with me when I am next able to be graced by your presence.

The glow of the rising sun as I write reminds me of your eyes, your warmth and kindness but also your fire and passion. I wait for the dawn that sees me back at the Starcatcher in your arms.

All my love,

Jacob.

The first, a month after he had left, and as he had asked the pendant had not left my neck. How could I? It was without question one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, striking dark pink with a blinding starburst. It seemed, perhaps foolishly, like he had conjured it just for me in its uniqueness. But more than that, a gift unlike any other that I had ever received, enamoured that he had seen it and thought of me. I wore the blush of a young girl receiving a posie from her beau, but had to stop my mind wandering to how, or perhaps from whom he had gotten it.

It was the first but by no means last gift that he sent. Some had come with the letters, a golden brooch in the shape of an exotic bird, a nightdress spun from the finest silk I’d ever touched. Some had not.

One morning, I woke to a square chest up to my knee filled with coins, more than I could make in two years, perhaps even five. I could not bring myself to spend it, part of me feeling like it was too much, so over and above anything I had expected. But not just that. When after the initial shock died down, my Father’s words rang out in my ears, just how appalled he would be with it all, what he might have said if he was here.

We are honest people, Rosa, and as long as those in our fair town know this, we will always do well. We are the place these folk come to in rain or shine, dependable and hardworking, just like they. We shall not profit from Pirates and their barbarity.

With the chest squirreled away and untouched under my bed, I was left trying to convince myself that perhaps, with any luck, the trinkets and jewellery may have come about by legitimate means. Surely it could not be an entirely ludicrous a thought?

This particular morning as the dreams recede into the haze on the horizon, those last few seconds before the first rays breach, I reach for the pendant sat at my breast. I rub the smooth surface between my fingers, almost ritualistic in the hope that in doing so, some divine workings would be keeping him safe. I speak silent prayers, can you hear me? Please be safe. You said you would make it back to me…

He, who I would catch myself in a daydream over at even the most inopportune times, and whose stories I seemed to have followed throughout his ever growing absence.

A tavern in a port town hears all the tales from the open sea, and even those of the far fetched Rufus Cartmell had been catching my ear these months. Talks of raids, skirmishes, Jacob’s ship The Dreaded Red mentioned by he and others on more than one occasion. But not using his birth name of course, that left a secret just for me.

“The Scarlet Shadow struck again, so I’ve heard. Held off two opposing ships that had conspired to overthrow him. You could hear the cannon fire from Shell Harbour so I’m told, and against all odds those red sails were the only ones left standing.”

“A bloody day on the seas last night. Would you believe young Chianti went up against The Dreaded Red? Sure he had the speed, but the might? Poor kid really thought he’d have the upper hand by catching him off guard, but the Shadow always knows you’re coming.”

“Some say he sold his body and soul to Amphitrite, she guides him from the deep. Even if he were to be vanquished, she would rise him up again on a wave so big it would swallow all the lands whole.”

There was a rush of pride at every drop of his name, his crew, or the ship I had yet to see with my own eyes. It was spoken of as some vessel of legend, a Lord of the Seas that in my mind dwarfed every other and casting deathly shadows. In my dreams, I pictured Jacob at the helm, wind whipping his hair and eyeglass fixed on the next destination ahead. It could stir me in the dead of the quietest night, waking to my hand beneath my nightgown with my own wanton tide flowing through my fingers.

But with the pride, the constant wistfulness, also came worry and trepidation, the anxiety which always lingered on the periphery. Rubbing the gemstone with prayers and wishes for his good fortune, that he would make it back to me as unblemished as he was in my memory.

And now the gulls are shrieking louder, as though they are not calling to the fishermen with their night catches, but just to me through the open window on the light, morning breeze. Enough delay, start your day.

So with that I sit up, stretching my groggy limbs and turning to watch the first few rays bringing a path of glittering droplets right into the port. As close to my door as they can get, a gift just for me. Maybe at the other end of the path lies Jacob, maybe he is beginning his day looking towards me from his own window.

On hauling from my bed I wash and dress, a simple navy blue skirt and cream apron, matching bodice and Bardot blouse. Sometimes I would long for pretty gowns watching the ladies come and go though the town square, but no sense for me to have such finery. Skirts of purples and yellows sat in my armoire perfect for summer, but a fear that even they were too precious for the dirt and spillages inflicted on them after a day of hard work. I will stay as I always am.

The first task is to open the shutters and the windows to let in the morning breeze. A passing wave and hello to a few of the nearby fishermen and washer women. Watering of the flowers in the window boxes, sea holly and lavender, and checking the exterior all looks well. Papa had been fiercely proud of his tavern, perfect and presentable, and pride of place to all who sailed into Torbellino.

I take a note now of the grit building up on the edges of window panes, the fading of the five pointed star on the sign above the door. How Father would have taken care of them before they even became noticeable. A small sigh, always something more to learn..

My mind is still on Papa as I re-enter to fetch a pail and cloth, how we would fill the room with whistle and song as we prepared for each day, and the mornings so quiet since. As I walk the short distance to the well at the end of the road, how when I was little he found me a pail half the size of his, and how I would walk with him trying not to spill a single drop.

Carried along on my wave of memories, the moments of the present floundered in favour of spending time with him just for a short while, until I’m nudged for my turn to fill my bucket. Up and up, to think I live my life surrounded by water and yet the running tap is so oddly hypnotic. Father would ask me where I’d gone off to, if I was swimming in the bottom of the bucket with a mermaid’s tail. Never a Princess, always a mermaid.

There are more waves and hellos as I finish but they do not penetrate the surface. Later, but not now.

I shall clean the windows now, and later when Sawyer is in I will ask to borrow his ladder for the sign. He will offer to go home and bring it, but no bother, I can fetch it on the morrow after—

The pail crashes to the ground before me as I open the door, soaking my feet and skirt, spilling over the stone floor and retreating back out onto the front step. Had I been able to tear my gaze downwards I still would not have seen the trail of blood it washed away.

“Close the door!”

“Are you sure she can be trusted?”

“We have little other choice.”

“It doesn’t look as though she is much use at all just standing there. I said to close the door!”

“Enough! Ahh! … Rosa..darling, the door.”

There is a man in the foreground, tall and slender, and another less tall lingering near the bar. But they are not who I see. Just inconsequential blurs as my eyes zero on the one to the side, slumped on a chair and looking over at me with concern. No majestic coat or plumed hat to distinguish him to anyone else, but to me it’s only those eyes I need.

“Heavens, Jacob.”

I find my body moving of its own accord, closing the oak door over behind me whilst trying to get my head around the fact he is here, in daylight. Why?

As my eyes focus on more than the voice, the eyes, I know he is struggling, breath laboured and a vice grip on his right side. Then I’m rushing, skittering over the stone slabs towards him, unknowingly kicking the toppled bucket and sending it crashing away in my haste.

“He called her darling, can you believe it? He’ll never live that down.”

“Cut it out, Sam, it’s not the time for it.”

I kneel in front of him, a hand on his thigh which I notice immediately is shaking. All of him. Palid and greying. Thick, beaded sweat on his brow, down his neck, shimmering in veins down his chest where his shirt lies open.

And the dirt. The blood. Streaks and dried in patches, a full bloom on his shirt at the side where he leans trying to cover and press down with his hands under his ribs. Dark, viscous, streams escaping..

“What happened?!” I search over his body, mentally taking note of every lesion, the bruises blossoming in their various hues. None so grave as the wound to the abdomen.

His mouth opens to answer, but all that comes out is a strained cough, face contorted and body seizing.

“He needs to lie down.” The smaller man is at my side, voice firm and attention focused solely on Jacob.

“Of course. My b-bed. Please.” My voice is meek and lost, but I’m standing to attention and pointing towards the stairs beyond the store room.

The two men lift him between them, a heavy groan that rings in my ears, rattles my heart. By instinct I raise my arms to reach for him, but already they stride away. I don’t know what to do, but in the moments before I follow them I slide the bolt back over the door and close the windows. A scan of the room that would stay empty as long as time needed, a look down at the trail of blood to the lone pulled out chair now smudged by my footsteps.

On my way to the staircase, I grab some clean cloths and bandages, a bottle of clear alcohol before racing them with not a moment to lose, each moan and grunt their own piercing jab at my heart carrying me faster.

“Move your hands, we’ve gotta look at it.”

“Fuck! Eurghh, don’t…don’t let her s-“

On cue yet oblivious to their hushed tones, the sight of the wound makes me gasp and tears prick my eyes as I round the bed. Deep, dark and oozing, likes its own creature working to take him from the world. Jacob’s eyes screw shut in wincing pain, like seeing my shock took him to another level. I try to stop my shaking, to be strong.

“Good,” the taller chokes on seeing the bottle cradled in my arms between the linens, swiping it from me and immediately taking his own desperate mouthful.

“It’s, it’s for the wound. I didn’t know what else-“

“That and to give him some courage, you mean.”

He makes me feel small, useless. Neither trust me, whether as a woman or a stranger, but as if to only highlight how pathetic they might see me a tear rolls down my cheek, no free hands to hide it.

“Rosa, don’t mind him. Listen.”

Through blurry eyes I turn to face the other, unloading my items onto the bed to clear the tears that have begun to fall. He is offering me a smile, reassuring but urgent in his tone.

“Jacob wanted us to bring him here, whether to help or to say goodbye. But we’re not about all of that, we’re going to save him and you’re going to help us, aren’t you?”

My mind is blank, body stiff, watching Joshua’s mouth, how he reaches to shake my shoulder to find my focus.

“You have to be strong Rosa. We hold him, you douse the wound and wrap the bandages. Got it?”

“Yes, yes of course.” I gulp whilst rubbing my eyes, mentally picking myself up like a girl acting tall. “I’ll do anything.”

I force myself to look at the wound, unobstructed, robbing him of steady breaths and seeping the life from him. I want to take it all away, make him well. And I will. He needs me.

“When I say, you wash the wound. Alright?”

I find myself nodding, my inner motor driving me while my mind swims. My gaze turns to the three men, as Samuel pins Jacob’s legs, and Joshua his arms above his head. I’m not ready, I’m not ready. But I turn to Jacob, eyes heavy but fierce, calling to me through his pain, willing me to do it.

“It’s okay.”

And I nod. A last moment to take the necklace from my neck and thrust it in to his hand, closing mine around it. A fleeting, fervent kiss to his cheek before I pick up the bottle and the linen in a shaky grasp.

“Now.”

The scream is deafening, more tears welling in my eyes as he contorts under the other’s firm hold, face screwed in unimaginable pain. A sob chokes from me, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. My arms itch to throw themselves around him and blanket him in quiet and calm but I cannot, Joshua shouting over us both for me to press down firmly, stem the bleeding and patch the wound.

I lean with all my body, the odd mix of overwhelming guilt and innate determination to save him tearing me in two.

And just when I think I can’t take it anymore, that he cannot take it, his cries quieten in his lungs and his face falls limp. For the most devastating second I fear the worst before I see his chest continuing to rise, his body saving him further torment and taking him to the peaceful, unconscious part of his mind. The hand with the necklace clenched now loosens slightly, knuckles returning from bright white to his natural sunkissed tone. In between his fingers I see it peeking pink and shining, heartbeat thrumming to soothe him to sleep.

My tears fall with relief, our collective efforts being of some success a few minutes later as the bleeding seems to finally begin to abate. I rise slowly, shaky on my feet as the adrenaline washes away and I steady against the bed frame.

We dress the wound like handling precious china, each touch of his soft skin against my own like a caress, a sweet kiss. I cannot wait for him to wake, I cannot wait to kiss him.

As the smaller one brings the sheet up over Jacob’s torso, the taller one reaches for the bottle on the nightstand and takes a drink so long I wonder how he has the breath.

With the dizziness, the knocking of my knees subsiding, my eyes are forced from watching him sleeping to pick up the stained bandages from the floor into a bundle in my arms, pinky tinges left in their wake and a wonder if they’ll ever scrub out. But it’s not a thought for now.

And without needing to ask, the two men follow me out of the room, down the stairs and back through to the bar from where all remains dark and still. I imagine I will have already had patrons knocking confusedly at the door. They must wait a little more.

Though the sun is barely at midmorning, I reach for the bottle of whisky I keep just for myself, three small glasses as I walk to the table they decide to seat themselves at.

And though I doubt my nerves will ever fully return, my voice is forthright when I finally break the silence.

“What are your names?”

In unison they bring their gazes to me, a flash of sheepishness I know they will not have wanted me to see. The pride I would normally feel at surprising two pirates would need to wait.

The shorter, curly haired one answers for the both of them, a clearing of his throat and a smoothing of his neckerchief as if he were a noble gentleman and not streaked in war paint and a golden tooth shimmering at me as his lips part.

“Joshua, Miss. That there is Sammy.”

“Are you part of his crew?”

“Yes. Brothers, too.”

Sammy pulls a dagger from his side, clutching the hilt testingly as if for comfort. It’s not a threatening move, more that maybe he’s away in his head, a habit to calm his nerves perhaps. He toys with the blade for a moment before raising it and sticking the pointy end into the wood of the table top. I remember him.

And he remembers me, the briefest guilt of a scolded boy when I shoot him a look that stops him in his tracks.

In the cold light of day and with their leader indisposed they are but young men. No ship to stand forth on or band of buccaneers to buoy them, their walls crack too with a worrying of the lips, a nervous scratching of their arms as we sit and sip.

The door is thrown open with a force that rattles the windows in their panes, Jacob spinning from his desk in surprise.

“You won’t fucking believe this, brother.”

He sets his quill down, blast if he could only get five minutes alone. In the dead of night, and he is still bothered like a mother with children about her ankles. He knew he shouldn’t have lit his lamp. But then how would he have seen to write?

He doesn’t know where it came from but he felt the urge to write to her. Prose for Rosa. The almost-rhyme had made him chuckle, and he wanted to tell her that too.

He would send it by raven as he was no more than an hour or two away from Torbellino. A final plunder at Reaper’s Peak and he would take his course to her, but a letter would be nice for the days before, to make her think of him until he could get to her.

“What, prey tell, is so pressing at this hour Josh?”

“Salty Tom. Starboard bough, there’s no time!”

Oh Hells, is he jesting??

Jacob leaps to his feet, the letter will have to wait. Hat. Coat. Cutlass. And to the door.

That bastard Tom, thinks he can pull off a night raid and Jacob won’t know about it? He can think again. Three in the crow’s nest at all times, that’s how it always was. Those boys are like hawks, but it sounds like they almost let one slip through the net..

Josh takes the spot next to him at the bough, the rest of the crew stood in wait. Sure, through all the years at sea their eyes had become trained to see through the layers of dark, but in the blackest pitch such as this they were at the disadvantage. And that old Salty Seadog knew it.

But only for now.

“Wonder what’s brought that chancer back to warm shores. I thought we’d seen him off for good last time.”

“He’ll have heard about the diamonds, same as all the others. As if we weren’t the most wanted men in the seas before, now we’re the most lucrative too.” Jacob’s mouth twists into a gnarl as he grips the leather of the blade testingly. He would surely die before giving up that bounty.

His thought is interrupted by a grappling hook, the familiar whistling through the air before crashing onto the floor of the ship, perhaps not four paces from his feet. As it snakes back towards the rails with the force of the person pulling at the other end, he hears more. He hears his men stepping backwards, shuffling, hard to avoid thinking they might be unlucky enough to be cut from top to bottom by one.

“Stand your fucking ground! Eyes on, wits about ye!”

Joshua is gone from his side in a second, hacking at the thick ropes attached to the hooks. Several others follow, but with the ropes seemingly dipped in tar they manage only a couple. Still, it’s terribly satisfying to Jacob when he hears the screams of men and boys falling into the blackness.

“Daniel, ready the cannons.”

His comrade is not in sight, but almost as in tune with the Shadow as his brothers. He had those boys below deck loading cannons faster than Jacob had ever seen. Salty Tom would have no vessel left for him whether he made it out alive or dead. The second one that Jacob hoped to obliterate, and he would keep doing so until that scoundrel stopped coming back.

He knew that his own ship was prized bounty, he was almost never shot upon which was always their enemies’ ultimate downfall. To really get Jacob you’d need to rip him from his Dreaded Red and then send them to the deep together, but those fools only ever thought of gluttony and what they might hope to steal first.

When the first of the enemy breach the top they are met with copper flame. Driven by bloodlust and greed, their fearless battlecries are met in equal measure as the crew put torch to their clothes and hair. A couple fall before they can make it on board, one collapsing onto the deck writhing like a screaming beacon as he catches light. Joshua’s golden saber silences the young lad within seconds.

For every few that crash and burn there are five more that come over the top, but Jacob already knows there will be combat, and he welcomes it. From Josh’s first word he yearned for it, the need to vanquish stoking an ember in his gut. The dance of blood chill and death makes him positively giddy, alive.

It is he who steps forward first, taking the lead where his crew follow drawing their swords with him. Battle formation, moving as one, they take up against their foes with nothing but victory on their mind. The clash of iron begins to ring around the darkness, filling the spots where the sparse light cannot reach.

He laughs, besting three in succession with pathetic ease. A pierced belly, a slash to the neck, the third recoiling so swiftly from the shank to his leg that he falls back flailing into the ocean.

Green. The lot of them. Perhaps he’ll have time to finish his letter tonight afterall.

But where they lack experience they make up in number, Salty Tom clearly looking to overwhelm by throwing his meager wealth at as many young crew he could lay his hands on. Jacob’s crew can feel the number against them with their hands full, though certainly nothing they can’t handle.

It bothers him not, one after another they fall swift and bloody and then onto the next. He laughs, looking for Tom himself amongst the shadows in the hope he can strike the fatal blow himself. He wants to see him die before his eyes this time just so he knows the bastard is finally gone.

But instead he finds himself surrounded by four, his hat and coat a lantern to draw any enemy with a desire to vanquish the Captain. Before they can even react to the chance now lying before them, two are silenced forever with a mere few turns of Jacob’s blade. The other two, however, they are on him in an instant and he knows they are seasoned Pirates. A better match.

They parry and spar, Jacob rather likes two against one. It keeps his mind sharp, so often easier for him as the one than the other two, left wondering how he does it. He will cut them to ribbons. Look, already one is onto his knee with a ligament severed, but he’s got fight in him no doubt. Jacob will just have to take his head.

He slashes with a flourish, arm drawn wide to send blood across the deck, body poised to spin to the other. But as he turns the man is gone, two others coming toward him in his place so suddenly he barely catches the glint in the opposite direction. Him. He’d fucking moved.

All the crew hear his cry, and a few eyes catching the glancing blow through flickering torchlight as the sword pierces skin. Jacob lurches back, off balance before finding his feet. With a rumbling growl he pulls the blade from the spot where it had nestled beneath his rib cage. Where the enemy thought he may be hailed a hero for conquering the Shadow, all thought of celebration, life suddenly flows out of him.

With a dizzying resolve and an unknown strength, adrenaline coursing through him, Jacob bolts forward to drive his blood red cutlass through the enemy’s stomach, out through the other side almost raising him off the floor as the light fades instantly from his eyes. Head turning limp, the blade is withdrawn and he drops to the floor, but it only takes Jacob a few moments to realise his is no superficial wound.

Checking he’s safe from further danger, he slinks back towards his quarters, but the sting of guilt in doing so almost as profound as the burning in his side. He never backs down from a fight, but there’s something tugging him towards safety, a feeling he can’t recall.

The clash of swords carries on as he shuts and bars his door, just a little calm and quiet, just for now while he gathers his thoughts. He’ll return and finish them off in no more than a few moments, and my, they had better be ready. But first he’ll sit at his desk once more, apply some pressure to the site which now he notices is bleeding quite heavily.

It’s dropped a pathway from the doorway right to where he sits now. Like breadcrumbs. Such a mess.

It’s almost black against the dark stain of the floorboards. But his hand, his fingertips are a deep scarlet. Ha. Funny really.

And when he rubs his thumb and forefinger together. Pink. Roses. Rosa. Soft body, warmth..

The next he knows he is being awoken by a banging on the door.

“Jake! Jacob, open up! Are you well?”

“We saw them off, brother! Blast them all to hell, food for the fishes now. But you’re not, are you?”

He blinks a few times, wondering what happened, but at the mere fraction of a movement to move towards them the pain knocks through him like a cannonball.

“Fuck!”

He manages after a few minutes to stand, but he is unsteady, not like usual. Funny too, is it the sea sending me dizzy? Surely no, we’re friends, he thinks.

When he eventually gets there he all but falls against the door, taking a few breaths before heaving the beam from across it. The searing is overwhelming, like a bubbling broth boiling up his insides. He steps backwards but finds only the floor reaching up to grab him, spluttering on the impact and watching the specks of blood splatter.

That’s not from him. No no no, can’t be. And whether to himself or his brothers that finally make their way to him, “A scratch, a scratch!”

They look back at him with concern, heavens they worry too much. He will be fine, ‘“I will be fine!”

“We need to get him to land,” says Josh to Sam, as he kneels to remove his heavy overcoat. Jacob barks at him to watch out, why are they not including him in this discussion?

“You think he’ll last that long?”

“What choice do we have? Back to Reaper’s Peak, we’ll go to-”

“No! No..”

And now they turn to him, relief. He’s the Captain afterall. Joshua’s the elder but he is the leader, and he knows where he wants to go. If he has to go, she will help.

“Torbellino, west northwest, an hour or two. No more. Starcatcher. Take me to her.”

Taglist: @gretavanfleas @jakeslovehandles @sammysvanfeet @doodle417 @dannysnipplehair @writingcold @aljen-malti @gretavanbitches @peacefulfuckinarmy @jakekiszkasbestie @sc2106 @tearsofbriseis @myownparadise96 @lallisonl @joshsindigostreak @gretasmokerising @thebesttears @highladyofasgard @jakeyboiiiiiii @loofypoofy @greta-van-chaos @gretavanlace @gardensgatedaisy @shesawomaninadream @joshyvanfleet @lightmylove-gvf @notthedroidz @gretavanslut @zoe-tally06 @Mamalikes-gvf @myleftsock @angelbabyyy99 @stillstreetjoshua @tookiomoon @hellowgoodbye @fakeplastiqtree @lexii-nv-c @ageofbajabule @josh-iamyour-mama @keighoe @idk-maddie @samssymmetricalstache @thewritingbeforesunrise

#fic recs #my bestie

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sammysvanfeet · 8 months

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My cowboy Sammy!

I had a musing while writing some of my Pirate!Jacob, and thought I might open this out to my fellow writers as I’m curious.

Of all the iterations of the boys you’ve written, who is your favourite?

Mine has always been my Knight Jacob from Clandestine, but right now Pirate Jacob may well be catching up…

@sammysvanfeet @lightmylove-gvf @writingcold @streamingcolors-gvf @gretavanlace @earthlysorrows @gretasmokerising @tripthelightfandomtastic @obetrolncocktails @capturethechaos @cal-a-bungaa @basiccortez @gretavanfleetposts

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sammysvanfeet · 9 months

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The smut! The longing! The imagery! I won’t ever be able to look at pearls the same way 🥵

My goddd. I know how this ends but I beg you, please let them stay together!!

Rosa - Two (ii)

Word Count: ~2650 Warnings: Explicit sexual content from the start. 18+ MINORS DNI Author's note: Thank you for waiting for the end of Two (i), I didn’t want it to get too long but I deprived you of the smut so I commend your patience, my little pirate gang! (Also I hate pasting from mobile so I’m going to edit properly when I’m back in the UK).

Now I’m back to take what I’ve been longing for.

In the way our lips rush to each other I would have known it even in the absence of words. Crashing together, we meet like gunpowder and flame.

His hands cling to my back as though trying to pull me all the way through him, mine finally meeting with his damp locks that had always seemed to invite me to touch. Not simply a caress, I am grasping, dragging and tugging to get as much of him as I can.

I have never been overcome like this, convinced that not even a tidal wave could pull me from his trance, and I feel both without control and yet never more sure of the movements I’m making.

I don’t feel anything else but him all over, within and all around. No more wind whipping at my cotton nightdress, the cold of the rain soaking through it to my skin all but evaporated. He has covered over it all.

We moan, stumbling haphazardly without sight or sense in search of the bed or at least something to lean into but so disorientated it’s no use. When the kiss breaks to search it out, his desperation for more is laid as stark as my own.

“Don’t stop, please.”

I should be ashamed at my forwardness, this is no way for a woman to act. Branded a harlot, swiftly cast out of this conservative society if anyone were to know but I care not. Of any of it. He has enveloped all of my senses, utterly possessed and body bowed.

In a swift, shocking movement that makes me gasp he lifts me from the ground by the back of my legs, instinct guiding them around his waist and squeezing perhaps more forcefully than necessity would require. It unleashes a stifled moan from him, bringing his attention back from searching out the direction to the bed and back into the crook of my neck.

His breath is hot, warmth mixed with the coolness of his nose drawing in my scent deeply. I arch my body into him, my hips into the hardness growing in his breeches and my hand on his head to keep him just there as mine lolls back exposing my neck. When the plushness of his lips meet that sensitive skin sucking hard and wet, I sigh as all the tiny hairs stand on end. Let him mark me there forever, my nails autonomously digging into his scalp to try and make it so.

All of a sudden he’s rearing his head back and for a moment I feel I may have acted out of turn, ready to blush and find the floor with my feet leaving this encounter to pass. But the heat is still there behind his darkened irises, the electricity from him still thrumming through the parts of us that are connected.

“I need you, Rosa.”

At his eye level the connection we share is even more intense, and yet I am waiting for him to go on and take what he needs but he stays waiting for a reply. A signal to unleash I had not expected to be required to give.

“You have me. Take me”.

In no more than two strides he drops me onto my bed and I fall backwards, the action far more gentle than expected given the throbbing sexual tension.

I watch with baited breath as he tugs off his drenched shirt to reveal his naked torso beneath. Lip bitten between teeth as he then moves to kick off his boots and unbutton his breeches. I want to rush to him and strip him in an instant, kiss every inch of him, though his eyes keep me in place with an unspoken command. He knows these few taunting seconds are torture, and he relishes it. And furthermore, the wait will be rewarded.

When he bares himself fully before me, he is all but as perfect as I had imagined. I used to blush when my sleep-drenched thoughts would wander to what might lie beneath his clothes, now there is nothing of the sort. My hand reaches outstretched towards him, fingers straining for every millimetre I can get closer to him.

But instead of draping himself over me, letting me feel the pressure of the weight of him from above, he hovers with a hand teasing the hem of my nightgown at my calf.

Inching up and up, flaming, icy goose flesh the shadow of his touch, his gaze fixed on it with his words wrapped in concentration. Crawling slowly, savouring.

“So soft, what preciousness. Your body, a pearl beneath a shell.”

A pearl, a pearl. A secret treasure, glowing brilliance revealed to the beholder. His hand travels over my knee, my thigh, higher and higher, the pulse in my insides turning to a throb, eyes rolling back and a whisper of a sigh as his fingertips brush against.

And then it is his breath, dancing over the velvet softness, light and tantalising, and a finger slipping through, then two.

“Oh, sweet heaven.”

When his mouth reaches that sweet little pearl he moans just as I do. That maybe he is finally having something he has wanted all these years. His fingers slide into me in tandem, the duelling sensations fighting to break me down first, my body succumbing to them both in bliss.

But his first taste grows, tender to needing, and when his fingers leave me empty for a moment I’m mourning the loss, close to telling him so when he slips his tongue there instead my hands grip the sheets and my back arches from the bed.

“Jacob!”

A hand wraps around my thigh, holding me open to him, the other snaking up my stomach to palm my breast. Dominating, possessing.The nightgown rides up higher still, and instinctively pull it up and over my head, that perhaps it might cool the hot flushes on my skin.

But it only builds, with his mouth devouring me like a pot of honey, face shining nose to chin in the dim candlelight. A conversation of breathy moans between us, a flash of eyes as he looks up at me with the shock of a lightning bolt. Please let me live in this moment forever.

The weight on the bed shifts as he grinds down into it, how he needs release but I am so close to my own I am a slave to it. Sighs turn to panting, shallow and gutteral, noises which have never left my body before. And the shaking, the trembling of my limbs succumbing to the impending release.

The nudge of his nose against the pearl is all the coaxing I need, the orgasm crashing through every pore and sending my body into spasm within his hold. Curses, Jacob, any sweet supreme being I can thank for this feeling. Still he looks on, eyes alive with fire as he drinks me down. Praise, thanks, a warning.

We are not done here.

The hand leaves my heaving chest, the print in pink from his pressure to keep me down, moving to my other, neglected thigh to further exaggerate the splay. But I am not shy and retiring, head spinning and lost in the way his eyes glint as he raises himself up onto his knees.

When he drops his gaze to the space in between our bodies, mine drunkenly follow and immediately the aftershocks of my orgasm intensify. His cock poised mere inches from my glistening entrance. Where words fail me all I can manage is a whimper, trying to buck my hips under his strength to get closer.

“I don’t know if I’d rather look at your face or your cunt, Darling.”

Before I even have time to blush he buries to the hilt, a long grown of satisfaction to match my own shriek as the burn of over-sensitised bliss thrums through me. My walls spasming and hugging his girth, the stretch and the pressure, how perfect it feels to have him inside me.

The knot in his brow shows the sign of his own need, as he gradually begins thrusting in and out. The sounds are vulgar and yet addictive, the smack and the squelch, his jaw clenched and mine agog driven by them and needing more. Faster. Now.

The storm throws chilled winds into the room, curtains billowing and yet sweat begins to bead on his forehead, strain evident. No other words spoken, none needed as we look between each other and the sight of our bodies meeting. This is perfect. More than we could have imagined. Oh to have this go on forever.

But being lost in the pleasure rather than drawing it out means the needs to release and come together wins out. When the panting gets heavier and my core begins to flutter once more, when he changes position to lean down to kiss me, only to then pound harder. His lips swallow my screams, his hair falling around my face to cocoon us within our own little world.

When my orgasm rushes this time it is not the bolt of lightning, but a melting of my body into his. Arms gripping his shoulders, legs tangled around each other it pulls him down with me, grunts lost in our mesh of tongues. Our releases subside together, coming back to earth as one with the pulsing of my walls against him.

—————————————

Where I might have thought the act itself was the best that I could ever hope to feel, I found it surprisingly rivaled by the moments afterwards of heady bliss in each other’s arms. Where our bodies rest against the other, slow, gentle movements and wistful glances, a sunrise after our own storm of possession and release. Kisses and touches with a familiarity as though we’ve been together all the years we’d missed.

Unbeknownst to us the storm had passed, wind a whisper and the clouds empty, dry of their tears and waning, wisping away. It is still dark, but not so dark that I don’t know what’s coming soon. The break of another day and the knowing he will have to leave. I wish he didn’t have to.

Those diminishing minutes drive my next movements, sitting up beside him and lifting my leg to sit atop him. My insides stir and I feel his muscles tense, a questioning eye but now is not the time for another round.

“Can I ask you something, Jacob?”

A flash of his eyes for me to continue.

“Do you feel in your bones you are a Pirate?”

He does not answer straight away, seeing I have more to be said of it.

“Even stood naked before me you looked every inch a Pirate. It has seeped beneath your skin, it is in all the air you release from between those lips.” And as I say it I kiss them, drawn to the pillowy soft, like the brush of a feather.

Our lips together feel more right than not. Without, mine are left lonely, like I never knew they could be. But to be away from his age is also a torture, and so I pull back once more.

“I have wondered how you kept your humanity. When we first met, it was as if you had built a wall around your true self. Now, you seem more reconciled, like you are working as partners.”

“You see a side of me that others do not. You broke through the wall and with that came a dozen emotions I had always felt compelled to keep out. Without you and that night I would have turned entirely cold-hearted.” He studies me, as though trying to see beneath the surface at what powers or magic I could be harbouring to have done that.

“Can I admit something to you?” A hand smoothing an unruly hair behind my ear. “About that night?”

“Of course, Jacob.” Simply to hear more of his words a quiet delight.

“Afterwards, I told the crew that I had bedded you, their constant chiding and my desire to impress them winning out. As soon as I started, the lies just tumbled forth.” He pauses for my reaction, expecting perhaps that he may have ruined things, but I my simple smile gives him the reassurance to go on.

“They were older than I, constantly belittling me, it was infuriating as I knew I was destined for things greater than all of them. So I spun that I had had my way with you for some short term prowess. In reality I yearned for even one more glance from you, an embrace or a kiss. The story became a dream I would yearn to one day achieve, added to the list of other dreams.”

At this we laugh, the unspoken tick of a box.

“And the other dreams? Did you leave your old crew for better?”

“For years I’ve been sailing the world, no desire except building my name, creating the infamy that now follows me, my most loyal of crews. A pirate in training no more.”

I smile at that, finger stroking the outline of his face, chiseled jaw and hint of stubble.

“My words stuck with you then?”

“That I’ll never tell.” And to silence any further prodding he pulls me into him, rolling me under and pinning me with a kiss. We giggle, refreshed and care free to have this lighter side intertwined with the darker, lustful side of the so recent past. To soak in it and feel the joy, a joy which perhaps we had never found with anyone else.

—————————————

The sky is warming, the first hint of sunrise blossoming out on the horizon and I know by the time it rises his ship must be gone. Where Pirates may have control or the freedom to move around some cities, that is not the case for little Torbellino.

When he peels from my side to redress I sit and memorise his every little movement. Measured, with care, that hat and coat so precious as he dons them, and indeed he stands a little taller with them back on his body. Oh if only I could rip them from him all over again.

I replace my nightgown, taking a brush to try and calm my roughed up hair in the hope his last look won’t be at a banshee.

As he moves to the window, I suggest perhaps that he might prefer to leave via the door this time. He smirks, declaring that he likes to leave with a flourish. But the joke is short lived as he then sits on the sill to swing his leg over. No matter how, he is still leaving me, so soon. He pulls me close, and my heart pines already that this is the last touch. I need more, another, constant.

“Will I see you again?” A kiss for me to savour.

“No storm or serpent could stop me, Rosa.” Another, for him.” And will you wait for me, until I can get back to you?”

“As long as the Starcatcher is standing, I’ll be here.” And one final, for us both until he finally turns away.

Where I might have longed for him since that first night, and lusted after him in the night just past, as he slips from my window into the night once more, I will long and lust and love him from this point on.

Taglist: @gretavanfleas @jakeslovehandles @sammysvanfeet @doodle417 @dannysnipplehair @writingcold @aljen-malti @gretavanbitches @peacefulfuckinarmy @jakekiszkasbestie @sc2106 @tearsofbri @myownparadise96 @lallisonl @joshsindigostreak @gretasmokerising @thebesttears @highladyofasgard @jakeyboiiiiiii @greta-van-chaos @gretavanlace @gardensgatedaisy @joshyvanfleet @lightmylove-gvf @gretavanslut @zoe-tally06 @angelbabyyy99 @stillstreetjoshua @hellowgoodbye @lexii-nv-c @ageofbajabule @josh-iamyour-mama @keighoe @idk-maddie @samssymmetricalstache

#fic recs #my bestie #jame kiszka smut

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sammysvanfeet · 9 months

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Join us for the newest chapter in the world of disco and debauchery.

My taglist: (apologies if you were tagged in Bobbie's post)

@celestialfauna @streamsofstardust @doodle417 @theweightofjake @turtleskane @morganic-goods @jakeslovehandles @jakeyboiiiiiii @way-to-go-lad @fleet-prodigy @age-of-nyahh @gvfrry @greta-flanveet @jakekiszkasguitarpick @theweightofstardust @jakesgrapejuice @thecoldwind @brokenbellz @myownparadise96 @loveisonaroll @joshkiszkas @gretavankleep37

Studio Fifty-Forget Me Not - Part 5 - Daydreaming in Disco

In collaboration with @sammysvanfeet

Word Count: ~5850 Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, allusions to dodgy dealings, explicit sexual content. +18 MINORS DNI Author's note: Another day in this disco paradise, a girl could get used to this..

(If you've changed your username please fill in the taglist again please as I'll be removing the inactives soon!)

I wake to the sound of silence, unfamiliar and in a way unsettling it immediately throws my mind off as the last of my dream fades away.

Rainstorms of gold glitter, lightning flashing deep, jewelled tones as veined beacons against a sable sky. Rumbles of soulful, musical thunder juddering through my bones, and a feeling that I could harness all these psychedelic forces of nature with a brush of my fingertips if I could only just reach up and connect. So tantalizingly close, until it all faded away.

I’m used to bangs and crashes, cackles or early morning arguments from my roommates to rudely awaken me, until I realize I’m not in Queens anymore, and the waking was all natural. It takes a few blinks and a stretch of my limbs to fully register that I’m not laid out on that busted mattress on the floor, but a cushy king size with linen softer than even those back home in Buffalo. My Mom would be desperate for a set for the guest room.

It’s calm and quiet, everything dressed in creams and whites and so sumptuous it’s like I’ve been tucked up in heaven. The view from the window fuels it even more, blue sky and wispy clouds that appear almost silken to the touch. Sunlight beams aureate hues through the canopy surrounding the four poster bed, angelic and beautiful, I don’t even mind the brightness amplifying the hangover headache at the peripheries of my brain. I’m still rested and restored.

With all the events of the previous day I must have really needed the sleep, sun high in the sky as though it's at least midmorning. Compared to yesterday without a second to enjoy this bed, I suddenly feel like it would take an earthquake to get me to leave it.

Or maybe simply the realization that Josh isn’t here with me. As my arm stretches lazily towards his side but there is nothing but crisp, cool sheets beneath my fingertips. A further layer of confusion my groggy brain can’t comprehend so soon after waking. Where did he go?

As perfect as this all is right now, it would be even better if I could feel his body against mine again. I take a moment to listen for any noises signifying his presence but I hear none, heart sinking a little and mind filtering through the limited places he might be, whilst acknowledging there was a far longer list of those I didn’t know at all.

Those thoughts, plus the need to pee soon put an end to the relaxation. Hauling the comforter back, the breeze is enough to shock me awake further and have me springing into the ensuite bathroom. Splashing my face with cool water is the final nail in sleep’s coffin as I decide it would probably have been dangerous to stay beneath the sheets anyway. Boring too, without Josh.

My next thought turns to coffee, putting on the first shorts and cami I can find in my thrown together bag of possessions by the bedroom door. The urge to enjoy this space to the full and walk around naked crosses my mind, but only for a moment. Something Josh had said about Danny or some of the others sometimes crashing at his place - I might have been a bit daring at times in the club, but I absolutely don’t want them to see everything!

The kitchen is not deserted when I open the door to walk in, but thankfully it’s only the person I’d been yearning to see.

“Good mornin’ sleepyhead, I thought you’d never wake up!” He spins on his heel in a voice far more lively than I’m ready for, mug of coffee the size of my head in his hands that he brings over towards me.

His silk shirt is half-unbuttoned reminding briefly of his twin, though Jake wouldn’t be caught dead in the loud, psychedelic print of oranges and browns, paired with corduroys in a similar earthy tone. I swear he could wear anything and make it the grooviest getup, but I’m confident he was made specifically for this style.

He directs me to sit on the couch with a tilt of his head and handing the coffee to me when I’ve done so, a kiss on the cheek for good measure as he straightens up.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhmm,” my reply is dreamy as the smell of ground beans wafts into my nostrils, “how come you’re so bright eyed and bushy tailed?”

“Oh, I’m the bushiest, aren’t I?!” He wiggles his ass for good measure as I giggle into the cup.

“Annoyingly so!”

He gives me a playful dig as he perches himself on the arm of the sofa, half looking at me and half out to the window. “The sun wakes me up, which I guess doesn’t work well for those late nights. But luckily for me I can run on fumes.”

“You should just get blackout curtains.”

“And ruin the aesthetic?!” He looks wounded at the suggestion clutching his heart, following with a wink to let me know he’s joking. “I can’t say I usually spend enough time here to go through the effort of redecorating.”

His comment makes me wonder where he finds a place to sleep, if not at the club itself I’d wager that most of the clientele would kill to have Josh Kiszka in their bed, and that some of them probably had. A pinprick of jealousy nips at my heart and I decide it’s best not to pull at that thread too much, at the risk of ruining my good mood.

“Where’d you go, Treasure?” Josh nudges me gently, as not to spill my coffee all over his ivory sofa.

“Mmm, still a bit in dreamland, I suppose.” I hum, taking another sip of the dark roast.

He nods, before his eyes rake up and down my body. I flush, wondering whether he wants a repeat of last night but instead of a lust-filled look upon his features, his eyebrows furrow.

“So, I wanted to take you out today if you like the idea. Something to welcome you to Manhattan properly, y’know? I made reservations at the Plaza.”

So that was what the look was for. My cheeks redden further as I peer down at my threadbare tanktop and high school softball shorts. The rest of my clothes aren’t much better either. When your life is so focused on getting into the club, the rest of your wardrobe kind of gets left to wilt. Not exactly 54’s finest right now, let alone Plaza material. I want to shrink away in embarrassment.

“I-I don’t really have anything nicer than this.”

He rubs a reassuring palm on my shoulder to stop my spiraling in its tracks, “Then it sounds like I need to treat my favourite girl to a little shopping spree first! Whadd’ya say you finish up that coffee and we get going? I was thinking… Bergdorf’s?” His remark is punctuated with a sly grin curling upon his lips.

I must admit the idea of having Nance at my beck and call while I shop til I drop is quite tempting. But I still don’t have the right outfit to walk into that place with.

In a way that feels like he read my mind he cuts through my thoughts again. “I have a suede trenchcoat you can borrow? Throw it on over the top and no one will be the wiser.”

He hooks a finger under the strap of my top as he continues. “Y’know, as much as I’m used to the glitz and glam, there’s something about this outfit that just does it for me. You’re the picture of innocence, Honey girl.”

He fingers the worn cotton fabric of my cami, knuckles briefly brushing against the warm skin at the side of my breast. That familiar fire starts to burn in my core as though it never really left after last night’s fun, but his touch leaves too soon as he’s already up and making his way to his coat closet.

I hastily gulp down the rest of my cup before setting it down on the marble coffee table, careful to put it on a coaster so as not to leave a ring on the expensive material. I glance over to Josh perusing the hangers, before he unveils a very expensive looking garment, gesturing to it dramatically as if he were a game show host. My jaw drops. Who would have thought a coat could look so chic? A man’s one at that!

Knowing the only thing we’re waiting for is me, I scoot quickly to the bathroom to shower and throw on some clothes - only marginally better than what I was wearing before but still nowhere near good enough to be seen on Josh’s arm - guaranteed.

Stepping out into the hallway he holds the coat out for me, nodding his head to beckon me closer. Once in arm’s reach, I spin before him and allow him to slide my arms into the baby soft material, wrapping it around me like a safety blanket and fastening the belt tightly. The fur at the collar tickles my neck.

“You like it?” He whispers in my ear, warm breath leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I do, I really do. It smells of you.”

Forgoing the usual car we stroll down the street in the sunshine, Josh making knowing smiles and waves to the other well-to-dos before sending me into fits of giggles telling me what they were really like.

“Check him out.” He points to an unassuming man carrying a briefcase and a copy of the New York Times under his arm. Smart as you like, and clearly on his way to somewhere very important, probably Wall Street. I give a look of confusion which prompts him to elaborate.

“He comes to the club in bondage gear most nights. Think dog collar and latex shorts, recognise him now?”

He doesn’t pause long to wait for an answer, but with my jaw on the floor I can’t find the words to respond, puzzle pieces together and knowing exactly the guy!

“Well, last week his wife caught him snorting coke off a hooker’s tits in the seating area. One Tiffany’s necklace and she was back on his arm the very next night.”

“You’re kidding?!”

“Nuh uh. And see those two?” He gestures to a couple suited and booted walking a Great Dane towards the park. “Biggest swingers you’ll ever meet. Tried to get us to host one of their infamous parties. Jake vetoed it, the party pooper. I swear, for a guy with two girlfriends he sure didn’t see a good thing when it was put right in front of him.”

Thinking back to those few occasions I’d experienced thus far at the club, it sure didn’t feel too far off swinging, or what I’d heard of it anyway.

“Well, Precious, here we are!” Josh pulls me from my little daydream with brief squeeze of my waist to stop me, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the looming archway. “Ready to burn through some paper?”

He nudges me with his elbow drawing my eyes downwards to his open trouser pocket. The wad of notes curled up in his hand is bigger than any I’ve ever seen, feeling my eyes visibly bulging at the sight like I could be a character from Loony Tunes.

“Oh my word..” I whisper almost to myself, though not quiet enough when I hear him giggle in my ear and realising I’m just stood staring.

“It’s not gonna spend itself, Honey baby.”

Josh hooks his arm with mine and I suddenly feel on top of the world as we stride through the grand doors into the foyer of the store. I used to see this place as just a means to an end, but now I’m on the other side it’s got a whole new feel. There is an air of opulence and elegance where there once was distaste and desperation. This is what I’ve been working towards.

He ushers me further onto the main floor and I could almost be gliding. Scanning the racks on a cloud of lavishness and luxury, I’m so caught up in the colours and patterns I almost forget who I might run into.

“What do you think you’re doing here?!” A shrill voice calls from behind a rack of lingerie. Pushing the hangers aside with a screech, Nancy’s glaring face comes into view. My initial reaction is to shrink and hide behind Josh but then I remember, I have every right to be here in this capacity.

Sensing the hostility, Josh steps in front of me protectively, his commanding personality exceeding his smaller-than-average stature that then follows with his tone. “How do you do…Nancy, is it?” His eyes flick to her name tag.

“This badge says ‘service with a smile’,” he continues with a musical lilt, “and that doesn’t appear to be what we’re getting.”

She stares blankly at him, clearly unsure how professional she should be with the man stood next to her ex-colleague. Ex-friend. She opts for polite, but nowhere near the levels of ass kissing I know she was normally capable of.

“I’m sorry, Sir. How can I help you today?”

He glances briefly to me. “That’s a little better, isn’t it baby?” I see her scowling, hating every second of this as I nod back with a smile and an appreciative rub of his shoulder.

“Well, Nancy, I’m about to spend a lot of money here, so you might wanna go and get a fitting room started. I want you to make sure my Treasure finds everything her heart desires.”

Tail between her legs, she scurries away muttering something about ‘consequences’ and ‘karma’. But I’m far too wrapped up in Josh to pay her any mind. He beams at me, sharing a long kiss and slapping me on the behind as a way to say ‘get to it’.

I have a spring in my step as I peruse the racks of clothing, Nance returning to trail just far enough behind to keep her distance, yet she at my beck and call whenever I wiggle a hanger in her direction. Skirts, jersey tops, trousers and dresses, all the things I’d seen the hip, successful young women wearing on my walk from the Upper West side.

I shimmy my way further and further into the labyrinth of aisles, clothes upon clothes, classic, hip, timeless through to avant garde. Money money money. Hangers thrust at Nancy, laden down and with a permeating frown hidden behind the layers she was beginning to struggle to carry.

In an act of restraint I decide it’s probably time to head to the fitting room, Josh’s eyes lighting up no doubt with the possibility of catching me in various stages of undress. It makes me blush, chuckling as I loop my arm with his while we walk the floor.

But then my eyes prick up. And then so do his, a trove of sparkling treasure to our right.

The discowear rack. My eyes dance across each delectable garment; sequined dresses, feather boas, vibrant jumpsuits… each one jumping out and begging me to explore their possibilities. I’m reminded of my dream, the flashes of vibrant colours and a collective, imaginary clamoring filling my brain with noise.

“I think this one would look great on you.” Josh is walking towards me as I turn, his voice almost a growl as I see his eyes dressing the image of my naked body with what’s in his hands. The fabric of the item is draped over his arms like a footman might hold a velvet pillow bearing a Crown for a King. Or in this case a Queen.

It’s like chainmail, bigger than sequins, shinier and more reflective and with drapes that move like water. I’m as enthralled as he clearly is, stepping towards him to reach out and feel for myself. I pick it up expecting a dress when instead I find a strappy camisole top in my hands. Putting it up against my body the front drapes down in a cowl, very groovy, very now. The other piece looks like it could be pants, that I’m praying are flared. Spun by angels, surely, but the color throws me off.

“Silver, really? Is that not spoiling your Midas touch, Josh?”

“Oh Treasure, my touch is out of this world and you know it.” He swipes his tongue over his top teeth for good measure, a gleaming, panty-dropping smile. I blush furiously, looking around for bystanders, only to realize that Nancy had heard everything Josh had said. When I meet his gaze again, I can tell that that was exactly what he had intended.

“Say, Nancy, my girl looks so good in Halston, doesn’t she?” He checks the label in the trousers in an over exaggerated manner before fixing her with a purposefully mischievous smile. It seems to be the straw - or rather item of clothing - that breaks her back, announcing briskly that she’ll get the fitting room set up before spinning unsteadily under the weight of her load and storming off.

“Now…” he turns back to me and pulls me in by one arm, the other holding the silver starcatching ensemble. “Let’s get this fashion show started. Whatever you like best is what you’re wearing to lunch.”

It's like I’m in the middle of a fishbowl, but I don’t mind it one bit. The ceiling is lofty and glass-covered, brighter with light in here than it had even been outside, almost as though the sun is beaming right above us and illuminating Josh and I right in the center of the restaurant.

I rest my hands in my lap, stroking the soft material of my new burgundy skirt. Not quite a mini suited for Studio 54 – more modest, skimming the top of my knees and making me feel like I truly belong in a swanky place like this. The fitted striped shirt on top accentuates my breasts, despite its high neckline. Josh was such a fan of this outfit that he insisted this was the one he took me to lunch in.

I take a sip of the complimentary water, crossing one leg over the other and gently swinging my foot clad in boots the color of red wine, ones that hug my calf just right. The garments feel luxurious, like they were tailored just for my body and I find myself smiling satisfactorily.

Josh looks comfortable here, leaned back in his chair, completely at home amidst the splendour. I even caught a knowing smile between him and one of the bar staff as we passed on the way to the table. Perhaps a regular at the club, or perhaps Josh was more of a regular here than I thought, part of me had still assumed he only kept twilight hours. After some thought I decided it was probably a mixture of both.

He orders a bottle of champagne without checking the price on the menu, he knows just the one, the year and the vintage. It distracts me, keeps my gaze on him with a wistful smile as the waiter tries to pull me back.

“Ma’am? What would you like to order?”

I’d forgotten about the other people here, those outside of Josh lit up in the afternoon rays like a sun god. I suddenly feel sheepish, out of place.

“Huh?... Oh, I’m sorry.” I dart down the A La Carte, aware that I hadn’t decided but that I didn’t want to have to make him come back. No amount of extra time would really help anyway. I’d never even heard of half of the dishes, counting on one hand the amount of times I’d been to a restaurant, with at least a couple of fingers left spare.

“Umm, could I please get the pasta prima..verde?”

I cringe over the obvious butchering of whatever language it is, quickly looking down at the table and handing back my menu to save the no-doubt condescending looks I’d have received from those in earshot.

Josh just smiles, reaching over the table and placing a hand over mine that had been absentmindedly worrying with a napkin.

“Hey now, Precious, relax. What’s got you spooked on our special day?”

I try and brush it off with a smile, but he lifts an eyebrow pressing for a real answer. Maybe he’s getting to know me better than I thought, so I relent.

“I don’t fit in here, no matter how much I might look like it.” I whisper for his ears only, uncrossing my legs beneath the table. “I don’t even know what I just ordered!”

“Who cares! I bet you’ll love it, and if you don’t, I’ll get you two desserts.”

Sensing I’m not quite convinced yet he leans in further, bringing us both as close as we can over the china as though he holds a pressing secret on his tongue.

“Listen, let me give you a bit of intel, something I’ve learnt from knocking around these kinds’a places. Nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing! Here, there, everywhere. It’s all an act, Treasure, all you’ve gotta do is play along.”

The wink he punctuates with makes me snicker, and as if on cue the bottle of Cham pops beside us and makes us laugh even harder. His words, with the added first sip of bubbles, are just what I need to sit a little deeper in my chair and smile a little easier.

As the drink starts to go to my head - no thanks to my empty stomach - my hangover from this morning starts to fade to nothing. I’m ready to get into some conversation about what’s coming up at the club, when a pair of very well dressed men enter the dining area behind a scurrying waitress holding menus. Naturally, people look up from their conversations, though instead of following their movements I find myself more distracted by Josh who suddenly seems on edge.

The whites of his eyes grow, before he quickly disappears behind the wine list asking if there’s anything else I want to drink.

“I’ve barely touched a drop yet Josh, what’s up?”

“Nothing for you to worry about.” He sounds as if he’s convincing himself of this. He watches, eagle-eyed over the top of the oversized pages, as the two of them slowly approach our table. It’s as if they’ve zeroed in on him as they stride with purpose closer towards us.

I start to feel nervous, Josh is usually so calm and collected. We’re in one of the finest establishments in all of Manhattan, surely no one would think to make a scene here of all places.

He sits up taller, straightening his shoulders and clearing his throat in anticipation of the imminent conversation. The menu is placed back onto the table with a flourish.

The first of the two men smirks as their path reaches us, toothpick between his teeth as his stature looms above, a distinct Italian-American twang when he finally speaks. “Well if it ain’t Joshua Kiszka...”

“Afternoon Russo, Capelli, what’s crackin?”

“You’re a hard man to track down outside of that club of yours.” The second-in-command, who I now assume to be Capelli, comments.

Russo gnaws on his toothpick, looking down his nose at me as I squirm in my seat. He removes the wood between his teeth, teeth gleaming through a predatory sneer. “Who’s this fine little thing? Don’t be rude, Josh, why don’t ya introduce us?”

“Heh, let’s not get into all this now fellas, I’ll put in a meeting at the club. Only fair that my better half is here too, yeah?”

The silence is contemplative, breaths baited. But in that silence we all notice something, collectively taking a look around us, the rest of the restaurant sitting just as quiet. Without exception, every table has their attention on this impromptu meeting, the tension seeping outwards from us through the room like cigar smoke. Forkfuls of food hang in suspense, waiters halfway through reciting the specials paused in wait, their notepads and pens hovering in the air.

The mobsters decide it isn't worth their reputation to get into whatever this is any further, at least in front of so many pairs of eyes, and in The Plaza of all places. Even with my limited experience, I know that wouldn’t be a good look.

As they move on, the sigh of relief from the room is almost audible, clear to everyone that those two are not to be crossed.

But as luck wouldn’t have it, out of all the empty tables surrounding us, they choose to seat themselves at the one directly behind me. I daren’t turn around, but still I flinch at the sound of the heavy wooden chairs scraping across the paraquet.

I think that maybe this exchange is over with as I focus my attention back on my glass, but almost immediately Josh gets up from his seat nervously straightening the front of his pants as he does. He politely asks if I’d ‘excuse him’ for a minute, muttering something about business waiting for no one before joining the men at the table behind me, all hunched over and speaking in whispers.

It’s hard not to zone in on Josh even when I don’t have his attention, like he’s the sole celestial body I was created to orbit. But with him out of my eyeline, and not wanting to eavesdrop on a conversation obviously not meant for my ears, I instead use this opportunity to really take in the frankly palatial surroundings away from Josh’s watchful eye and amused smirk.

The tall, lush palms around us transport me to someplace distant and exotic. I imagine this is what it must be like in Copacabana, though from what I’ve heard the climate’s probably a bit off here. By all accounts it’s the latest hot spot for the wealthy elite I’ve recently been rubbing shoulders with, dripped from lips whenever vacations are mentioned. I’d been regaled with stories of their trips; of the pristine beaches and warm oceans, their stays at the Palace. As for me, I’d never left the States, or even my State for that matter.

Light filters through the large stained glass skylight, colors like a work of art highlighting the circular bar besides us. I watch as the waitstaff run to and fro, taking and distributing orders with a well oiled precision. I feel as though I’m outside of my body, like I couldn’t possibly be a patron of such a fine establishment. I fight the urge to pinch myself.

I catch the eye of our waiter as he balances our platters with a practiced hand, gently placing them before us. As if on cue Josh reappears in my view, tucking something inconspicuously into the pants pocket nearest to me. Money maybe? A bag of baggies with a few ‘on the house gestures’ missing? If the waiter noticed the exchange going on behind me, he didn’t let on.

My plate is filled with so many colors – seasonal spring veggies atop fresh pasta and dressed in a decadent cream sauce. Josh informs me that this dish was created by a French restaurateur only a few years ago, in this very city. No wonder I’d not yet heard of it.

I take my fork and dig in, bringing the steaming contents to my mouth and humming around the bite approvingly. The flavors melt on my tongue and I all but moan around the forkful. This might be the best meal I’ve ever tasted.

“So you like it then?” Josh questions, eyebrow quirked cockily as he brings a shucked oyster to his mouth and carefully slurps its contents down.

“Mhm. I’d say much more than I’d enjoy eating one of those.” I make a face, disapproving of the seafood.

“These, my Treasure, are an aphrodisiac.” He winks. “Besides, I still haven’t ordered my caviar!”

I giggle at his dramatics, commenting that surely the last thing he needs is more libido, before we two fall into more of an easy banter between mouthfuls of our food. By the end of the meal we’ve made fast work of two bottles of champagne, the mood is much more giddy, but I don’t miss the way Josh skips over the two desserts he mentioned and hurries up the check.

As we leave, his head is on a stalk making sure we’re not followed to the waiting car. I’m thankful he’s got his wits about him, as I stumble in my new platforms boots and laugh behind my hand.

Clambering into the towncar we’re all arms and legs, making far too big a meal out of it that it should be. By the time we’re shoulder to shoulder next to each other we’ve lost our breath, chests rising and falling heavier and our looks growing more sparkly by the second.

Sensing the growing atmosphere, the driver rolls up the partition. But in my tipsy state it takes me a while to cotton on, until Josh turns to me with a hand trailing languidly over my stomach.

“Y’know, you’re gonna shine brighter than all our disco balls tonight in that silver outfit, Precious.” His touch moves lower and lower with eyes fixed and burning. “But we’ve got a while til then, haven’t we?”

His words, the bubbles both go straight to my head, fizzing and electrifying every nerve in my body. After the initial tension of the mafia exchange died down, our lunch still wasn’t quite what he’d intended. Now, with the doors closed and no other eyes, it’s like Josh is unleashed, back out of his shell to do just as he pleases. And I’m just lucky that thing is me..

You’d think us both satiated and spent from our activities the previous night, and all those nights before. But he’s just so intoxicating, impossible to resist his charm and the urge to touch him. Inhibitions out the limo window, I’m swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him before the car has even left the block.

“There’s my naughty girl.” He growls a mixture of delight and praise, knotting both hands in my hair and pulling my lips down to his.

Our tongues slow dance together to the melody of our breathy moans. My fingertips diligently unbutton the rest of his silk shirt, sliding it down his arms and never once breaking our kiss. I move on to his corduroys, with more urgency now, desperate to release his straining cock.

I slide my hand beneath the waistband of his briefs to palm him, swallowing up the noises he makes as my hand starts to move up and down. At first it’s slow and teasing, until he grips my ass and growls, unimpressed with my games.

As I work his erection, he begins to slide my skirt up my thighs til it’s gathered around my waist. He breaks the kiss and gasps what a ‘dirty girl’ I am, feigning surprise at my bare cunt hovering just above his crotch. As if he hadn’t insisted back at Bergdorf’s that I dine out with him commando.

Josh finally frees himself from his pants, gripping the base of his cock.

“Come ride me, Honey girl.” He purrs, beckoning my dripping center to meet his weeping tip.

I sink down on him, the potholes in the road only encouraging our bodies to connect. The shock as they meet and he fills me fully is a perfect pain, the stretch around him and the burn deep in my core.

I throw my head back and begin to rock my hips, as his rough hands push up my shirt so he can smother himself into my tits. I yelp as his lips purse around one, sucking harshly on the soft bud. My pace doesn’t falter, though. My only focus is bringing us both to that indescribable high before we make it back to Josh’s penthouse.

“Fuck, Treasure. Gonna make such a mess of you,” he pants into my skin, the air hot and heavy and I suddenly feel his thumb on my clit as I rock into him. It’s just the added pressure I need to take the growing orgasm up another level, struggling to contain my thready moans.

I know the partition isn’t soundproof, but it’s hard to care when his cock is stroking my g-spot with every roll of my hips, every brush of his digit against my clit. The moans turn to groans turn to cries up towards the heavens.

“You feel so good, Josh. So fucking good.”

“Yeah? I wanna hear how good.”

His free hand starts guiding my hip, guiding me to rise up and down as I quickly follow his lead. The sound of our skin smacking, made louder and stickier as my juices mix with the humidity of this tiny, enclosed space as we writhe. It drives me even more wild than I could imagine.

His brow begins to furrow, visibly trying to hold back his own release while he gets me there with him. His upward thrusts start to purposefully slow as his thumb swipes faster over my pulsing clit. The edges of my vision blur, holding his gaze with my jaw slack and ready to fall.

“Let go for me baby. Do it now. Come on, do it and tell me you love me.”

“Fuck! I love you! I love you, I love you.”

And right then, I really think I do.

The days stretch on like this into one unimaginable fantasy. Fucking, partying. Living.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think life could be like this. The boys couldn’t spend money fast enough, if I needed cash for anything at all they would hand it to me and then some. And I began to feel like I was ruling that club with them, heads turning knowingly as I’d pass through the dancefloor and people coming up to me with stars in their eyes just like they had to Josh when I saw him that first time. He seemed untouchable, and now so was I.

I couldn’t believe how well I’d landed on my feet. The phrase ‘set for life’ passed my mind almost daily. No cares or worries except maybe what dress to wear to impress Josh at the club, or whether I might be persuaded to put on a show with Lori and Darla to shake up a snowglobe of coke and money. I’d never had more fun in my life, and to think I’d actually made it happen from one little stroke of luck.

Sometimes it’s not a rug being pulled from under you. Sometimes it starts with the tiniest crack, barely noticeable in amongst your daily life until another one appears to join it. Then it might pique your interest, but only momentarily, until one day as it’s been slowly spreading it catches you and you remark on the sting. Before you know it, the cracks have deepened, grown like skyscrapers around you with suddenly nowhere to run. Be careful, when it all starts to crumble from the top down.

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