#On the ropes next chapter out tomorrow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

corazondebeskar-reads · 4 months

Text

ain't no rest for the wicked - chapter two

ain't no rest for the wicked series

two: trouble will find you

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

Tess Servopoulos x f!reader x Joel Miller

words: 6.9k

summary: After weeks of nothing, you finally hear from Tess and Joel again.

warnings: dark-ish Joel and Tess, smuggler!Joel, smuggler!Tess, boston QZ, QZ life, bittersweet ending/no happily ever after, poorly negotiated d/s-style dynamics, poor communication, enthusiastic consent, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v, degradation, face slapping, pussy slapping, spanking, stalking, canon-typical violence, threesome, cum eating, light rope bondage, shower sex

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Weeks go by, and nothing weird happens. You can’t say you aren’t disappointed, but they didn’t say it was going to be a repeat thing. They definitely implied it, sure, but you could be cool about it.

So you had the best orgasms of your life with two of the most unhinged people you’ve ever met. Who needs hinges, anyway? And why do people say unhinged?

Wait, does it mean open? Like they’re unhinged because they have no door? Because, in that case, they’re two of the most hinged people you’ve ever met.

God, you miss when you could ask Google. Or Yahoo. Or Jeeves. Man, the internet was so cool. You bet your fucking Neopets are dead.

By the time you circle back and decide that you’re pretty sure unhinged does not mean open, you’ve autopiloted home.

You turn the key until it clicks and push open the door to your flat. At first glance, there’s no explanation for the way the world seems tilted just so.

Except for the little folded scrap of paper on your shitty rusted table. When you pick it up, something garishly yellow flutters to the ground.

It’s unmistakably a sunflower petal. It’s winter. Where the fuck—

No. Nope. You do not want to follow that thought; you want to let it fuck right off.

You rub the petal between your fingers. It’s so sinfully soft, there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s real.

The paper just says “tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow what? Tomorrow when?

When you open your cabinet to grab a can of soup, the first can you pick up rattles. It also doesn’t have a lid, so. There’s that.

You groan out loud. If you don’t look and just put it back, will it disappear into the other dimension from where it came?

In the end, you peek anyway, and yep. Sunflower seeds. Baked and salted, from the smell.

The implications are unsettling. In their minds, are you cannibalizing yourself at their whim? Are you consuming yourself in a pursuit of pleasure?

Are you really fucking overthinking it?

Tomorrow. For cripes sake. There’s no way you sleep tonight.

Except once you’ve had your soup and nibbled away at most of the sunflower seeds, your full belly lures you into the quiet of the night.

You’re nearly as jittery at work as you were the first time. Granted, you’re a little less afraid of them and more anxiously excited, but the thought of them sends your leg bouncing.

Your chair squeaks the whole time.

“Hey Sam,” you say as casually as possible to your deskmate.

“What?” He says warily.

“Do you know where I could get a horseshoe?”

“A… what?”

“A horseshoe, you know, like horses wear.”

“A singular horseshoe? Do I even want to ask why?”

“Yeah, just one. And no, probably not? Let’s say I’m just really into country chic decor right now.”

Sam turns back away from you.

Typical.

You’re getting ready to leave when you realize you don’t actually remember their address. You’re pretty sure you could find the right building since you walked yourself home, but there’s an uncomfortably large margin of error.

Also, the stupid note didn’t give a time. Should you go home first? Maybe they’ve broken in again to leave a little clue?

You’re saved from figuring it out when you find Joel in exactly the same place as before. You don’t startle this time—you’d peeked around the corner on purpose.

“Hi,” you say, fingers wrapping around your backpack straps.

“Hi.” It’s brusque and he’s scowling, doesn’t even look at you.

“I-I could have walked over. I don’t wanna inconvenience—“

“You’re not. I don’t want you walkin’ by yourself.”

“Ok.” You kind of wish Tess was there. You like Joel fine, but she’s at least a little more talkative. Even if everything out of her mouth throws you off center.

Actually, this is probably fine. Maybe you’ll still have your wits about you when you get there.

He keeps a little distance ahead. Not enough to lose you in the crowd but enough that it almost looks like you aren’t following him. Like he doesn’t want to be seen with you.

You don’t have hurt feelings. It’s fine. People might think he was cheating on Tess, you get it.

Whatever the fuck they were doing with you was certainly not cheating.

Tess is already in the kitchen when you get there. Joel hovers in the living room until you head in, like he thinks maybe you’ll snoop through the apartment if he doesn’t keep watch.

You’re not that stupid. That’s a fucking death wish.

She’s cleaning a pan. Joel grumbles at her about leaving it for him, and she rolls her eyes while he pulls out your chair.

You remember this, at least, and manage not to make a fool out of yourself.

Tess dries her hands and sits down across from you. “Hey, sunflower. You miss us?”

You burn up immediately, wishing it were literal. It’s like she knows you’ve had fingers stuffed up your cunt every night, remembering how they felt. How you buried your face in the pillow and wished it was the soft folds of her.

She chuckles. “Don’t worry, we missed you too. We’ll show you how much later.”

Joel sets hot plates down in front of you both, followed by glasses of water, before he takes his own seat.

You wonder if this is a special production or if they’re letting you see their natural domesticity.

If you thought dinner last time was a delicacy, nothing could have prepared you for this.

The slab of meat is unmistakably pork and rests on a bed of baked apple slices beside yellow squash and pale zucchini rounds.

You look up from your plate with wide eyes.

“Best not to ask,” Joel says.

You nod. This time, you go slow, savoring each bite. It can’t be real, you think. It can’t really be yours.

But they let you eat everything on your plate. No one snatches it away or scolds you for touching something you don’t deserve. Tess seems downright pleased when you set your fork down for the last time.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You finally blurt.

Tess quirks an eyebrow. “Thought we made ourselves clear last time. When you’re here, you’re ours.”

“And we take care of what’s ours,” Joel says. When you snap your head to look at him, his eyes are dark and narrowed. Like he’s angry at the insinuation that they wouldn’t.

“O-okay,” you say, fixing your gaze back on your plate.

He stands up and clears the dishes, piling them in the sink.

Tess takes you by the hand and leads you out of the room. You expect her to stop at the couch again, but she takes you into what must be their shared bedroom.

Joel shuts the door behind him when he comes in. The room is warm and dark, the winter sun having retreated for the day already.

They don’t give you a moment to work yourself up. Tess is already kissing you as she walks you back to the bed. Instead of pushing you into it like you expect, she tugs you to a stop when your knees run into the mattress.

Her mouth moves down your neck as she easily discards your clothes. You shrink a little, and she tugs on your hair, forcing your head back so you look her in the eye.

“No being shy, now,” she warns. “S’ours to look at anyway.”

She peels your arms away from where they had instinctually folded across your breasts. Moving to one side, she smirks at Joel.

“Look at your little pet, baby. Ain’t she pretty?”

His hand brushes the curve of your breast, barely making contact but drawing a shiver from you anyway. “Sure is. A real sight for sore eyes.” His thumb finds your nipple, and you moan, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He pinches it, smirking when you gasp.

“You look like you got a plan,” he says to Tess.

“You want two cunts to fuck today, baby?” She says.

You can almost see the switch flip in his brain. “Yes, please, ma’am,” he says.

She presses a much chaster kiss to your lips before patting the mattress. “Hop up, sunflower. On your back, head right here.”

Once you’re situated, she tucks a pillow under your head and climbs on top of you, settling her cunt right where you need it. When you try to touch her, though, Joel stops you, catching your wrists.

“Keep ‘em by your sides, or I’ll tie ‘em down.”

Tess laughs, dragging a finger through your folds. “I think she wants you to, baby.”

He crouches down by your head. “S’that so?”

You look at him from where you’re trying to reach Tess with your mouth, but she’s lifted her hips just a little too high. You whine.

“Yes, sir.”

His grin is otherworldly, all sharp teeth and shadow. “Attagirl,” he says, patting your cheek.

His hands are gentle but competent as he binds each wrist to the bed, stretched out to the posts of the footboard. Tess sits on your face while he works, letting you overstimulate yourself between her wet cunt and his control.

Once you’re secure, she leans forward and flicks her tongue over your clit, pulling a gasp that deepens into a drawn-out moan as she continues.

You whine when she lifts her hips back up just too far for you to lick inside her. Joel grabs your hair and holds you in place, dipping his cock into your mouth.

“Get it nice and wet for her, sunflower.”

You try your very hardest to give him the sloppiest blowjob you can while being held still.

When he pulls out, he presses his balls to your mouth, and you respond with soft licks as he notches his tip at the slick entrance of Tess’s cunt.

“Lick her,” he grunts, resisting the urge to plunge in all the way.

You’re on fire. This has to be, hands down, the filthiest thing you’ve ever done, but he props the pillow up more so you don’t have to strain your neck when you lick down his cock to where he’s splitting her open.

She moans into your pussy.

He holds you there, with your tongue flat against where he pushes in deeper. When he’s buried, you flick your tongue to his balls and back.

“Suck them,” he pants, and you obey, stretching your mouth around him.

He starts to thrust gently, not wanting to jostle himself against your teeth, but he loses patience eventually and yanks you off to shove you to her clit.

You’re squirming as she works you over, three fingers deep, stretching you to get you ready for Joel. You suck and lick at her clit as she cums, meaning to lick her through it and keep going for another.

But Joel tugs you back to lick where she leaks around him.

You’re glad he tied you down. It’s all so much, almost too much, and you don’t think you could have held still. The rope’s embrace holds the last shred of your sanity.

At some point, you started whimpering against them, pleading as best you can without pulling your mouth away.

“Aw, you wanna cum?” she mocks with an affected simper.

“No,” Joel grunts, his hips snapping hard against her. “Only way she's coming tonight is on my cock.”

You sob a little bit, and she pulls back to slap your aching clit. Your hips buck, and you nearly lose the fight.

“Oh, she fuckin’ loved that, baby,” she tells him.

“‘Course she did, she’s a fuckin’ slut for us.” He says.

You moan. You think you should probably care that they’re talking about you like this. Actually, you do care. You care a lot. It’s so fucking hot.

“You’re just our little whore, sunflower?” he says.

You nod minutely with Tess’s clit pinched between your lips, and she cums again, her slick rubbing on your face with each stroke of his dick.

“Alright,” she says, tapping his hand where it grips her hip.

He pulls out and unties your wrists. Tess lets you keep lapping at her for a minute, but when you’re free, she slides off you and sprawls, languid and satisfied.

He gives you a light slap on the cheek. “Trade places.”

You sit up and lay on your stomach to the side to let Tess move to where you had been. But first, she rolls to face you and pulls you in for a deep, slow kiss.

You go to tangle your fingers in her hair, but she catches your wrist, rubbing her thumb over the ridges left behind.

“That’s enough,” Joel growls, yanking you by the ankle.

Tess laughs. “Don’t wanna be left out, baby?”

“Wanna get my fuckin’ dick back in one of ya,” he says.

She gets situated with her head down at the end of the bed and tugs at you to climb over her. You waste no time diving back into her cunt until Joel smacks you hard on the ass.

“Did I tell you to start up?”

“No, sir,” you say, voice breaking a little with desperation and a little shame.

He slaps the other side of your ass for good measure. Unlike the way he eased into Tess, he doesn’t wait to push into you.

You’re so grateful for Tess stretching you out before. His cock feels impossible. You cry out into her bush.

Your wriggle, and she holds you still with a powerful grip on your hips, licking at your clit while he shoves forward.

“That’s right. Shit,” he slaps your ass again when you squirm. “Hold still and fucking take it, girl.”

Your cries are muffled, but you’re not protesting. It’s just so fucking much.

Tess distracts you from the sting and pinch of him by gently biting your clit, which hurts a hell of a lot more but also makes you a hell of a lot wetter, ultimately easing his passage. Enough so that he slams the rest of the way in.

Your mind whites out when he starts pounding into you. Tess shifts to lick at where you’re broken open on him, and your fists tighten in the sheets.

“Please,” you whine, breaking away from her cunt only long enough to beg.

“What d’you think, baby? She been good enough for you tonight?”

He rubs his hand over the side of your thigh and hums. You hold your breath. You’re pretty sure he’s just teasing you, but it’s a fucking struggle not to cum.

“Yeah, she’s been a real good girl,” he says. “Go on, sunflower, cum on my fucking cock.”

It hurts. It hurts where you clamp down around him. It hurts where Tess is relentless against your clit. But it’s maybe the hardest you’ve ever come—you’re pretty sure you blacked out.

When the world filters back in around you, you’re laying with your head on her, giving pathetic little kitten licks to her clit. Joel’s fucking you down into her, and when he sees that you’re semi-present, he shoves your head back into her folds.

“Again,” he snarls, and your body listens. Spasms. Falls apart again.

Vaguely, you’re aware of him begging Tess and desperately asking where he’s allowed to come. Whatever they decide, he pulls out abruptly. She slips out from under you and yanks you onto your back, swinging a leg over your hip to grind against you.

You reach for her with limp arms, and she finally, finally lets you cup her breasts as Joel tugs his aching cock and warm cum splatters across your face, tits, and arms.

You don’t even hear him walk away, but he comes back a minute later with a warm, damp towel to find you scooping some of his cum into your mouth. He groans, cock twitching.

“You gotta stop that, sunflower, or I’m gonna need that mouth again.”

You look up at him with wide eyes and part your lips.

He fists his cock and looks at Tess. She’s dozing off already but nods. He cleans her first, gently wiping away incidental splatter and residue of her own pleasure from her thighs.

You wait patiently with your mouth open and he rewards you by easing gently into your throat. He’s fully hard again now.

He fills your throat easier at this angle. Well, easier for him.

“Breathe,” he says, gripping the back of your head. “That’s it, sunflower, just breathe. You’re takin’ it so well.”

He helps himself to handfuls of your breasts, rubbing and tugging at your nipples while he chases his second orgasm.

“Cum with me. Show me what a fuckin’ cumslut you are,” he grunts between thrusts.

Tess leans over close to you. “Don’t swallow, sunflower.”

He pulls out a little right as he cums to let it pool in your mouth. It’s a fucking struggle as you let your own orgasm roll over you. When he pulls out, Tess pulls you in for a kiss and shares in his spend.

Again, the fucking filthiest sex you’ve ever had. You’re not sure how you managed it, but you’re not going to voice a single damn doubt, not going to risk whatever this is.

He finally cleans you off and putters around the room, tossing the towel in a hamper and tugging his clothes back on.

“I’m followin’ her home,” he murmurs to Tess while you’re in the bathroom.

She sits up. “What happened?”

“Tell ya more when I get back. But her place is too close to the boundary, and I caught a little tip-off when I was waiting to pick her up.”

Tess frowns but by the time you come out, dressed and refreshed, they’re lounging on the bed.

“C’mere,” Tess says before you can speak or move for the door. She tugs you down to the bed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” you say automatically. You’re not actually sure. Everything’s a little fuzzy; the world wrapped in a cotton ball. You may or may not be shaking a little.

“You sure you’re okay to get home safe?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes are heavy, though, and the way her nails are tracing swirls up and down your arm is making you woozy.

You must have dozed a little because Joel’s coming back in the room and you didn’t know he ever left.

He hands you a mug of tea and sets a plate on the bed beside you.

“Gotta eat something. Y’look like ya might faint on your way,” he says at your crinkled face.

You sip from the tea and close your eyes as the warmth and sweetness crawl through you. “Thank you,” you say.

Tess has you leaning against her still, and you stay that way while you eat the sandwich Joel made. As it dwindles, your awareness of the situation grows stiff and uncomfortable.

You sit up. “Thank you, but um. I better get going.” You’re only a little dizzy when you stand up.

Joel takes the dishes out of your hands. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Yep,” you lie. “So, um. Have a good night.” It feels stilted, after what you’ve all just shared, but what else do you say to your two-time hookups? You skedaddle before it can get weirder.

You would have said yes this time, you think, if he had offered to walk you home again.

It’s only a week later when there’s a knock at your door.

There’s never a knock at your door. No one visits; there’s no one to visit.

You stare at the door for a minute, sitting on your bed eating room-temperature peas out of a can with your only spoon. The noise had startled you, and now you’re going to have to launch a search and rescue mission.

It knocks again. Well. Not it, you suppose, not the door. Whoever is on the other side.

You stand up, spoon hanging from your mouth, and open it with the chain still latched.

“Y’ain’t even gonna ask who it is?” Joel snaps.

You shut it and remove the chain, opening it all the way to reveal his scowl.

“Hi,” you say through clenched teeth where they hold onto the spoon. You’ve got one hand on the door and the other on your can of peas.

“You don’t even have a peephole. What’re you doing, just opening the door for strangers?”

“You’re not a stranger.” You’ve stuck the spoon into the remaining peas so you can speak clearly.

“You didn’t know it was me.”

You step back to let him in, eyeing him as he steps through the doorway.

He narrows his eyes at you. “What? I got somethin’ on my face?”

“No,” you say, not at all suspiciously, and cringe internally when your eyes can’t help but dart up and then back to him.

He turns and looks above the door where you’ve nailed a blue plastic horseshoe. Despite his apprehension, Sam had actually found one—leftover from some children’s game.

Though now you were wondering if it was less about the horseshoe shape and more about the properties of a ferried shoe. Maybe intent? Maybe the metal? Maybe it had to have been worn by a horse? You had never really listened to your grandmama. She was just a crazy old lady.

Or at least, you thought she was. But now there are mushroom zombies, so. Who knows.

Joel looks back at you with an eyebrow raised. “Doing some decorating?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, trying not to feel embarrassed. Then you remember that Joel being here is the weird part of this situation. You refuse to feel weirder than that.

“So, um,” you start.

He steps closer and tucks his fingers under your chin, thumb brushing over your cheek. It’s impressive how little it takes now for your brain to shut up.

“Hi,” you squeak.

“Y’said that already, sunflower.” He takes the can from you and sets it on the counter.

“Right,” you say, feeling a little ensnared by his gaze. “You have really pretty eyes.”

To your surprise, he blushes a little. His eyes go wide and his lips part. Instead of a response, he hides his reaction by kissing you so you’re too close to see the pink of his cheeks.

He turns you so he can press you against the door, licking into your mouth and pressing a thigh between your legs. It turns hungry very quickly, and you moan, spurring him on to slide his hands up your shirt.

“Not that I—“ you try, but he doesn’t let up. “Ah—hang on,” you turn your face.

He takes it as an invitation to nip and suck on your neck. You’re still distracted, but at least you can attempt to string together a sentence.

“Not that I mind,” a gasp draws out the words, “but why-yyy are you here?”

“Wanted your advice on interior design,” he says, jerking his head to the horseshoe, “but I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh, shut up,” you try to say, but he’s latched back on to the sensitive area near your shoulder that has you abandoning your train of thought.

“Need you,” he says against your skin before he breaks away to tug your shirt over your head.

You can’t argue with that. Well, you could, but why would you want to when he’s got his hands and mouth on your breasts?

He grabs and pins your wrists above your head in one hand. The other pinches at whichever nipple isn’t currently in his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp.

He smirks around his mouthful before biting down so you cry out. His fingers find the seam of your leggings, stroking over to feel you squirm.

“Please,” you whimper.

He slaps your breast. “You wanna try that again?”

“Please, sir.”

“Down.”

You sink to your knees, but he doesn’t pull his cock out right away. Instead, he cups your cheek in his hand, watching closely as your eyes flutter shut and you lean against his hand.

“You still okay with all this?” he says, immovable gruffness betrayed by a hint of genuine concern.

You nod against his hand.

He draws his hand back, and a whine from you. It’s cut off by a sharp, but clearly restrained, slap. “Words, princess.”

“Yes, sir.” It caught you off guard, but you find you like the faint sting and heat of it.

“Yeah? Even that?”

He seems serious, no hint of a smirk or glint to his eye, so you pause to consider.

“I liked it,” you decide. “Felt nice. Made me want to please you.”

Now he grins and slaps you again. It’s not hard enough to leave a mark, just enough to make you gasp.

The heat spreads through you, and your mouth falls open, eyes following his hand as it drags away from your face to grasp his length through his pants.

“See what you’ve done?” He grips your chin tight with his other hand. “Gonna take care of that for me?”

“Please, sir.”

He pops the button open on his jeans and drags the zipper down unbearably slowly. You whine, and his fingers dig into your jaw.

“Be good,” he says. He draws his cock out and gives himself a few strokes just an inch from your mouth.

You look up at him and stick your tongue out. You want to whine, but you’re afraid if you’re not good, he’ll just fuck his hand.

He releases your chin. “Go on,” he says.

You kiss the sticky tip, licking the residue from your lips before taking his cock into your mouth. You moan in tandem, and his hand finds purchase on the back of your head.

“This place is kind of a shithole,” he says, looking around your tiny cube of a home.

“Gee, tha—“

He doesn’t let you finish, shoving you back down on his cock.

He fucks into you for a while, enjoying the way you moan around him when his dick bruises the back of your throat.

When he yanks you back suddenly, you gasp for air but try to get your mouth back around him.

“No, stop,” he says. “I don’t wanna cum yet. Want your cunt.”

You whine, and he almost caves, looking at the pure hunger with which you’re regarding his swollen, angry cock.

“I said no,” he says instead, jerking your head a little.

“Sorry, sir,” you say with a sigh.

He looks over your shoulder. “Y’ain’t even got a fuckin’ bed.”

You follow his gaze to your perfectly fine mattress. “I do so!”

“That ain’t a bed, sunflower. That’s a mattress with no box or frame.”

“Wait, hang on, haven’t you been here already?”

“Nah, that was Tess who stopped by.”

“That’s a funny way to say broke in.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You complainin’?”

You look up at the horseshoe for a moment. “Nah, I guess not.”

He looks at it, too, and back to you. “I don’t wanna know. You got a shower?”

“You hate my bed that much?”

“No, I’ve been shovelin’ ash all day. M’not gonna fuck you like this, just need to rinse off.” He should have gone home first, he knows, but going back to an empty apartment just compounds his anxiety. He took a hard labor job on purpose, hoping it would distract him from the tightness in his chest.

It’s not that he doesn’t know Tess can handle herself. He just hates it when she goes alone for a deal.

“Yeah, okay,” you say. Before you move the towel away from the bathroom door, you stomp hard a couple of times and then wait a moment before opening it.

He decides not to ask.

“C’mon,” he says, tugging you by the hand into the tiny bathroom. At least you have a combination tub, so it won’t be too tight of a squeeze.

You start the shower for him and dig around in the cabinet for a clean towel. He reaches past you and grabs another.

“Wh—I got you one,” you protest.

“Y’ain’t gettin’ in with me?”

Oh. “Oh,” you say. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“But do you want to?” he asks, suddenly very close, backing you up against the sink. His hand lingers at the side of your throat.

“Uh-huh,” you nod.

“Then get in,” he says, tugging you away from the counter and giving a smack to your ass.

You yelp and strip down as he does the same. But he stops halfway through shucking off his pants after looking at the tile where his shirt landed.

“Do you eat in here?”

“What? No.”

“There are crumbs all over the floor.”

“Oh, those’re for Estella and Georgie.”

“I don’t want to know, do I?”

“Probably not.” You pause. “On second thought, you should. They’re mice. Please don’t hurt them.”

“Estella and Georgie are mice.”

“Yeah.”

“From outside.”

“Yeah.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. His exasperation does not, you’d like to point out, stop him from stepping into the shower behind you.

His body cages you in, wrapping himself around you from behind. He rests his chin on your shoulder for a moment while his hands dance down each rib and over your stomach. They slide back up to your breasts, crossed to hold you against his chest while he gropes you.

You arch a little, as much as you can in his iron grip, and revel in the press of his hard cock against your ass. He groans when you roll your hips against it. You whine when he releases you, and he swats at your thigh.

“Let me get clean,” he scolds. “That was the whole point of this.”

Still, he can’t resist lathering your tits with his soapy hands and drinking the moans from your lips.

“I thought you were gonna fuck me,” you whine.

His fingers wrap around your throat and squeeze just so, sending sparks down your spine.

“I thought you were gonna be my good little girl,” he growls in your ear.

You whimper, involuntarily grinding back against him. “I want to. Please, I want to be—”

“What? Say it, baby.”

“I wanna be good,” you say.

His hand tightens until you squeak a little. “No, no, baby. Say, ‘I want to be your good little girl, sir.’”

You’re burning up. You can’t even blame the shower, because even the hottest water you get isn’t that hot. You whisper it back.

He eases up on your throat. “Can’t hear ya. Speak up.”

“I want to be your good little girl!” you blurt. “Um. Sir.”

He chuckles, dark and low, and the breath sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Yeah? You want to be my good girl and take my cock?” His hand slides down, almost where you need it, but he stops short of parting your lips, the tip of his finger brushing gently.

“Please,” you whine.

His middle finger dips in just enough to graze your clit. “I don’t think you want it bad enough.”

You grind back against him; a frustrated sob lodged in your throat. It slips free when he rubs a slow, gentle circle. “Please, sir. Please fuck me.”

You cry out when he pulls his hand away, but it’s only so he can push you up against the wall, hand between your shoulder blades to bend you forward. You brace yourself on the chilly cheap plastic.

He takes himself in hand and rubs the head of his cock against your slippery cunt. “I dunno. Doesn’t seem like you really want to get fucked.”

“But I’m so wet,” you protest.

“We’re in the shower, sunflower, ‘course you’re wet.”

You’re rapidly losing your grip on your sanity and also the wall, so you reach back and grab his hips, shoving yourself onto his cock. You’re not stretched enough to take it all, not even with your momentum, but the fat head of him pushes into you.

You and Joel gasp in unison, his hands tightening where they hold you, fingernails digging in. You moan, bringing your hands back to the wall as he pushes forward, voice breaking into a keen as he splits you.

He groans and grinds in deeper. “What a greedy fucking slut,” he says, having regained his senses. “Couldn’t wait, huh? You need it that bad?”

“Uh-huh,” you pant between thrusts.

“Alright,” he says, and then he stops. He holds still, buried balls-deep.

“No,” you sob.

“What?” He cracks a hand across your ass, grinning when you moan. “You want it that bad? Go ahead. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

You do. You rock yourself on it, trying to chase your pleasure on him. He grabs a fistful of your hair, to which you sputter a protest. You’d been careful so far not to get it wet.

“You got something to say?” He spanks you again. “Spit it out.”

But you’ve already forgotten about your hair, because no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to get the angle right. Your orgasm lies far out of reach.

You whine instead. “Please fuck me.”

“What’s the matter? You’re the one who helped yourself to my cock. Now ya don’t know what to do with it?”

You think you might actually cry. No, yep, tears are stinging in the corners of your eyes. You look back at him over your shoulder and hope you look pathetic enough for him to take mercy.

“Aw, baby, look at you,” he croons. “Shouldn’t have been so greedy, huh?”

“M’sorry,” you say. “M’sorry, sir, I promise I’ll be good.”

“You better,” he says, and then finally, finally shoves roughly into you.

The pace he sets meticulously takes you apart. His cock batters at you, his tight grip on your body unrelenting as he takes and takes and takes.

“So much better now, huh?” he says.

“Yes—oh fuck, s-so much. Thank you, sir.”

“Attagirl,” he moans. “Touch yourself, baby.”

You’re quick to obey, longing for his thick, calloused fingers.

But he knows that already. “See? Ya just can’t do it right yourself. Just let me make you feel good, okay?”

You’re nodding before he’s done talking. He wrenches your hand away and reaches down to pinch your clit.

“Now,” he growls. It’s a good thing, too, because you were already starting to fall apart.

He fucks you through it, and another, and another. Between the contrast of the warm water and cold wall, the brutal slap of his hips against your ass, and the dizzying pleasure, you feel fuzzy around the edges.

“Ah, fuck,” he groans. “Kneel.”

He steps back just enough to let you turn and drop to your knees. The water ricochets off his back as he plunges into your waiting mouth, and you swallow him down.

When he eases out, you’re soaked from the spray.

“Think we need to clean up again?” you say.

“Nah, why bother? I ain’t done with you yet.”

“What?” you gasp.

“Not a chance, sweetheart. Dry off and go lay on that sad little thing you call a bed for me, alright?”

It’s actually easier for him this way, he tells you with a smirk. “Ain’t gotta worry about my knees.” He’s lowered himself to the floor, with your ass perched on the end of the mattress.

Practically lounging, he’s spread your thighs to carve a space for himself, holding you as he takes his sweet time. For a goddamn eternity, all he does is kiss and bite your thighs, with the occasional soft lick to your folds. But he doesn’t dip in, doesn’t seek out your pleasure.

No, it’s very clear that this is for him. Which is not to say he doesn’t want you to feel good; he very much does. But tonight, he has the luxury of time and a comfortable angle to do whatever the fuck he wants.

You’re shaking, legs trembling, when his tongue finally nudges inside, just a quick flit of his tongue into your cunt before he drags it up to your clit.

“Please,” you sob, much like you have been. But this time, it’s different. He can tell from the way you’re squirming and clenching down.

“Give it to me,” he growls into you, and sucks at your clit until you come.

It feels like hours. There’s no way it can be, really, but he works you over again and again until you can’t take it anymore. You’re crying, real tears sliding down the sides of your face, and your hips move of their own accord in an attempt to escape.

He doesn’t let you out of it that easy. His hand comes down against your cunt before you realize he let go of your leg. And fuck, it feels good, but also, you might be dying?

“Can’t, I can’t,” you whine.

“You sure? I think you got one more in ya.”

“Fuck,” you sob.

He eases up a little, fucking you with his tongue while his fingers rub gently around your clit. When you cum, you have to bite your fist not to scream. He holds you down with a strong arm across your hips as you buck and struggle.

But he backs off as soon as you’re coming down. “Attagirl, that’s it. So good for me,” he murmurs, climbing up onto the mattress beside you.

He rolls you over into his arms and kisses your forehead, nose, and lips. “Such a good girl, takin’ everything I wanted.”

You’re limp. You think maybe he’s one of those vampires. What did they call them? Energy vampires? Or are you thinking of some kind of demon?

Anyway, you think he drained your life force out of your cunt. You can’t keep your eyes open, and your limbs are heavy. You’re sleepin’ with the fishes, you think, and giggle a little.

“You okay?” he says.

“Mhm, m’just so sleepy,” you mumble. Even your lips feel too heavy to move.

“I gotcha, sunflower; you can sleep.” He kisses your forehead again and tugs your comforter up around you both.

There’s a knock on your door for the second time in twelve hours. That’s more than the last twelve months.

You startle awake and yank the sheet up to your neck, but relax a little when you see Joel. He’s already hefted himself up and approached the door.

The knock comes again, but this time you notice there’s a pattern to it.

“Who is it?” he says anyway.

“Just me,” Tess says.

Joel unlatches the locks and lets her in.

“Thought I might find you here,” she says, low and quiet.

“You okay?” he says.

“Yeah, but I need your help with some cleanup. How’s she?”

“Good,” you whisper.

Tess does a double take. “Thought you were sleeping, sunflower.”

“Was, but people keep banging my door down today.” You yawn and for some reason, reach your arms up.

She obliges your sleepy plea, coming close enough to bend down and kiss you. “Don’t worry,” she says. “We’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree. But something falls in your spine, something sad and heavy and taboo.

“I gotta go back out. Meet me downstairs,” she says to Joel, who’s getting his filthy clothes back on. She gives you a kiss on the forehead. “Be a good girl and go back to sleep.”

You hum your agreement and lay back down against your pillow.

Joel crouches down by the mattress. “Sorry, sunflower, we gotta get goin’,” he says, giving your cheek a brief caress.

The disappointment is there and gone so fast, he thinks maybe he imagined it. Maybe he just wanted to see it.

But it was real, much to your displeasure. You didn’t want them to think you were getting greedy, that you felt any entitlement to their time.

“Okay.”

“Need ya to lock up behind us.”

“Just turn the thingy before you close the door,” you mumble, trying to spare your poor feet the pain of the frigid floor.

The look he levels you is nothing short of furious. “You tryin’ to be funny?”

“No?”

“That flimsy little joke ain’t gonna protect you. Your hinges are too weak; anyone could kick that in. At least the deadbolt and chain would buy you a minute.”

“It’s cold,” you whine. But you know he’s right. After all, Tess got in and out without causing any damage. Hang on, though. What was that about weak hinges?

Does that make you… unhinged? You laugh out loud at your joke. Your daddy always said it was a good thing you thought you were funny, ‘cause no one else would.

He ignores it and yanks the blanket off you.

“Hey!”

“You can have it back when you get up.”

“Mean.”

“You think this is mean? I’m fixin’ to put you over my knee and change your little attitude.”

Your eyes go wide, and there’s a tell-tale heart(beat) buried beneath your panties. “You wouldn’t.”

“You damn well know I would.”

You swallow hard around the sudden ache in your throat where his cock should be.

You get up and shuffle over to him. “Alright, quit yer bitchin’. I’m here, and I will lock all the locks.”

He wraps the blanket around your shoulders. “Good girl,” he says and presses a brief kiss to your forehead. Before you even register it, he’s gone, door clacking shut behind him.

You lock all the locks and climb back in bed, but sleep doesn’t find you again.

next chapter

*title from "Trouble is a Friend" by Lenka

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #tess servopoulos x reader x joel miller #tess x reader #tess x joel #joel miller x tess servopoulos #joel miller x reader x tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x you #tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopolous x joel miller x you #tlou smut #tlou fics #the last of us fics #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #fic: ain't no rest for the wicked

156 notes · View notes

trina864 · 7 months

Text

Affection and Seduction | J.JK

Summery: Tuesday arrives, and Jungkook takes it a step further. He promises that it gets better and wilder the further you go, but right now? He just loves to make you all flustered. Paring: Jungkook x Reader Lyric: "I take my hands and trace your lines..." Genre: Fanfiction, Romance | Smut. Fluff. Word Count: 4.5 K Chapter Guide: Tuesday Previous / Next - Coming Soon Warnings: Female Reader. Mature themes. Explicit Words. Making out. Smut. Jungkook x reader. Naked reader. Naked Jungkook. Fingering, F!recieving. Sɛx. Dry humping. Very very little voyeurism. Mentions of ropes, ball gag and crops. Brat Reader. Dirty Talk. Female on the pill. No condom sɛx. Friends having sɛx. Not a couple. Friends 2 lovers. Jimin as readers friend. Jimin loving drama. Mentions of past feelings.

Tuesday arrives and you're actually looking forward to whatever Jungkook has planned.

The whole deal is still new to you, and the fact that you're having sex with Jungkook is even newer. But you can't find it in you to complain. You have always wondered what it would be like, that it's greater than you had imagined is your own fault.

Monday had been lovely. You and Jungkook had fallen asleep on either side of the bed, and when you woke it was to the morning sun warming you like a soft blanket. You had spent the morning making breakfast together and dancing to the beats of quiet R&B.

The morning felt like any other whenever you and Jungkook had sleepovers, and that made you feel relieved. Nothing has changed between you, you're still just Y/N and Jungkook.

"Y/N?! Hallo, are you even listening?" Jimin says and waves a hand in front of you.

Jimin sits besides you on your baby green couch, the exact same place where Jungkook sat just this morning.

It's late morning, Jungkook left not even two hours ago. You had totally forgotten the breakfast deal you had made with Jimin and it was only when he knocked at your door that you remembered that the pretty man is visiting.

You come out of your daydream and look at Jimin. "Hm? Yea, sorry what did you say?" Jimin watches as you shake your head and rub a hand against your head.

It's clear to Jimin that you're acting weirder than usual, he just can't figure out why or if it’s a good thing. "Is something wrong Y/N? You seem like you're in another world." He says and you have to keep your laugh.

If only he knew what you and Jungkook have been doing he would understand right away, but you're hesitant on telling him.

He won't understand the situation, he’d just assume you and Kook are in a relationship, even though that certainly is not the case.

"It's nothing Jimin, just work." You say knowing damn well that's a lie. You do feel bad for lying to your friend, but you would feel even worse if he teased you about something that isn’t true.

"Oh yea! How is it going with that book?" He asks and you smile. "It's going well, I just have to figure out how to write the best character growth, and I have no inspiration." You say and Jimin looks at you with empathic eyes.

He knows all about not having inspiration, if he isn't inspired when dancing it usually isn't a good dance.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, just give it some time." He says and you're about to answer when a sudden noise of your phone has you checking what it could be.

Kookie 🍪🐰:

{ - Come to my place at 18:00 tomorrow?

Y/N:

{ - Sure (; Eat from home? Or no?

Kookie 🍪🐰:

{ - No. Eat dinner here.

{ - Looking forward to seeing you Goddess.

The smile that covers your lips are shocking to Jimin. The way you giggle as you text back a reply to whoever texted you can only mean one thing.

You hear a gasp come from Jimin as he turns his entire body towards you and takes the phone from you. You're about to protest when he again gasps and claps a hand over his mouth.

"Don't tell me you and Jungkook are finally together." He says and you snatch the phone back from him. "What!? No! Why would I and Jungkook be together?" You say and already dread what you know is about to happen.

“I knew it! Fuck Taehyung owes me 15 bucks, I have to tell him.” Jimin says “You guys betted on us?” You ask, you would’ve tried to stop Jimin if it wasn’t because you knew there is no stopping your drama loving friend.

“Of course we did.” He says his gaze fixed on the phone in his hands, “Honestly Y/N you two are very obvious. Again why are you guys not together?”

You sigh knowing you’ll have to explain yourself again for the 100th time. “Jungkook needs his freedom and I do too. We can’t commit.” You say but the sad tone in your voice is not unnoticed by Jimin.

He knew there was a time when you were totally obsessed with Jungkook. You hung him on the moon and stargazed after him every day. Jimin never knew when or why you stopped loving him.

And to be honest he didn’t dare ask. There was just something so sad and unsettling surrounding it that he couldn’t get himself mixed up in.

Jimin stayed with you the rest of Monday, even when you had to work he stayed in the living room stealing your food and binging tv shows. Jimin has always been like this, especially with you. There are times you think he may have separation anxiety, but you know he really just likes to be together with people.

He leaves when the time hits 10 pm and you can finally get your well deserved sleep.

The next day at 6 pm you stand in front of Jungkooks door. The whole day you have had butterflies storming around in your stomach. Jungkook had texted with you all day and you swear you have never gotten so much attention from anyone before.

He had written good morning, and asked how work was, he had written he was looking forward to seeing you, and much more.

As the door opens and the man finally shows himself in front of you all the butterflies makes a twirl. You know it's not even been 24 hours since you last saw him, but the new deal between you two is still so exciting.

"You look good." Jungkook says as you enter and give him a hug.

You smile before saying “You don’t look too bad yourself.” He laughs and walks into the apartment. His white tshirt is not hiding much, the see through material makes it so easy for you eyes to peek at all the tattoos adoring his body.

Jungkook is a walking sin in your eyes, but maybe that’s just the idea of what’s going to happen later that’s making you feel like this.

The new feelings around Jungkook are so foreign, you’ve never felt like this ever.

Sex and the world around it isn’t a stranger for you, but you’ve never been this far off into the world.

You’ve never been this excited about sex.

You walk in Jungkook's heals all the way into his luxurious kitchen. His apartment have always been your favorite, not even your own could compare with the comfort and style Jungkook's has.

“I would say I hope you like spaghetti, but I know you do so I’m not going to say that.” He laughs and it infects you too.

The silence afterwards as Jungkook cooks dinner and you admire the smell of Jungkooks famous spaghetti, is nice and easy.

In the background you hear notes of Frank Ocean, and outside the sun is settling down.

But the curiosity which fills your limbs are too strong and you break the silence. “So what do you have planned for us after dinner?”

On Jungkooks face the little mischievous smile shows on his face again and he shrugs leaving you in the dark.

“What do you want to happen?” He asks daring and stirs in the spaghetti without looking at you.

“You know…-“ you walk closer to him, you stand behind his back and go up on your tippy toes to reach his ear. “Maybe I want a bit more this time.”

The reaction is instantly, he turns around leaving the stove, and presses his lips to yours. If it hadn’t been because of the stove he would've lifted you up on it and taken you right there.

But the stove is on, and he only just manages to get his tongue in when the clock goes off and you have to break free from each other.

It’s hard to let go of him and his arousing body, but you’re also looking forward to that spaghetti, and if he accidently overcooked it you would be very mad.

A minute or two later he's leading you into the dinning area together with the hot pan. As you reach the table a gasp reaches your lips. The table is covered with a red tablecloth, burning lights are placed between two white plates and wine glasses are standing proud on the table.

It's very beautiful... and maybe a little too romantic?

A weird feeling bubbles up inside you and you can't decipher it. It's a mixture of awe and yuck. Old feelings comes to the surface, but you quickly pushes them down again.

Jungkook's happy face and hoping eyes makes you hesitate on telling him how weird you feel about this, and instead you go with it.

You hurry over to a chair before he can pull it out for you, and you sit down with a more than a forced smile. Jungkook doesn't notice though as he places the hot stove in front of you and sit down before you.

From the window behind him you see how dark the night is getting and small lights from the city shines behind him, it looks as if he's surrounded by stars. You pull your eyes away quickly as the word 'beautiful' crosses your mind.

"This is so pretty Jungkook, I can't believe you've done this. How long did it take?" You ask to ease the nauseas feeling mixing with something really old.

"Not too long, I just thought I'd do something nice for you, y'know as a way to show you that I'm grateful you accepted my offer." He says and that eases some of the heavy feelings which swept over you.

"Well you sure did do something very nice." You don't mean to make it sound like it does, like you're ungrateful, but just as the words leave your mouth and his face falters slightly you know it's too late.

"You think it's too much?" He asks and the insecurities shines through, all of those you have spent hours talking with him about.

"No! Not at all Jungkook, I was a little frightened at first why it was so romantic, but it's very nice I love it." You sugarcoat the words a lot and make sure to not hurt him again, you hate hurting Jungkook.

Jungkook has always seemed tough, he says things like he thinks them, but he has so many emotions that one would never think about.

You do though, but that’s just your person, you think.

The two of you eats after that awkward moment and you quickly forget about it as the food touches your mouth.

Jungkook's spaghetti truly is the best!

He laughs as your face converts into a look of overwhelming joy. His secret weapon to get to you is food, it has always been food.

As the plates slowly gets emptier and emptier your anticipation rises, so does goosebumps on your arms as Jungkook's leg roams yours under the table.

His poker face is too good, not even the slightest hint of a smile on his face as he talks on about a funny encounter he had with Namjoon a day ago.

You don’t hear anything he says, all you hear is your own heartbeat, and his breathing.

You can’t look away from his lips even when you try your hardest. It’s frustrating to lose control like this, but you’ll admit that it’s also exciting.

Jungkook stops talking as he notices where your attention lies. A look plays on your face, a look he’s slowly getting very familiar with.

“Are you listening Y/N?” He asks, and you shake your head no, too allured to pronounce words.

It’s just the entirety of him that’s way too enchanting.

Suddenly he gets up and you sit still in your chair as he walks beside the table and over to you.

His right hand takes a hold on the backrest, and his left on your thigh, then he gets closer, lower. You both hear the gulp you make. Your cheeks are burning with the heat from Jungkook.

It’s the same feelings as yesterday, excitement and lust.

When he finally connects his lips to yours it’s in a hungry kiss. He doesn’t waist any time today and opens your mouth and lets his tongue in.

The game has started and you can feel it quickly escalating. The both of you stands up and Jungkook immediately starts undoing your pants and rips the shirt over your head.

You’re left in underwear, which you feel is very unfair, but as you pull the white thee off Jungkook's body and his tattoos shows up it isn’t as bad.

You don’t know what it is about his tattoos, but they turn you on so much that you get the thought you want to lick every dot and line of them.

His arms wraps around the back of your thigh and he pulls you up. You wrap them around his waist, and it surprises you how thin his waist is. Yesterday you were too overwhelmed with other parts of his body to notice his waist, but damn did you miss that beautiful waist.

You kiss him harder and press yourself deeper into him, and down by your womanhood you can feel Jungkook growing.

Before you even notice Jungkook has walked you into his bedroom, where purple led lights are shining and making him glow.

You’re in awe at how handsome he is and you stop for just a second to appreciate him.

“What is it?” He asks very lustily and very gently.

“You’re just very beautiful right now.” You answer honest and almost cringe at how that sounded. Normally you would never say something like that, but whatever it’s just one time.

In the corner of his mouth a small smile rises, but he hides it by kissing you again.

Small and light kisses all over your face, and it makes you laugh. He slowly goes over to the bed and lays you down carefully.

You love rough sex more than anything, but this right now is not bad, it’s different, and you need to get used too it, but it’s sure feels amazing.

Then the happy hour breaks as you remember this isn’t forever, and you shouldn’t get used too it. And old feelings play through your mind. You push them away.

When you’re finally laying on the bed, Jungkook crawls up from the foot end to where you’re sat at the top. His back muscles flex and unflex, and his tattoos dances across the skin.

You don't understand the attraction between you two, it's so strong, yet still too weak. But you don't need tro understand it to act on it.

His sweatpants are still on, but you can clearly see the bulge he's hiding in them. It’s big and ready for your touch.

As if it was a lifeline you grab onto his cock and Jungkook’s response is instant. A moan, a grunt and then he manhandles you up over his lap.

He softly guides your trembling hips over his crotch, and the pleasure extends over both your faces. Jungkook's fingertips traces the line of your panties and he smiles at the cute small bow.

So extremely sinful, yet that little bow just makes him look at you with the tenderest grin. Not that you notice you're too hypnotized by the work of his crotch and his cock hitting you. Even thought it's covered by clothes, you can imagine the way it would slide into your pussy.

Jungkook can see a wet spot on top of his sweatpants, which makes him pant harder. Your thighs around his hips makes him hard, and you feel that, as his dick pushes up underneath you.

You make sure to sway your hips extremely careful and precise over it, Jungkook's face trembles into pleasure.

“Hmm, you like it when my hips are on top of yours like this?” You ask and press harder.

Jungkook knows what he must look like, but right now he doesn’t care.

Until he suddenly does, and something between you switches. The little dominance you had overtaken shifts and Jungkook pushes you onto your stomach.

His hand stays on your lower back, pushing your cunt into the madras, and making sure you feel the friction, and it’s obvious that you’re feeling the friction, your moans are loud and clear, and very begging.

“Jungkook! Jungkook please, please do something!” You say and Jungkook only mocks you by pushing you deeper onto the madras.

"What? Hm? What was it again that you chanted yesterday?.. Something about my dick?" His voice is deeper than usual, much like it was yesterday, and you can feel him at the shell of your ear, breathing into it.

"Mhm! Yes, yes!" You stutter and hump into the madras. Jungkook chuckles looking down yours and his body. You're laying flat on your stomach and he on top of you.

His dick is uncomfortably hard, laying flat across your ass. The power he has over you right now is unbearable, he's sure he could suggest anything right now, ropes, crops, ball gag, he could pull up the weirdest shit and you would jump in with both feet.

But he has a plan that he wants to follow by, and even if the thought of you gagged up and bound, is very intriguing he has to wait, just a little longer.

“Mhm, well then you’ll have to be a good girl for me.” Jungkook says and his lips drags across the skin on your neck. You only whimper which is enough signal for Jungkook to go on.

“Let me watch as you touch yourself,” He says and kisses behind the shell of your ear, “Show me how you please yourself.”

The image of you touching yourself with Jungkook's eyes watching your every movement is both sensual and anxious. Will he be satisfied with only watching?

Of course he won’t. Jungkook plans on burying his cock deep inside your pussy and drown it in your juices. But he has always had a deep desire to see you touch yourself, ever since the day you spoke to him. Were you chanting his name when your fingers graced your pussy? Or were you thinking of his body?

He needs answers to that question.

You moan as Jungkook humps over you, a little warning hump, on what’s going to happen afterwards.

Your hands reach down quickly and it’s a little difficult getting under your stomach and down to your clit as Jungkook’s weight also pushes down over you. But once your hands finally touches the fabric of your panties, you hump down over your hand.

Jungkook’s name immediately leave your lips, as if it was him who did it. And you do it again and imagine his long fingers doing it, just like yesterday.

Watching you like this, all fucked out and needy does things to Jungkook. He felt it yesterday, but it has come back today.

“Yea just like that baby.” Jungkook groan, and his hand finds it way down to yours. As his hand takes over the speed involves and you can feel yourself falling into a deep aroused hole, which you’re not sure you can come out of.

While all this happens and Jungkook adds two fingers into your pussy, he plants small kisses of affection all over your neck and upper back.

"More... More Kookie." You moan, and Jungkook can't control his smirk. "More Yea? Then turn around." He says as he raises himself off you and pulls his hand away.

The missing action makes you want to pull him back, but the thought of Jungkooks dick finally entering you is so much more appealing, so you control yourself and turn around like Jungkook had told you to.

Jungkook waits until you're finally laying down, head against his pillows which he knows is going to smell like you tomorrow. When your big eyes all needy for him looks up at him like this, he is reminded why he asked for this deal in the first place.

You're very beautiful in his eyes, and never being able to just tell you is killing him. But at least he can show you now.

Jungkook unties the straps of his sweatpants and your eyes follows every move. It's sensual and sinful watching the buff man peal off his clothes for you.

And when he finally pulls his boxers off as well and his cock jumps up to his abdomen, you're panting and rubbing your thighs against each other. Jungkook notices and that only feeds his ego.

"Take your underwear off, Y/N." He says, adorable smile playing on his lips, in contrast to his angry dick.

You immediately follow suit and pull your bra and panties off. You stay like that for a minute appreciating each other bodies. The erotic picture of Jungkook naked in front of you makes the sheets wet under you.

"Shit, Y/N, you look so good right now-" He says, but you cut him off by pulling him down and kissing him.

The way your lips move against each other is a new feeling. The both of you have gotten used to how the other kisses, and it gets better and better for every time you do it.

Between kisses Jungkook whispers all sorts of dirty things while he closes in on your body. "Mhm, I bet you're wet enough for the neighbors to hear it through the wall." "My sweet little baby, all needy and whiney for me." "I'm gonna coat you in my cum."

All these sorts of things leaves his mouth, and if you weren't this turned on it would probably have been gross, but his words only adds to the pleasure between your legs.

It's you who breaks the kiss. You lock eyes with him, they shine purple in the shadow of the led lights. Your hand slides over his cock, giving him a few pumps, and Jungkook moan in surprise.

"I want you. Right now." You say and Jungkook sees how serious you're trying to be with this. "I'm all yours Y/N." He says and line his dick up with your pussy, and finally you moan in union as he slips into you.

You've had sex many times with different people, but there's something totally different and even more intimate about this. The sounds you both let out are loud, and Jungkook moves fast from the beginning grinding into you with force. "Ah.. Fuck Y/N."

Your legs close in to get even more pleasure, but Jungkook rips them apart and pushes each of your knees down to the madras. "Shi- it." You say in response and Jungkook smiles down at you and bends to kiss your forehead. Your hands on Jungkook's back scratches as his dick hits your g-spot and his pelvis hits your clit. "Kookie.." You moan and turn your head, too deep into the pleasure to keep up. It doesn't take long before you feel your orgasm build up. Your whole body is glistering with sweat and so is Jungkook's. The white sheets are wrinkled up underneath you. Jungkook's hands leave your knees and instead takes a hard grip around your waist.

"I'm gonna try something baby, tap me twice if you want me to stop, okay?" You can't answer, no words will leave your mouth so you only nod.

When Jungkook said he wanted to try something you had not imagined that meant turning you over and onto all fours.

You're placed on all fours and Jungkook knows exactly what he's doing. He knows this is your favorite position, and you also happen to know it's his.

Jungkook's dick is still inside you, but he slowly pulls it out leaving only the tip. "Lay down for me goddess." Jungkook says and pushes on your upper back. With the little energy you have left you fall down, and only your ass is in the air now.

His hands hold tightly around your waist, and suddenly Jungkook hammers his dick into you with a force that has you nearly banging your head into the headboard. "Shit...!" You yell and are aware that the neighbors have full access to the noise you’re making.

His dick slide in and out of you and Jungkook can feel your walls tightening around him. It only adds to his desire and makes him push into you with even more force. His hands on your waist are giving electric shocks, and he lowers himself over your back and whisper into your ears.

“Do you feel that huh? How my cock is fitting so good into your pussy. Such a pretty little pussy, so tight and ready for me.” He says and that plus a very good hit in your g-spot is what tips you over.

Your orgasm hits, your back arches and it’s Jungkook’s weight over you that keeps you pressed down into the bed. You walls clench so much that Jungkook’s grinds slows down and it’s not long after you feel him twitch inside you and he pulls out and cums on your back. "FU- U- CK, Y/N..." He says.

He collapse on top of you and the white stripes of his cum mixes in between you. Not that you care, you’re both basking in the silence and satisfaction after the sex.

It fees magical, this moment. His body warmth is like a blanket, you want to keep him around you forever.

But after a few minutes he rises and the sticky noise form his cum fills your ears. He kisses you, “let’s get you cleaned up.” his arms sneaks around you and lifts you up.

Carrying you through the house and over to his bathroom he places you in the bathtub and fills it with water. There’s not once where he turns his back to you or his attention away, and you feel like a wanted person.

The water is hot and suites into your muscles loosing them up.

“So what happens afterwards?” You ask when you sit in the bathtub, asking yourself if he would kick you out now or not.

“You stay the night and we wake up together tomorrow, sounds good?” His hands play around with the water from your bath. His eyes are locked with yours and it’s weird seeing Jungkook this affectionate.

Usually when you see him with other girls, it’s sex and goodbye. You never knew Jungkook could be such a gentleman.

A smile plays on your lips, “That sounds good.” You say and try to hide how giddy you feel.

After the bath Jungkook carries you back to the bed. A movie is rolling in the background as you lay cuddled up by Jungkook’s side. You’re mostly watching the movie, but Jungkook just can’t pull his eyes from the small creature which is you laying in his arms.

When you fall asleep Jungkook turns off the movie and he too falls asleep next to you, with you pulled tightly into him.

Next morning you wake up first. Your legs are sore and your hair is a nest. But even so you lie smiling looking at Jungkook taking small puffs of air and clinging onto you like a little child.

You wouldn’t change this morning for anything in the world. This deal is the best thing you’ve ever agreed to.

Mini Taglist:

♪ @ahgasegotarmy116

♪ If you want to join the taglist then write a comment here saying which taglist you wanna be part off ((: ♪

269 notes · View notes

inthe-dark-tonight · 7 months

Text

Falling Into My Sins

chapter three: balled up fists

dbf!joel x fem!reader series - loosely inspired by the song skin by soccer mommy

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 4 chapter 5

summary: tommy and joel walk into your new job and you decide to confront joel about the events that took place at sunday night dinner. the only thing is, joel isn't alone.

word count: 2.5k

series rating: E (18+ mdni)

warnings: no outbreak AU, age gap (reader is in their 20s, Joel is in his 40s) no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, tommy and reader flirt a little, player!joel, joel being a gaslighter sorry, ANGST, theres one part where joel grabs readers wrist kinda roughly bc she’s… doing something so be aware of that, if i’m missing anything let me know!!

notes: okayyyyy here we go, i don’t want to spoil anything so… let me know what you guys think of this chapter :) thank you again to my love @shatteredbaby for proofreading for me again, i owe you my life mwah. can't forget my literal mother @pr0ximamidnight for letting me ramble for hours <3

It’s Friday morning now and Joel never got back to you. You didn’t send another text after your last one, afraid that you would seem desperate or annoying. You’ve been busy this week anyway so you try not to let it bother you.

One of the jobs you applied for finally called back, so you went in for an interview on Tuesday morning and they already have you working your first shift tonight. It’s a waitressing job, which isn’t exactly what you were hoping for, but you applied for anything and everything, just happy to be working again. It will also be good to get your mind off of everything that’s happened last weekend.

You finish getting ready for work. Your shift starts in about an hour but you want to be early for your first day. As you leave your room, you grab your purse and your apron before running down the stairs. Your dad’s in the living room and you shout out to him.

“I’m leaving! I’m not off until midnight so see you tomorrow!”

“See ya bud, have fun!” He shouts back.

You shut the door behind you and walk down your front steps to your car. As you walk to your car, you glance across the street towards Joel’s house. His truck isn’t in the driveway. You haven’t seen him at all this week, not even a quick glimpse as he was leaving for work or coming home. You saw Sarah come home from school a few times, but no Joel.

You get into your car and turn the radio on, trying to shake the memory of the other night from your mind. You pull away, past Joel’s house and out of the neighborhood. The job you got is at a local diner near your house. Unfortunately though, it’s a 24hr diner which means you’ll probably be working nights most of the time but you’re just happy to be working again.

You pull up to the diner and step out of your car, grabbing your purse and tying your black apron around your waist. The one good thing about this job is that the dress code is simple, all black. You walk in and one of the other waitresses, Betty, greets you as you walk up to the counter.

“Hi hon, welcome to work!” She smiles at you.

She's an older woman, probably in her late fifties, and she’s very friendly. She was here the day of your interview and she chatted with you as you sat waiting for the manager to be ready for you.

“Hi” you smile shyly at her.

“I’m gonna be training you tonight,” she starts. “There isn’t a lot to learn, I think you’ll get the hang of it easily so I’m just kinda here if you need any help.”

You nod your head and follow her behind the counter. She takes about fifteen minutes to show you the ropes, how to use the register and things of that sort.

“Okay well,” she starts taking a deep breath. “I think you got this, I trust ya.” She winks at you. “It’s gonna be pretty slow for the next few hours, just watch the counter for now, I’ll handle any tables that come in.”

You nod, acknowledging that you understand and then she walks into the back. You look around the diner noticing that there’s practically nobody in there. One booth in the back corner is occupied by an older man reading the paper and sipping on a black coffee, but that’s it.

About an hour later you hear the bell on the door jingle as someone enters the diner. Your head whips towards the door and you see a familiar face, Tommy Miller. His face lights up as his eyes meet with yours and he walks towards the counter.

“Hey,” he glances around the empty diner, then his eyes land back on you. “Guess you heard back from some of the application’s you sent out huh?”

“Hi,” you laugh a little at his comment. “Yeah uh, I did. Today’s my first day actually.”

He takes a seat at the counter and you hand him a menu. “Does that make me your first customer?” he raises his brow and smiles at you.

“Yeah actually.”

“Hmmm, I’ll have to test ya then.” He opens the menu.

You let out a small laugh “Can I get you anything? Coffee?” You watch as Tommy glances over the menu.

He doesn’t look up at you. “Yeah actually, I’ll take a coffee while I wait.”

Wait for what? You don’t ask. You walk to grab the coffee pot and a mug, setting it down to fill it in front of him.

“Thanks darlin’,” he looks up at you and your cheeks heat up.

“No problem, let me know when you’re ready.” You turn around to replace the coffee pot.

Suddenly the doors open again, you hear the bell but you don’t turn around to look until you hear a woman laughing. You look up and your face immediately drops.

It’s Joel Miller, and his arm is wrapped around some woman as they walk towards a booth. He doesn’t see you yet as he slides into a booth by the window, sitting on the side that faces you. Tommy turns his head glancing at him, then turns back to you.

“Christ, when I told him to meet me after his date I didn’t think he’d bring the woman along.” Tommy rolls his eyes.

Joel was on a date? You just hum in response, not sure what to say. You look back towards Joel, he’s smiling as he leans on the table. Once his eyes meet with yours his smile disappears. You immediately snap your eyes away from him and focus back on Tommy.

“Ready?” You smile at him.

He looks up at you giving you a cheeky grin “Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck as he talks. “Gonna keep it simple I think, just a burger and fries.”

You jot it down on your pad and then quickly rip the paper off. “You got it.” You wink at him, eyes meeting with Joel’s for a quick second before you turn around to place the order with the line cooks.

When you turn around, Tommy’s cheeks are slightly flushed. Then you see Betty come out from the back and walk towards Joel’s table to take their order. You try not to stare as you try to catch a better glimpse at the woman he’s here with. She has long blonde wavy hair, and as she turns her head to say something to Betty you catch a glimpse of her side profile and blinding smile. You have to admit she’s quite gorgeous. Then Joel’s saying something to Betty before she walks back and gives her order to the line cooks. His eyes flicker to yours again, and then to the woman he’s sitting with.

Your blood is boiling but you’re trying not to show it. How was he fucking you the other night and now he’s here with someone else?

“So, what’ve you been up to this week?” Tommy says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Oh nothing much,” You smile, a bit distracted.

He hesitates for a moment. “Got anything going on tomorrow?” He’s looking at you with his large brown eyes.

You notice Joel is watching you like a hawk, dark eyes burning straight through you as you’re talking to Tommy. You peel your eyes away from Joel and look back to Tommy.

“Not sure, I don’t think so.”

“If you’re free, maybe we could go to this bar downtown?” He stops for a second. “I mean, if not, that’s fine just-“

“I’ll let you know.” You smile at him before turning to grab his food and placing it in front of him.

“Thanks.” he glances up at you quickly.

You nod and then look back towards Joel. He gets out of the booth and the woman follows. As she stands up, he pulls her into an embrace before waving bye to her and sitting back down. As the woman walks out, you finally get a look at her. She’s gorgeous, luscious hair bouncing as he walks towards the door. She glances over at you and smiles before pushing on the door and leaving. You’re frozen there for a moment, before looking back towards Joel. You need to talk to him.

“I’ll be right back.” Tommy looks up at you with wide eyes, nodding his head.

You storm over to Joel, blood boiling. His eyes are locked on you the whole way over. When you get to his booth, you slide into the spot where the blonde woman was just sitting a moment ago and stare directly into his eyes. He shifts in his seat as your eyes stay glued to his.

“We need to talk. Now.” The last part comes out low through gritted teeth and filled with anger as you try to keep it together.

“What about, sweetheart?” He leans back, throwing his arm over the back of the booth.

What about? He's got to be joking. You feel like you could snap any second, and you think he can tell by the look in your eyes.

“Joel.” It comes out as a warning.

“Okay, okay,” he glances around the diner. “Not in here.” He gets up from the booth and you follow him as he walks towards the door.

Joel walks outside and you call out to Betty saying that you’re taking a quick break, she just waves you off. You walk out the door and look both ways before spotting Joel leaning against his truck. You walk towards him slowly, thinking about what you want to say. You stand in from of him, practically fuming at the way he’s acting so nonchalant, like he didn’t fuck you up against the side of your father’s home five nights ago and then ghost you.

“So,” You say, finally breaking the silence.

“So.” He says back.

You’re silent for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. “What exactly is going on, Joel,” your eyes meet his and your stomach flips.

“Not sure what you’re talkin’ about.” He clears his throat and breaks eye contact with you, looking down at his boots.

So he’s going to play dumb, you see how it is. “Seriously?” You shake your head still looking at him.

He looks up at you apprehensively, like he’s afraid to meet your gaze. “Seriously, what are you on about.” His brows knit together as he looks at you.

You take a step closer to him. “You’re going to act like you didn’t fuck me behind my dad’s house less than a week ago?” Your voice starts to raise and he’s just staring back at you now.

“I-“ you cut him off.

“No, let me finish.” You’re ready to let it all out. “You left abruptly Sunday night, practically ghosted me when we had plans Tuesday, and then showed up here… on a date?” He doesn’t say anything. “And then you have the nerve to ask me what we need to talk about.”

He shoves one hand into his pocket and the other rubs at the scruff on his cheek.

“Just tell me, were you lying when you said you didn’t want to forget about the night we met? That you wanted me,” You swallow thickly, afraid that you might not like his answer. “Was I just another girl to add to your list?”

His jaw ticks as he stands there silently. “Yeah.” He’s still not looking at you. “It was just a fuck, that’s all.”

You scoff. “You’re sick.” His eyes snap up to you. “Even after you found out that my dad is your best friend, who does that?” You shake your head, he has a smug look on his face that makes you just wanna-

Your hand reaches up to slap him, but he catches your wrist before your hand even gets close to his cheek. He’s breathing heavily, anger burning behind his eyes.

“The hell are you doing?” He says it through gritted teeth. “Tryin’ to hit me?”

You just stare at him. “You deserve it, don’t you think?” Your voice slightly breaks as the words come out.

He grabs your other wrist and spins you around pressing you up against his truck. You try to wriggle away but he’s too strong. You’re speechless as you stand there in his grasp, a shocked look on your face.

He’s breathing heavy as he towers over you, dark eyes staring at your parted lips now. His eyes meet yours, you have no idea what his next move will be.

“Do I?” He’s close enough now that you can feel his breath fanning over your face.

Your heart is racing. “Joel…” you breathe out.

Then he’s slamming his lips against yours, the kiss is needy and rough as he presses himself against you. You start to melt into him and then snap out of it, breaking the kiss. You push his solid chest as hard as you can, shoving him away from you. He slightly stumbles back releasing his grip on your wrists.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He looks like a deer in headlights right now, stunned by your reaction.

His mouth falls open but nothing comes out. You turn away from him and start walking back towards the door, taking a deep breath trying to hold back tears, not from sadness but from anger. Who does he think he is?

When you open the door to the diner, Tommy’s head whips towards you. “Hey, were you on break?” He asks as you walk back behind the counter.

“Yeah,” Your voice cracks a bit as you answer him. “So, about tomorrow,” you clear your throat.

Tommy’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Joel walks through the door making his way to Tommy, you glance at him before your eyes meet his brother’s again.

“I’d love to go with you.” He smiles at your words.

“Great, I’ll get you around 8?” He says, his dark chocolate eyes gleaming as you nod positively.

Joel’s standing behind Tommy, now staring you down. You’re unsure about how much he’s heard, but honestly, you could care less at this moment.

“C’mon Tommy, we gotta go.” Joel says as he lightly pulls at Tommy’s sleeve.

Tommy pulls out his wallet, setting some cash on the table for his meal then stands up. “See ya.” he’s holding back a smile.

You bite your cheek. “Yeah, see ya.”

Joel’s standing by the door waiting for Tommy as you give him a deadly glare before clearing the counter and you hear the door to the diner close. You’re not sure what you’ve gotten yourself into, but you feel sort of excited for tomorrow night.

thank you for reading! feel free to comment or leave asks, i love to talk about this fic so I will almost always answer/chat :)

tag list and some moots: @ilovepedro @isitmeulookin4 @joelsversion @nostalxgic @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @gracieheartspedro @jenispunk @beskarandblasters @javiscigarette @pedropascalfan221 @mellymbee @kaybee181520 @joeldjarin @akah565 @laurifern @chefchy4 @untamedheart81 @eliza-8 @fellinfromthetop @sofiparallel @znerac

#dbf!joel #player!joel #dbf!joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #fic: falling into my sins #joel miller smut

171 notes · View notes

rosanna-writer · 5 months

Text

Love at First Sight's for Suckers (1/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally... Warnings: None

A gift for @the-lonelybarricade, for @acotargiftexchange! @lbs-secret-santa is me!

LB, creating this for you has been such a blast, and I am definitely the luckiest secret santa in the world to have such a gem of a giftee. It's rare for someone to have both a talent AND a heart as big as yours—you're truly the High Lady of Feysand, not just because your fics are incredible, but because of the way you make new writers (including me earlier this year) feel immediately welcome and how you handle fandom nonsense with such grace and tact. I'm so glad to call you a friend <3

And sorry for an author's note that reads like an annoying award show speech, but there are SO MANY people I want to thank. The event organizers did such a thoughtful job creating an event that brought so many people together across the fandom; not just secret santa/giftee pairs, but people reaching out to new betas, roping new friends into secrecy shenanigans, and getting hyped about other gifts! @iambutmortal, @thesistersarcheron, @itsthedoodle, @wilde-knight, and @ablogofsapphicpanic have been the best betas/saucy Rhys pun brainstormers/secret keepers/DM screaming session partners, and the daily headlines would not have happened without their beautiful brains. I had SO MUCH FUN watching the excitement and creative energy grow and grow in the lead up to this reveal. And also @reverie-tales, thanks for being my unwitting cover to throw LB off my trail!

Anyway, you can find the first chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore. Happy Holidays!

One Heir to Share? Rhysand's Rita's Threesome

Baring it All at Starfall! Rhysand Stuns in Daring Deep-V Shirt

Rhysand's Baby Blues: Heir's Latest Fling Spotted Shopping for Baby Clothes

Future High Lord’s High: Witchberries, Fae Wine, and Wild Starfall Benders in the House of Wind?

Lady of the Night or FUTURE Lady of Night? Rhysand's Girlfriend Shocks Royal Family at Nynsar

Un-Rhys-onable: Night's Heir Refuses to Kneel to High Lord

Heir Head! Rhysand Forgets Alphabet During Library Community Service

Rhysand had a reputation.

A big reputation.

Perhaps that was why after selling him the newspaper every day for the better part of a year, Feyre Archeron had long since decided that he was far too full of himself to be ashamed of anything.

As he did every Saturday morning, Rhys appeared on her corner like clockwork, wearing last night's clothes and his trademark smirk. If Feyre wanted to know what lucky male or female had gone home on his arm, she'd only have to check tomorrow's society pages, which were always breathlessly detailing the exploits of the Night Court's handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir.

Not that Feyre cared. There were more important things to worry about than Rhysand's love life, like where her next meal was coming from. She only kept up with it because his scandals sold papers like nothing else.

And she definitely didn't feel a stab of envy every time she read about his latest fling. That would be pointless—a lesser fae shadow-wraith like Feyre would never be Lady of the Night Court. The stir Rhys's Illyrian mother had caused made that obvious enough, even if she was the High Lord's mate.

"Good morning, Feyre darling," Rhysand drawled, the way he always greeted her.

"It's noon, Rhys," Feyre said. The nickname might have been overly familiar, but Feyre had noticed his eyes glittered like stars whenever she used it with him. And besides, after being up since dawn, she wasn't inclined to fall over herself currying favor with someone who'd just rolled out of bed.

"Then let me be the first to tell you that you look delicious this afternoon."

Feyre rolled her eyes, positive she looked the farthest thing from delicious in her threadbare leggings and sweater. If it were anyone but Rhys, she would have been sure they were being cruel. But he had enough of her goodwill that he could pay her teasing compliments and not end up with his teeth bashed in for his trouble.

"Did you give them anything interesting to write about last night?" she said, leaning back against a streetlight and crossing her arms over her chest.

Rhys picked at an invisible piece of lint on his tunic, which almost had Feyre rolling her eyes a second time. Despite being in last night's clothes, he didn't look the least bit disheveled—probably some spell he'd cast to ensure he looked irritatingly perfect as always.

"Mor needed a wingman again," he said.

Feyre relaxed, relieved at his answer. Rhys's equally beautiful cousin was the subject of plenty of headlines of her own, and the two were frequently seen together. The people of Velaris were fascinated by the pretty blonde former Hewn City princess–when the Herald ran a story about her, Feyre just had to shout "Morrigan" to turn heads and make sales. If the lead story was about her, Feyre could probably afford to eat tomorrow.

It had been a while, though, since Rhys had been spotted with someone new on his arm. Or with anyone other than Morrigan, his sister, or the two Illyrians he called his brothers actually. Feyre had rolled her eyes at the rumors of a secret relationship or a hidden love child—if you asked her, the most likely explanation was that there were only so many attractive people in Velaris with a weakness for violet eyes. Rhys was bound to run out of people to fuck eventually.

"Is that the truth?" Feyre said, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Or did you actually find someone to settle down with?"

She'd meant it as a joke, but Rhys didn't smile. There was something hungry, almost predatory, in the way his gaze slid over her. Feyre found herself flushing, even as she stared right back. "Would you care if I did?" he said.

It felt like a challenge; Feyre lifted her chin. "Of course I'd care if you stopped causing scandals. I'm a newsie, and gossip sells papers."

"Of course," Rhys said, something in his expression seeming to shutter. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a gold coin, handing it to her. The value was far more than a single paper was worth, but he'd always insisted she keep the change.

Feyre pulled a paper from the bag slung over her shoulder and handed it to him, longways so there was no chance their fingers would touch. She'd let that happen once, and his fingertips brushing hers had sent a crackle of electricity along her skin that she'd been thinking about ever since. Her mind replayed it almost daily—and frankly, Feyre found that embarrassing.

She pocketed the coin. "Pleasure doing business with you."

When Rhys spoke again, he dropped his voice to a low, sensual purr that sent shivers skittering down Feyre's spine, heat washing over her despite the autumn chill that cut through her tattered clothes. " Everything is a pleasure when it comes to you, Feyre."

He flashed her one last feline smile, and Feyre tipped her cap as he winnowed away, trying not to blush. With her other hand, she fingered the coin in her pocket. It would go under the floorboard with the rest of the ones she'd stashed away. Only a few more until she could afford the one-way ticket to the Continent that she'd been dreaming of.

Velaris was wonderful— if you could afford a big, strong door to lock out the hustle and bustle. Feyre certainly couldn't, and she was dying to get away.

A flash of auburn hair and a shout of "High Lady!" across the street pulled Feyre from her thoughts. Lucien was striding towards her, a half-empty satchel of newspapers slung over one shoulder and carrying another paper bag in his hand. She raised a hand in greeting—she'd stopped cringing at the nickname a long time ago.

"Is the new spot over by the docks working out for you?" she said when he got closer, even though she knew the answer. Lucien could sell papers anywhere; he didn't even need the eyepatch and the sob story about being an Autumn Court orphan who'd found his way to Night—just his brilliant smile was enough.

Lucien shrugged, the gesture far too elegant for someone who'd spent his morning selling newspapers to sailors and fishmongers. "I can make anything work."

"Then why did you come looking for me?" Feyre said. With unsold papers still in his bag, there had to be a reason. The newsies bought the papers from the distributor each morning, starting each day operating at a loss until they'd sold enough papers to recoup the cost. Lucien still had work to do if he wanted to turn a profit.

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Isn't gazing upon your beautiful face reason enough?"

"You sound like Rhysand."

"And you're saying that like it's a bad thing. Trouble in paradise?"

Feyre resisted the urge to roll up one of the papers in her own bag and smack him with it. Lucien had overheard her speaking to Rhysand once and apparently decided the prince was in love with her. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

"Rhysand isn't—"

" By the Cauldron, he'd follow you around like a lost puppy if you'd let him."

"He's just a flirt," Feyre said, the edge to her voice making it clear she didn't want to talk about this anymore. "What did you need me for?"

"Someone needs to finish my pickles," Lucien said, pulling a sandwich out of the paper bag. He handed Feyre half, along with the entire side of pickles it had come with, then sat down on the curb to eat, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

Feyre nibbled on the pickle, the first thing she'd eaten all day, and thanked the Cauldron for a best friend who hated them and shared them with her. Putting her papers aside, she sat down next to him. "Thanks, Lucien," she said, unwrapping her half of the sandwich. Lunch would be on her next—that had been their unspoken agreement for years, even when meals were sporadic and infrequent.

They lapsed into silence, more intent on eating than talking. It was comfortable, a much needed rest after a morning spent shouting headlines at passersby. Feyre's feet already ached from standing all morning.

After a few minutes, Lucien balled up the now-empty wax paper. "Now that you're fed, I think it's safe to mention that you're needed over by the Rainbow."

"Again?" Feyre said with a sigh.

"Bron and Hart are fighting over the same spot. The High Lady should step in."

Feyre wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, but at some point, she'd found herself the unofficial leader of the newsies of Velaris. She'd always kept an eye out for newcomers and lended them a hand—advice on selling papers and navigating the city was all she had, but Feyre shared freely. When there was a problem, she was usually the one to resolve it.

At some point, "High Lady" had gone from an ironic nickname for a poor girl on the streets to a mark of respect for a young woman who took care of her own.

"I'll talk to them," Feyre said, finishing her food and standing up.

Lucien started to thank her, but Feyre had already called on her magic, her body becoming nothing but shadow. Incorporeal like this, she could slip through walls and travel unseen—and crucially, it was faster than walking. As a lesser fae, it was the only magic she had at her disposal.

Even in the brightest sun, Velaris was full of shadows. And for better or worse, Feyre had made them her home.

***

Rhysand had planned to give himself time to read the news before he was due for a meeting at the House of Wind. Yesterday, he'd told himself he'd be up early enough to look over the agenda ahead of time. He'd wanted to be prepared, and his father would have his head if Rhys was late for official court business again.

But somehow, the High Lord's ire seemed incredibly far away last night, when the Cauldron only knew how many drinks he'd had and Mor was dragging him back to the dance floor at Rita's again, and dawn had nearly broken when he'd finally stumbled home.

Late or not, though, he still had to see Feyre.

The most important part of his day had become buying the paper from her. It wasn't about the news and never had been—every day, Rhys hoped that would be the day she finally took an interest in him that went beyond trading a few teasing remarks and rolling her eyes. He'd never flirted so much, so painfully obviously before, just to have it all go ignored like water off a duck's back.

And that had already been going on for a few months before the mating bond snapped.

Their fingers had brushed as she'd handed him the paper. Perhaps that brief touch skin-to-skin had been all it had taken for the urge to claim and taste and scent his mate to hit him with all the force of a brick to the head. Before he'd done something stupid, Rhys had winnowed away without an explanation or a goodbye.

After that, Rhys had resolved not to tell her, at least not until she showed some sort of interest back. But in the months since, he hadn't gotten her to even blush. And even if by some miracle, she did want him that way and accepted the bond, there was no guarantee she wouldn't resent him after a few decades as future Lady of Night. Her indifference was painful enough—Rhys wasn't sure he could withstand her hating him.

For the short flight to the House of Wind, Rhys let the chill in the air clear his head of thoughts of Feyre. He was supposed to focus today. Some of the city's most powerful merchants had asked for a meeting with his father, and as the High Lord's heir, Rhys was expected to be in attendance too.

The meeting room was already full when Rhys walked in, brushing his windswept hair back into place. From the head of the table, his father glared daggers at him.

Rhys ignored it, dropping into the empty seat that had been left for him. "I hope I didn't miss anything interesting."

He kept the smirk plastered on his face, even as his father pushed past his shields to speak mind-to-mind. We'll discuss this later. For now, get through this meeting without embarrassing me further. That's an order.

Rhys made a mental note to let Mor know he'd likely have to cancel their plans to go to the theater that night.

One of the merchants—Rhys had met him before but had forgotten his name—gave him a cold smile and said, "We were just discussing economic policy."

"Carry on, then," Rhys said.

As the meeting droned on, Rhys forced himself to focus, even if the subject matter was painfully dry. One day, he'd be High Lord, and if he wanted to be the sort of ruler the Night Court deserved, one who made things better, he needed to be knowledgeable and willing to listen.

But even then, he wasn't immune to letting his mind wander. At some point, he'd found himself thinking about how the sunlight had brought out the gold in Feyre's hair, when the sound of his name brought him crashing back down to reality.

"…but you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Rhysand?" one of the merchants was saying, the sneer in his voice obvious.

Rhys felt his father's eyes boring into him, and it was clear this was some sort of test. He was supposed to be handling something, and Rhys didn't want to think about what sort of punishment might be in store for him if he made it obvious he'd stopped paying attention.

"Would I?" Rhys said, arching a brow in a way that he hoped looked imperious.

"With how many headlines you've been the subject of? I think by now you'd know a thing or two about what sells papers. If it weren't for you, we'd have gone under after the War."

Rhys's hands curled into fists under the table as he recalled exactly who this merchant was—Pulitzer, a newspaper magnate, the one who'd been complaining that circulation was down since the Treaty had been signed. Peace, apparently, was boring.

Peace that Rhys had bled for, had nearly died for when he'd been captured by Amarantha's army. Not that any of that mattered when profits were down.

"Then a bit more gratitude is in order," Rhys said, his voice low and deadly and all command, sounding every inch the future High Lord he was. It was so brief that Rhys nearly missed it, but his father's lips quirked up in approval. "If you have a request, I suggest you word it carefully."

It quickly became clear that Pulitzer and the rest of the owners of Velaris's major newspapers had come to grovel. Even if Rhys couldn't bring himself to care, it was true that the Night Court's newspaper industry was bringing in less money since the end of the war. They'd come to petition his father for assistance.

And to Rhys's relief, the High Lord's answer had been a quick and resounding no.

Of course, Rhys knew his father's answer had been more about safeguarding the Night Court's wealth more than anything else. That much was obvious when so many of their citizens were struggling, even in Velaris. It was something that Rhys vowed to change one day.

But Rhys's relief didn't last much longer. His father had told the newspaper moguls to figure it out themselves, and they'd quickly agreed that to fix their bottom line, they'd raise the price for the newsies who bought the papers to distribute each morning.

Newsies who were barely getting by as it was. Newsies who were already going hungry and sleeping outdoors even as the weather got colder. Newsies who'd been orphaned or disabled after the war and couldn't find decent work.

Newsies like his mate, and Rhysand certainly wouldn't stand for that.

#feysand #acotar secret santa #Love at First Sight's For Suckers

106 notes · View notes

sunlightmurdock · 1 year

Text

Blow by Blow | 0.5 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader au

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni, no warnings in particular for this one

…

“Okay, um — no, no,” Natasha winces, shaking her head at you. She grabs your knee and pushes it back down. “No legs — no kicking.”

Jake snorts at the other side of the gym, leaning his head back, then remembering he’s supposed to be spotting Javy, who’s failing out of a bench press. “Oh shit.”

He catches the bar and helps his friend lift it back onto the rack.

“But… I saw on TV—“

“Different sport, kid.” Payback chuckles from the side of the ring, leaning against the ropes. Your lips part slightly, confused. Bradley leans against the doorframe to the office, arms folded over his chest.

You nod slowly as Natasha guides you back into the correct stance. You squint at the heavy bag, readying yourself to go again.

In the month since you’ve moved in, you’ve gotten better at this — but there’s still a lot you don’t know. Still, Natasha has enjoyed seeing you come out of your shell.

Interviewing each of the staff members for the website really helped. Sitting down with each of them for a couple of hours and doing a video interview with them to post on the About section of the website, just a friendly Q&A to make people feel more comfortable coming in and meeting the team.

If it helped you warm up to the idea of training here, then it would help others too.

Bradley is the only one that you haven’t managed to pin down for an interview yet, but he has been busy — he has the most clients around here because he’s been around the longest

Maverick has been loving your ideas so far. He thinks you’re a tech genius for some basic website design and creative ideas.

This entire month has been like a dream that you’re just waiting to wake up from. Even that evening, after hours spent at a local bar — you’re on cloud nine.

Maybe a couple too many drinks, maybe it’s just because you’re so happy, but you’ve been laughing all night.

“You sure you don’t want me to drop you off at home? — It’s on my way.” Payback offers, dangling his keys from his index finger. He’s got a fight coming up and he has cut out all alcohol, but he just has a tiny little sports car that won’t fit everyone. Bradley lives closest.

“Well, yeah — I’m not going to let her walk home on her own,” Bradley answers as he shoots a quick look over to you, grinning with Bob and Mickey as the three of you make plans for the weekend coming. “Besides, it’s not that far out of my way.”

Jake nods his head and pats Bradley’s shoulder, taking Bradley’s spot in that tiny little sports car, “Alright, we’ll see you tomorrow then. Don’t forget you agreed to take care of my eight a.m. session.”

Bradley calls out an agreement and waves the two of them off as he walks over to you.

“You ready?” He asks gently.

“Oh — yeah. Okay, bye guys, I’ll see you both tomorrow.” You stick your arms out and they hug a side of you each, then call out their goodnights to the each of you.

“What did you guys end up deciding to do this weekend?” Bradley asks, reaching past you and curling his fingers around the empty glass in your hand. He takes it and sets it onto the table beside you, then catches hold of your hand and turns you towards the door.

You comply wordlessly, letting him steer you towards the exit. He drops your hand and lets you walk ahead of him.

“Bob knows this hiking trail that has some really great views, and I’ve never been on a real hike, so we’re all going to take Tank with us.”

He hums behind you to show that he’s listening, stepping outside into the night right behind you. “Sounds like fun.”

“Do you want to come?” You offer, turning your head to look at him, your features soft and expectant. Not quite hopeful. Rooster shakes his head.

“Can’t, I’m working this weekend.” Bradley answers. It’s not a lie, he should be working this weekend, but he’s also kind of the boss and hasn’t ever taken notice of the hours that he’s supposed to be working.

You inhale softly, not bothering to argue with him about it. You kind of don’t want him there, anyway. Being all brooding and weird — it would be more fun without him there. That feels mean. It’s not that you don’t like Bradley, it’s just that he’s kind of a dick sometimes.

“You alright? — you’ve gone all quiet, all of a sudden.” Bradley nudges his hand into the back of your bicep as you walk ahead of him. You turn and look over your shoulder once more.

Maybe it’s all the fresh air, but you feel a thousand times more buzzed out here than you had in there.

“Could we walk back along the marina?” You slow down so that you’re at his side. Bradley nods his head, it’ll only add an extra ten minutes to the walk, and sometimes it’s nice down there at night time.

You walk ahead as he pushes his hands into his pockets and watches you. Bradley trained with Jett for a couple of years, he had known from the first session that Jett was an asshole — he just hadn’t realised that it went further than that. Maybe he could have done something earlier.

Your skin cools quickly with the ocean air, goosebumps rising on your skin from the sudden change in temperature.

Finally, you round the path and grow close enough to see the boats, the lights of the city and right out over the bay. You slow down to take notice of it.

“So, do you live near here?” You ask Bradley without looking back to him, gaze turned out over the water. Bradley watches you walk in front of him, his eyes on your legs as you narrowly miss each crack in the pavement. Inches from stumbling, somehow staying on your feet.

“Near Little Italy.” He answers you.

You scrunch your brows and turn quickly towards him, walking backwards without slowing. His features tighten, eyes on your heels — there’s a rock on the path, your shoe lands centimetres from it and you escape breaking your ankle.

“This is out of your way, then.” You realise.

Bradley lifts his gaze, looking at you with the faintest hint of amusement on his face. He nods slowly. “Yeah. But it’s alright.”

“I didn’t say thank you.” You remind him, lips quirking up into a playful smile. His mouth toys at a smirk. He likes it when you forget yourself around him, leave all of that worrying and quietness behind. He can see why the others like you so much when you’re like this.

He pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans and nods again. He smirks back at you, “That’s alright too.”

You laugh and roll your eyes at him. “If I keep training with Nat, pretty soon you’ll be asking me to walk you home.”

He chuckles lowly. “Is that right?”

You nod your head and slow down, letting him catch up to you. He slows, standing in front of you, brows scrunching. He opens his mouth to question your motives, then stops as you turn your head and look out over the water.

Salty sea air, fuzzy bright lights around the harbour, warm skin as you lean forwards into him. It’s a half-intentional move, you want to be closer but you’re also just tipsy and not that steady on your feet.

Bradley’s hands find your waist, unfazed as you tip your chin to look at him. Maybe it’s the liquid courage, but you aren’t in the slightest bit bashful about staring at him.

He lets you, glancing down at the patterned florals on your dress as his fingers lay still over the material. As his eyes meet yours again, they’re especially dark in this light, almost black. Nothing like the golden hue from this evening’s sunset.

He inhales slowly. Pomegranate, vanilla violet, mahogany wood and amber. His fingers smooth softly over your waist, eyes not faltering from yours.

You press closer into him, palm splayed out open on his chest, warm muscle under your fingertips. He stares at you, for a second questioning whether or not you’re about to do what he thinks you’re going to do. He leans into your touch, letting your lips press softly into his.

His breath stops in his airways. You mouth on his, just for a moment. As you go to pull back, his lips chase yours. You hum softly into him, meeting him with another gentle kiss. His bottom lip slotted between yours as his fingers curl into the fabric of your dress.

Pulling back slowly, you look up at him through your lashes and take one step back. Bradley loosens his hold on you, then drops his arms back to his sides.

You turn away from him and continue ahead.

“What was that for?” Bradley’s brows scrunch. You take a deep breath and sigh contentedly as you continue along the path, walking ahead of him once again.

“I just thought it would be a good spot for a first kiss.”

Your cheeks are warm, your hands cold as you trail along the path at the side of the marina. Bradley walks just a pace behind you, his hands pushed deep into the front pockets of his jeans.

Just when he thinks he’s got you figured out, you’re off ahead of him again. He shakes his head softly. A good spot for a first kiss.

He squints at the back of your head — that implies that there will be more kisses to come, is he meant to kiss you again?

Your heels clack across the parking lot, around the side of the building. As you near the base of the metal steps up to your apartment, you turn back around to say goodnight.

His hands press into your hips, curling into the fabric of your dress as he walks you back — your breath hitches in your throat — a soft sound is knocked from you as your back hits into the red brick of Bradshaw’s exterior.

Rooster takes a second, looking you over, searching your features for a sign of doubt before he leans forwards and presses his weight into you. You swallow softly.

He lifts one hand, curling it around your jaw, turning your chin upwards and pressing his lips against yours. It’s soft at first, tender like yours had been. Then, he presses himself harder into you, sliding his hand around to the back of your neck, pulling you harder into him.

A surprised hum slips out against Bradley’s mouth, but as he urges his tongue past your lips, the sound is followed by a delightfully contented moan.

Your hands slide up his chest, coming to rest against his ribs, almost like you’re going to push him off. You’ve got no intentions of stopping this just yet. Bradley pushes himself forwards, needing to be closer.

Bradley uses his height against you, crowding you against the wall, pressing the entire length of his body into yours and slotting his thick, denim-clad thigh between your legs. Your dress bunches up out of his way, not hindering his access in the slightest.

He squeezes your hip and slides his arm around your back, grinding himself forwards into you. You’re supposed to be shy, always so quiet. Now, you rock yourself onto his thigh, fingers curling into his t-shirt.

Lifting your leg to graze it against his thigh, your heel knocks gently into the bottom step. He presses you harder into the wall, caressing his tongue into yours. The ding of your heel against the metal step is soft enough to have not disturbed you. The loud bark that comes from upstairs following that gentle ding, though — that makes you flinch.

You pull apart, lips parted. Staring up at him, breathing heavily. Your skin burns as you realise who you’re with and what just happened — and where you are.

“Um… I should,” You breathe out, blinking at him, “I should go and let him out.”

Bradley nods his head. It’s a couple of seconds before his brain catches up and he finally lets you go, stepping back and freeing you from being trapped against the wall.

“Okay.” He nods, wetting his lips with his tongue. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Natasha. Whatever happened between you and Jett. It was probably a bad idea to—

“Do you want to come up?”

He stares at you for a second, lips quirking up at the sides. He exhales softly, wetting his lips with his tongue. “Sure.”

You aren’t even sure why you asked him, it seems like a bad idea before you’ve even said it — it seems like an even worse idea when he’s headed up the steps behind you.

“You have to stay here and let Tank sniff you or he’s going to freak out.”

Rooster nods his head. It can’t be that bad, he has learnt his lesson from last time. He waits outside whilst you go in and calm Tank down, clipping him into his leash to let him out.

Once Tank has sniffed him, you allow Rooster to wait inside while you get Tank settled. He’s waiting by the counter with his arms folded over his chest by the time you’re done. It doesn’t feel the same.

Maybe the moment has passed. You swallow softly, shifting uncomfortably as Tank settles down into his spot on the couch. Glancing across, you open your mouth to comment on how Tank is finally warming up to him. Tank growls lowly, a warning for Bradley to stay where he is.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and hums, “Maybe I should go.”

“But…” You start out softly.

He steps towards you and Tank growls again. You swallow softly and shoot a look to your dog. Bradley takes one more step towards you, and Tank is silent. The second that Bradley reaches out for you, he growls again.

This has got to be some kind of divine intervention from Natasha. He shouldn’t be here, doing this.

“Alright, Bambi — I’m going to head home. I’ll see you in the morning.” He breathes out, shaking his head softly. You open your mouth to protest. He pats your shoulder platonically and heads for the door. You close it again quickly.

You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough. This really hot guy, who you have to see every day, who just rejected you. You close your eyes for a second and sigh. You let him leave without a word.

…

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #blow by blow #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x reader

489 notes · View notes

aflame4goinghome · 6 months

Text

Part Of The Band

j.t.k x f.reader

part three

part two

a/n: present day! how exciting… what's in store for y/n and jake now? will he stay in her past or is there still something there? enjoy :)

word count: 5.2k

warnings: not much; some swearing, mentions of alcohol, references to sex but no smut, a bit of angst if you squint but it's more like sad angst, kind of fluffy. the next chapter will be super juicy! just wanted to fill in the gaps for the time jump

June 2023

“Y/N, did you pack the bath towels into one of your boxes? I can’t find them,” you hear Sophie yell from down the hall. You turn around to look through your boxes, digging through a few of them before finding the towels. “Yeah, Soph, they’re right here!” you reply then turn back to your dresser to pack the rest of your things.

You and Sophie graduated from UCLA a month ago and have spent the last few weeks preparing for this new chapter of your life. You got a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing, so you could start your life wherever you wanted.

Sophie, however, was a bit more limited on where she could find employment. She graduated with a degree in Entertainment Management, so she had to go to cities where she could use it. After doing research over the past year, she decided to move to Nashville, Tennessee to pursue a career. Knowing that you could continue your work anywhere, especially remotely, and not wanting to live with anyone else, you decide to go with her.

The two of you searched the housing market for weeks before finding your new home. It’s a cute little townhouse in Midtown with a rustic look and two floors, with enough room for you both and affordable rent. Your lease starts on Saturday, so you both are finally packing after weeks of procrastinating.

You guys are mostly finished, but you’re still packing up the small stuff in your bedroom before you pack it all up into the moving truck that will drive your things to your new house. It would take about two days for them to get there, so your flight will leave tomorrow morning for Nashville.

You pack up the rest of your clothes besides the outfits that you’ll bring on the plane and then turn to your vanity to pack up those things. You start adding some of your jewelry to the small box and then pull out a white rope bracelet. Your face drops at the sight of it and you sit down at the edge of your bed, looking down at it in your hands. You still remember the last time that you saw it.

It's been a while since you’ve thought about Jake. You left his hotel that day and returned to your apartment feeling like you’d just awoken from a dream that you never wanted to end. But you would never hear from him again. The holidays hit and then you were flung back into your schoolwork. He was embarking on a new tour with dates in the U.S. and Europe, jumping around from place to place.

You still followed him on Instagram, but his posts were few and far between. You’d get glimpses of him now and then on the rest of the guys’ socials, or the occasional post on the band’s account, but other than that you didn’t see much of him. You kept up with the band a lot at first and it would often cause a harsh sting in your chest, so you decided after a month or two that it would be best if you restricted how much you paid attention to them.

You do listen to the music a lot, though. Going to see them years ago sparked something new in you and you liked it. Josh’s voice especially pushed you to listen to their songs frequently; his voice calmed you and put you at peace when you needed it most. You also found yourself listening to Jake’s guitar solos and reminiscing about what it felt like for them to be played directly to you.

This was all in the past though, and now is not the time to be thinking about the past. You’re about to take a huge step toward your future. When Sophie mentioned the idea of moving to Nashville for the first time, you felt a bit hesitant. You knew that was where Greta Van Fleet lived and spent most of their time, and the last thing you wanted was to see Jake again. You knew that he was a rockstar, touring all over the world. You weren’t his first “fan” hookup, and you surely wouldn’t be the last. But Sophie assured you that it was almost two years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember that night. Nashville was a big city, it’s unlikely that you’d see him again, right?

You shook your head to snap yourself out of it and then tossed the bracelet into the box with the rest of the jewelry. You take one more look around your empty room and then start to bring your boxes out to the moving truck. You and Sophie share a bottle of wine, straight from the bottle since you’ve packed all of your glasses, and then head to bed. You have to be up quite early for your flight.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

As your plane starts descending toward the Nashville airport, your chest is lit up with feelings of nerves and excitement. You reach over and squeeze Sophie’s hand, smiling at her and turning back to look out of the window. This was the first time you’ve ever left California, having been born and raised in San Francisco and then attending college in LA. You’d never been on a plane before since your mom had a fear of flying, so your family vacations always stayed within the tri-state area. Now the East Coast was calling your name and you’re more than happy to answer it.

The Uber takes you from the airport to your new place and you and Sophie get out of the car and then take it all in. The truck was already there waiting for you, so the both of you walked up to the house to unlock the door and start unpacking. You watch as Sophie turns the key in the door and pushes it open and you enter the threshold to look at the empty foyer. It feels like a blank canvas and you both can’t wait to start making it your own.

The movers bring in the large furniture, like the couch, dining table, and mattresses, while you start to unpack the small stuff in the kitchen and Sophie unpacks the bathroom items. Once the movers bring everything into the house and leave, you and Sophie realize that you’re quite hungry. You search online for the closest pizza place and order delivery and then you both finish up unpacking the first floor. Once you hear the pizza delivery guy ring the doorbell, the two of you have finished unpacking the kitchen and dining room.

You grab the pizza and place it on your dining table, sitting down at it. You grab a few slices and put it on a plate, taking a bite. “Well, Soph. This is it. Our home. How’s it feel?” you say, looking across the table at her. “Feels great. But I could sleep for a week, babe. I’m so serious,” she replies, taking a bite of her pizza and then throwing her head back onto the back of the chair in exhaustion. “I know, girl. I think we did enough for today. Let’s just make our beds and then take care of the rest in the morning,” you say, eating more of your dinner.

The next day, the two of you finish setting up the living room, the bathroom, and your bedrooms. You went out to thrift stores in the afternoon to find decorations to make the place more personal and homier, which helped a lot. You adorned the living room with cute string lights along the walls and placed some decorative blankets on the couch. You bought a little plant for the coffee table and a vintage table to put your record player on top of, with slots underneath to store your vinyl collection. The kitchen was decorated with cute floral tea towels and curtains along the window by the sink. You bought matching towels for the bathroom as well and a shower curtain to go with it.

In your bedroom, you bought new bedding for your larger bed, having upgraded from a twin to a queen, which is black and white, and decorated with constellations and planets. You unpacked all of your clothes into your vintage wooden dresser and placed all your makeup and jewelry on top of your matching wooden vanity. Amongst your bracelets and rings is Jake’s sailor knot bracelet, which you choose to keep out, despite the moral dilemma.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

You’ve been in Nashville for two weeks now and you and Sophie have finally settled in. Your house is starting to become a home and you’re really starting to like the city. You realize, however, that it’s time to find a job. You want to be more of a freelance writer, taking your own time on your first novel, so you’ll need a part-time job to help pay the rent. It’s July 4th weekend, so Sophie is off today on a long weekend and you decide to use this opportunity to go look around town for job openings.

“Hey Soph, can I take the car out to go look for jobs?” you ask, popping your head into her bedroom. You see her typing furiously away on her laptop and looks up at you when she hears your voice. “Oh, yeah babe that’s fine. I’m just getting some last-minute projects done before tomorrow. Good luck!” I smile as I grab the car keys from the top of her dresser and say, “Thanks, hon. I’ll bring you a coffee on the way back, yeah?” You turn and head toward the door and hear a muffled “Thanks!” from behind you as you walk out the door.

You head further into town and pop your head into a few places; a coffee shop, a vintage clothes store, a convenience store. None of them are hiring, though, and you’re beginning to feel a bit discouraged. As you walk back to your parked car, you see a sign for a building across the street: Rhythm of Space Records. You decide to cross the street and check it out- as if you need to spend any more money on records right now.

As you approach the door, you notice a help wanted sign on the window. Perfect. You open the door and the little bell on top rings, causing the person at the counter to raise their head from scrolling on their phone and look up at you. You approach the counter and she gives you a typical customer service smile. “Hey, welcome in! What can I help you with?” she asks.

“Well, I came to browse your selection, but I just saw on the window that you guys were hiring… Would I be able to apply?” She smiles widely, saying excitedly, “Yes! Totally! Dad’s gonna be stoked, we’ve been needing some extra help around here.” She pulls a piece of paper and a pen from under the counter and slides it over to you.

“Here, you can fill it out now if you want. I can give it right to my dad, he’s just in the office back there. I’m Iris,” she says, reaching her hand out to shake yours. You shake her hand, “Like the song?” you ask. She giggles. “Yes, like the song. My dad is a huge Goo Goo Dolls fan. A big music lover in general, if you can’t tell,” she says, waving her arms around, referencing the store. “Well, I like it. I’m Y/N.”

The two of you chat for a few minutes while you wait for her father to come out from the office. You learn that Iris is 20 years old and studying music at a local community college, commuting from home. She grew up in Nashville and has worked at her dad’s shop since she was 15, which he opened not long after she was born. She tells you that he’s also a musician and likes to play some of the local bars sometimes, inviting you to tag along. It felt nice to finally make a friend in this new city.

Iris’s dad, John, eventually comes out and you hand him your application. He looks it over and the two of you discuss your deep interest in music, and then he says you’re hired. You’ll start your first shift on Monday, opening the shop up with Iris. You accept excitedly, gather a staff shirt with the logo on it, and then head out to your car. You stop to get Sophie a latte before heading home, just like you said you would. You pop into her room to say hi, handing her the drink then heading into your room. You relax for a while and then decide to tuck in early.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Your alarm goes off at 9 a.m. on Monday and you roll out of bed to take a shower. You throw your long, wet hair into a loose braid down your back, leaving your curtain bangs hanging out to frame your face. You fix your bangs slightly with a blow-dryer and hairbrush before heading downstairs to have a quick bowl of cereal before leaving for work. The store is only about a fifteen-minute walk from your house, so you enjoy the short walk in the warm Nashville weather. Nashville is definitely a bit cooler than California in the summer, but it’s still warm enough for you to break a bit of a sweat.

You near the store and see Iris leaning against the window, looking down at her phone, waiting for you. “Morning,” you say as you approach her. She looks up at you and half-smiles, looking very groggy. She’s clearly not a morning person. “Hey, Y/N,” she says tiredly, then turns around to unlock the door. The two of you step into the store and she locks the door behind you. “There’s a coffee machine in the back room. We’re gonna need it,” she says, B-lining it to the back of the store. You follow her to the back and watch as she adds water and turns the coffee machine on.

“We really have to do inventory today. It sucks, I know, but if we both work together we can try and get it done before the shift change at 2.” She pours out a mug of coffee, handing it to you, which you happily accept. She then pours herself one, takes a sip, and then steps out into the main area of the store. She checks her watch, the time says 9:58. “Alright. Time to open up,” she says, heading to the front to unlock the door for the day. “I can start with the first half of the alphabet, if you wanna do the last half? Split up at M?” you say, to which you see her nod and then head to the other side of the store.

You start to go through every record from A to M, which is a lot. This store was certainly stacked with vinyls- you’ve been going through them for an hour and a half now and you’ve only just gotten to the G section. Combing through the albums and taking notes of what you have in stock, you come across a familiar album cover: Greta Van Fleet- The Battle at Garden’s Gate. Shit. You take it out from the rest of the records and look at it for a moment, a small frown spreading over your face. You start to run your fingers over the cover, feeling the texture of it, then place it back in the bin with the rest. You try to shake it off, not wanting to distract yourself from your work.

Two hours later, you’ve finished inventory and are taking some time to look around the store a bit more. You’re combing through the CDs on the far wall with your back facing the door when you hear the bell on the door jingle. Iris is closer to the door at the moment, so you decide to just let her handle it and don’t turn around to look in their direction. As you continue looking through the CDs, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You jump, feeling startled since you thought that you were standing there alone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you scared me-” you say, turning around to face them. That’s when you saw him. Jake. In the flesh, only a few feet away from you. Your eyes widen and your jaw drops slightly at first before you realize how crazy you must look and quickly pull yourself together. The moment that you’d been dreading ever since moving here has finally arrived. You start to open your mouth and say something, but he beats you to it.

“Y/N! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since…” he says with a shy smile, trailing off as he looks at you and takes you in. It’s been so long now, you’ve both changed so much. He’s cut his hair short now, just above shoulder length. He has some lingering facial hair, still clean-shaven but there’s some stubble there. Last you’d seen him online, around the end of last year, he’d had long hair and remnants of a mustache, which was a bit rugged-looking. This new look suited him.

He still dressed the same as the last time you saw him. A half-buttoned button-up, tattered jeans, and boots. His eyes are concealed by dark sunglasses, but you can still see hints of them through the glass. Despite being covered, you can feel them boring into you, studying you. You finally manage to get a sentence out after getting over the initial shock of it all.

“Jake… Hi,” you say, locking eyes with him. You watch his gaze soften as he looks at you, and you go on to answer his question. “Sophie and I just moved here a few weeks ago now, she wanted to work here after graduation and I don’t have much of a direction yet, so I decided to come along…” you say shyly, starting to avoid his eyes now out of nervousness when you see his face drop a little.

“A few weeks… why didn’t you call me?” he asks, a hint of pain in his voice. You really didn’t think he would care, you thought that he’d long forgotten about you. You pause for a moment, unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to offend him, but you had hoped to never have to run into him out of fear of awkwardness. “Jake, I-,” you start, reaching over to place your hand on his arm, “I honestly wasn’t sure if you would want to hear from me… I haven’t seen you in nearly two years, I didn’t want to bother you. I kind of figured that you’ve forgotten about me by now.”

He reaches up to his face to remove his sunglasses, sliding them into his shirt pocket. He looks up to meet your eyes again, with a disappointed look in his eyes. “Sweetheart… how could I ever forget about you?” he says, bringing his hand up to brush some of your bangs out of your face. “I told you that I wouldn’t forget you, didn’t I?”

You lean into his touch a bit and nod, “I know, I know. I just- it had been so long since I’d heard from you, I thought that maybe that’s what you say to all of the girls you…” your sentence is cut off as you see someone with a Rhythm of Space shirt on enter the shop, walking in with Iris’s dad. This must be your relief for the day, you think.

You look over to the left and see Iris watching you, smirking at you and raising her eyebrows when she catches your eye. Rolling your eyes, you look back at Jake, whose eyes still haven’t looked away from you. “You know what, I’m about to get off work. Can you wait here for a few minutes while I clock out and gather my things? I won’t be long. We can go somewhere to talk,” you say, looking up at him hopefully as you wait for a response. You watch the corners of his mouth turn upwards as he says, “Yeah, I can wait.”

You turn around and walk behind the counter to clock out on the register. You go into the back room and grab your bag, taking off your work shirt and replacing it with a baggy Beatles t-shirt. You leave the back room and Iris smirks at you, saying “Enjoy the rest of your day, Y/N,” teasing you. You jab her side with your elbow jokingly as you walk past her and then return to Jake, who has put his sunglasses back on, covering his eyes once again as he leans against the window with his hands in his pockets.

“Know any good places to go around here? I’m still new, so I haven’t exactly claimed any regular haunts just yet,” you say, trying to lighten the mood with him a bit. He smiles and says, “Yeah, I know a place,” opening the door for you to walk through, then following you out.

His car is parked right in front of the store, which you notice as he unlocks it with his eyes and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in. It’s a nice car, which doesn’t surprise you given the level of fame they’ve risen to. He rounds the car and gets in on the other side, sitting down and starting it. You drive for about five minutes before pulling into the parking lot of a cozy-looking diner.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Jake walks up to the hostess stand to get you both a table and you sit down at a little booth in the corner of the restaurant. The place has a retro aesthetic and each table is decorated with a mini jukebox where you can enter song requests from the catalogue. The waitress comes to bring you glasses of water and you take a look at the menu.

“This place is so cute!” you say, looking up at him. He’s smiling down at the menu to himself and says “I thought you might like it. This is Josh’s favorite place.” The idea of that makes you happy, knowing that you and his twin were so similar. “I should have guessed. Josh has great taste…” You order a cheeseburger and fries and Jake gets a sandwich. Now, here comes the hard part.

He takes his glasses off and slips them into his shirt pocket again, then laces his fingers together and places his hands on top of the table. His dark, chestnut eyes look into yours with a hint of sadness. He takes a deep breath and then decides to break the silence. “Y/N… I’m really sorry that I didn’t reach out after that night. Things really took off after the end of that tour and it got the better of me. I should’ve checked in with you,” he says, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours. You flick your eyes down to where your hands met and then back up to him, smiling timidly.

“Jake, you didn’t owe me anything. We only spent one night together, I’m sure you’ve spent plenty of nights with lots of different girls. I didn’t want to hold onto the hope that this was something more than it was.” You look up at him to wait for his reply, and he seems wounded by our words. He shakes his head a bit and squeezes your hand lightly.

“I never intended to make you think that I didn’t care for you. Because I do. More than I ever thought was possible. That wasn’t just a one-time thing for me, you’re not just another girl. You walked into our show blind, not knowing the band or who I was, and when I looked at you in the crowd, I could tell that you just saw me for me. Not just a rockstar in your favorite band, or someone who you can use to get whatever you want.”

He brings his hand from your hand to your cheek, cupping it and stroking it with his thumb sweetly. “You saw me and you heard my music and that was all you cared about. I’ve never had that before, ever. It’s something that I’ve been chasing ever since and I still haven’t been able to find it anywhere else, even after all this time…”

Your eyes soften as you look at him and how he’s pouring his heart out to you. “I’m sorry that I didn’t call. I wanted to, I just… I guess I felt embarrassed. I didn’t want to bother you after all this time if I was just one night to you. I wasn’t sure if you’d felt the same way and I didn’t want you to think I’d moved here for the wrong reasons, like I was obsessed with you or something.”

He continues to rub his thumb along your cheek as he answers. “Sweetheart, you were never just one night to me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since that night. Not just because of how good you felt under me,” he says with a smirk, “but because of how well you got along with my family, your love for music, and the kindness in your heart. You’re one of a kind, Y/N.” “Can we start over?” you ask, looking up into his eyes. “Yeah. We can start over,” he says with a smile.

The food comes shortly after and the two of you catch up as you eat. You learn that they finished their last huge tour a few months ago and that they have a new one planned to start in just two weeks. Their album comes out in two weeks as well, which he seems quite proud of. They worked on it for a long time while touring and Jake describes it as the best he’s ever made, sonically. You tell him that you look forward to listening to it, which makes his face light up.

You’re on your way home now, and you look over at him as he’s driving. You can see his eyes behind his sunglasses as they face the road, still dark and alluring as ever. You want to just lean over and bring your lips to his, closing the gap that’s been open for years, but you know that it can’t work that way. Just because you didn’t reach out doesn’t change the fact that he hasn’t either.

From what you know now, he had been back in California in March for their Dreams in Gold tour and he didn’t call either. The two of you have a lot to figure out and need to get to know each other now. You didn’t spend very much time together all those years ago, so there was a lot that you didn’t know about each other. There was a lot of lost time to make up for, and you know better now than to give in to him so soon.

You pull up to your house and Jake puts the car in park. He rests his arm on the center console and then brings the other up to brush some of your hair out of your face. “Can I take you out? A proper date, I’ll wear my best dress for you,” he jokes, smirking at you. You pretend to think about it, bringing your fingers to your chin, and say, “Hmm… I suppose I’ll have the time. But that dress better have cleavage or else I’ll turn right back around.” He chuckles and caresses your cheek with his thumb and then unlocks the car doors.

You grab your bag and open the door, stepping out of the car, and he says, “Same number, right?” You nod, smiling shyly as you shut the door and walk up to your front porch. You turn back around and see him still sitting there, smiling at you. You wave goodbye then head into the house, shutting the door behind you and leaning your back against it, sinking to the floor. You throw your head back against the door and groan, feeling so exhausted by the day you’ve had. The noise causes Sophie to pop her head out of the kitchen, making a confused face as she sees you sitting on the hardwood floor.

“You good there, babe?” she asks, walking toward you. You shake your head and she leans down to join you on the floor. She lets you rest your head on her shoulder as she rubs circles into your back for a moment then asks, “What happened?” You lean back to look at her. “I saw him, Soph. He came into my work this afternoon. We went to lunch and we talked a bit but I just don’t know… I feel like shit. He asked me why I didn’t call him and he just looked so sad. I didn’t even have a good answer for him. The only reason is that I was scared, and that’s a stupid reason,” you say, throwing your head against the door again.

“We said we’d start over, get to know each other better. He wants to take me to dinner later this week.” Sophie looks at you with a sympathetic expression and says, “Well, that’s good, babe. Right?” You think about it for a moment. “I don’t know. What happens if I get too attached? He’s leaving for another tour in two weeks and will be gone for god knows how long. We’re not really labeling it and I’m just gonna be here, while he’s playing all around the country. What if I just get my heart broken?” you say, standing up from the floor and pulling Sophie up with you.

“Don’t think about it like that, hon. He can only hurt you if you let him. Just give it a chance, you never know,” she says, rubbing your arm affectionately. You sigh. “You’re right. I’ll think about it. I’m gonna go lie down,” you say, then head upstairs to your room.

You flop onto your bed and curl up under the covers, full of questions and anxiety. You pull your phone out of your pocket and finally take it off of Do Not Disturb, which has been on since you left for work this morning. Much to your surprise, you already have a message from Jake.

Sir Jacob⚔️: Friday night? 8 o’clock?

You: perfect :)

You: thanks again for lunch. i really enjoyed it.

Sir Jacob⚔️: Anything for you, sweetheart. I’ll pick you up at 8.

You: you’re sweet. see you then

You plug your phone into the charger and then stand up to get changed. As you’re grabbing comfier clothes from the dresser, you see Jake’s bracelet sitting there on the vanity next to it. You pick it up and look down at it. Finding this a few weeks ago was a bit of a premonition, huh? Still, you smile to yourself and decide to slide it over your wrist before getting changed for bed. You tuck in and close your eyes, wondering what the next few weeks will bring for you.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

comment or message me if you want to be added to the taglist! talk to you all soon :)

part four

taglist:

@writingcold @josh-iamyour-mama @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @sinarainbows @gvfmelbourne @jaketsguitar @swiftiepanda21 @itsafullmoon @thetroublegetssoloud71 @vanfleeter @gretasfallingsky @dem0litiondan @dixonbrainrot @p0pscenealright

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #jakegvf #greta van fleet fic #starcatcher #gvf #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #spotify

96 notes · View notes

liminalpebble · 4 months

Text

I've been a fanfic writer for one year! 🥳🥳🥳

My darlings, my dears, my sweet naughty little cookies and crumpets,

Tomorrow will mark exactly one year since I posted my very first chapter of my very first fic (The Refugee) with shaking hands. I was so nervous to release this thing I loved and labored over so much into the world.

@lokisgoodgirl very kindly and patiently showed me all the ropes and was such a steadfast cheerleader from day one. (I'm so grateful for you, darling). She also opened the door for me to meet all of you incredibly sweet people. When I tell you that you've changed my life, I am not exaggerating. You gave me a place where I am appreciated and belong and can be my very odd self, and that's a rare thing.

Anyway, The Refugee became an absolute behemoth. I had a big complicated world in my head, and its characters and plot lines and themes volleyed around my skull at all times. I didn't expect anyone to be enthralled or obsessed with it like I was, but SO many of you gave it so much love and engagement and time. A year later, that piece is still my magnum opus, and your reception of it has given me a feeling I'm not often good at letting myself have...pride.

I'm a weird little mentally ill perfectionist of a person, trying very hard to be more than that...to be brave, and clever, and hard-working, and adventurous, and kind, and generous and grateful. I want more than anything in life, to create things and experiences that mean something. I want to create art and send it out into the world like a love letter. It's the best of myself and I want you to have it. Thank you for taking the time to see the best of me (especially when I have trouble seeing it for myself). Thank you so so much. I love you all so much and I hope this year gives you as much joy as you've given me.

All my love,

Peb

@acidcasualties @lokischambermaid @mischief2sarawr @holdmytesseract @infinitystoner @smolvenger @tripleyeeet @take-everything-you-can @leelei1980 @unlucky-number-13 @unfocused81 @sweetsigyn @veemoon @loz-3 @little-wormwood @littlespaceyelf @glitchquake @viv-annelore @peachyjinx @gigglingtiggerv2 @marcotheflychair @mochie85 @muddyorbs @sailorholly @holymultiplefandomsbatman @thedistractedagglomeration @hellfirenacht @thenerdyoldersister @alexakeyloveloki @lemongingerart @eddiethehunted @fanfic-collection @girl-next-door-writes @fictive-sl0th @mischiefmaker615 @icytrickster17 @ladyofthestayingpower @goblingirlsarah @chokeanddagger @loopsisloops @slutty-thevampireslayer @coldnique @eddies-house @fairyysoup @jennyggggrrr @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @elegantkoalapaper @raccoonboywrites

#peb's friends are wonderful people #lovely mutuals #lovely fanfic friends #sas #Peb is so grateful #Peb's one year anniversary #loki fanfic writer #eddie munson fanfic writer #hux fanfic writer #365 days of unhinged fangirl energy

65 notes · View notes

lunarvampz · 3 months

Text

In Bloom (Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count. 6038. this is a big one.

Chapter 4 Hawthorn

The last week was utter chaos trying to get the final things in place for the annual harvest festival: preparing booths, organising equipment, and figuring out who was running what. Much to your dismay, you had been stationed on the corn maze with someone else, fishing out the kids who would undoubtedly get lost.

The afternoon breeze was too nippy for your liking, but the physical exertion of hoisting pumpkins into crates counteracted the chill. Your father had asked you to round up the last of the supplies and load the wagon so he could take them to the stalls in town. He, very conveniently, had ‘too much paperwork’ and couldn’t do it himself.

You loaded the last of the pumpkins before going back inside, calling out to your father that you had finished. Moments later, you heard the familiar thuds against the stairs and the opening and shutting of the door. Not even a thank you.

Besides helping out and doing chores, you hadn’t been allowed to leave the house unless instructed, which wasn’t that different from the rest of the time. Mother had callously warned you about trying to ‘show off’ your bruises to attract attention and risk you ruining her pristine reputation and pulled you into her bedroom to cover the marks she had left to the best of her abilities before you even thought about stepping foot out of the front door, including today.

——————————

The best way you could describe the makeup was clownish at best. Sighing, you turned on the tap and splashed the water on your face, washing away the pinkish liquid she had covered it in. Wincing slightly, you gently dried your skin and examined the yellow and green clouds of pigment that stained your cheeks and the almost-healed split on your lower lip; it was less noticeable today.

You were called to dinner, ate, blocked out the conversation and then slinked back to your room, not wanting to provoke your parents into banning you from the festival tomorrow altogether.

The outfit your mother had laid out on your chair stared at you obnoxiously. A pear-coloured taffeta dress, ruffly and laced, with cream gloves and a matching coat, all topped off with the dreaded corset she liked to force you in and tighten so you could barely breathe. After all, appearances matter.

Sitting on the pile of clothes was a hat with a lace trim that went with the dress, and all you could think about was how you were supposed to pull kids out of a corn maze in that outfit. It made sense because the church was running it, and you’d be standing up on stage with the rest of your family in front of the whole town.

Deciding not to nitpick the details, you rolled over to face the wall and pulled the covers over your shoulder, too tired to care about what was to come the next day.

——————————

Warm. Warm? Cold? Cold! Jolting awake to the sudden change in temperature, your eyes shot open to see your mother standing over you, holding your duvet and practically pulling you out of bed.

“Up! Up! Now! We have things to do!”, You groaned and caught the edge of your bed before she could drag you onto the floor, looking over at the clock. 8:17 am.

“Alright! I’m getting up. Just give me a second.”

She let go of your legs and hurried downstairs, presumably to start baking her ‘famous’ blackberry tartlets.

The wooden floors were cold and hard against your feet, and the draft coming through your window ran up your back, nipping at your neck. Your body began to ache just thinking about all the things you had to do today and, on top of all that, dealing with screaming children. You’d rather eat a pound of salt.

The clanging in the kitchen grew louder with each stride you took, and when you turned the corner, you saw your mother elbow-deep in pastry dough, rolling, shaping and baking it into perfect little cups that filled the countertops. She looked like she had been baking for hours already. However, she still roped you into the kitchen and stationed you in front of a bowl and a gigantic pile of blackberries.

——————————

No matter how hard you scrubbed your hands and fingers, the indigo stains didn't budge; you had washed your hands four times. You became frustrated and decided just to leave it, and you had to be ready in an hour and “Heaven forbid” we were late. Much to your protest, your mother had bound you into the corset so tightly that you felt as if you were going to burst with one too many sharp movements and she asked you to do the same for her, as always. It astonished you how she kept telling you to pull tighter and tighter, to the point where you thought you’d snap her in half.

You dressed in the rest of your outfit and tucked away any loose hairs that fell astray. Pulling a few flowers from the vase on your vanity, you slipped them into the ribbon on your hat and took a deep breath. The image in the mirror was so far from what you usually looked, and it warped your mind; the enhancement of your figure and whatever powders and liquids your mother had caked on your face made you look like the pinnacle of high-class refinement and innocence.

It had turned out that word of your overnight stay with an older man in the middle of town had crept through the cracks of the alleys and made its way subtly through the hushed corners of town, so your presentation today had been fabricated meticulously by your parents to ensure your best behaviour.

“We’re leaving in twenty minutes, no more, no less!’

Your mother shouted from the bannister, echoing throughout the top floor.

Shaking the nervousness, you sat at your vanity and fixed some of the makeup. She tried, but your skin was much softer and had far fewer wrinkles.

You knew it was time to leave when you heard the coach roll onto the front grass. Your father only called this for events, and it was just as awkward and confining as packing a bear and a snake into a pet cage.

——————————

Each time you rode in that godforsaken carriage was worse than the last. Smushed against the door was your fate because your sister needed space for her ‘friends’. Her plush toys, that was.

You bunched the fabric of your dress in your hands and pushed yourself out of the door, taking in the bustling noise of something other than maids or dishes or your mother’s consistent blithering. It brought you a sense of calm… almost.

It wasn’t long until you were dragged by the wrist and ushered behind the stage curtains whilst Mayor Baker welcomed guests. Your mother gestured to the corners of her lips, smiling in a way that was so obviously fake and surface level that it was closer to pain than actual content; though you had grown closely familiar with it, you understood why the town couldn’t tell.

Following your mother and father out from the curtain with your little sister tailing you, you took in everyone’s faces, and your eyes landed on someone familiar. Like that, you felt every nerve tense and every hair stand on end. That face. That fucking face. That sense of freedom you felt swiftly exited faster than it could enter, and your smile faltered; the burning sensation sat in your sinuses, and everything around you became foggy and disoriented.

The clouded rays that were once soothing your skin and embraced you against the cold now blinded you, the winds that flowed over gently now lashed harshly at your skin and the noise you were so grateful for turned into your heartbeat, overtaking your eardrums and it was tormenting.

You felt your mother elbow you and hastily pull you off stage with the rest of your family, who had already taken a few steps before turning to your father and taking his arm to set off to their designated booth. You stumbled a little before regaining some sort of awareness, and you watched as your sister ran off with the other young church kids.

It felt like your heart would jump out of your throat, and your tightly woven corset only accentuated the pressure on your lungs.

You thought he left town for good.

——————————

Clawing at the fabric on your back with haste, you only managed to unhook a few notches while your uncontrollable sobs turned to something more like panic-stricken gasps. If only your mother had not insisted on the laces being so tight.

The gloves you wore had been strewn onto the grass, and the coat you had practically torn off lay under you, pressed into the grass by your knees and the tips of your shoes. Each breath you took was shallow and choked, and you felt like you were losing yourself and any focus you had was directed at being able to breathe.

You had run off to the outside of the corn maze, just far enough away from everyone to where they couldn’t hear your pained cries, or so you thought.

Faint footsteps turned to hurried strides that grew louder by the second, along with indistinct shouts that sounded quiet compared to the breaths that blocked your ears. Your fingers kept getting caught between the hooks, and they started hurting. You felt the world closing in and your vision narrow as you tried to get the last hook undone.

The footsteps stopped behind you, and a pair of hands shooed yours away, quickly undid the latch and asked you what was going on repeatedly, unaware of you being asphyxiated.

You squeaked out a few words using whatever air you left in you.

“Corset… Tight.”

The hands yanked the bow, loosened the laces, and pulled it apart in a matter of seconds.

Oh my god.

Nothing felt better than actually being able to breathe. You groaned in relief, collapsing onto your elbows and heaving and coughing as your head hung down, causing your hat to fall off. The coat underneath you had cushioned your thud as you rolled onto your back, and the soft grass tickled your feet.

A laugh escaped your lips briefly while you held your face in your hands; it was almost comical the way that that was so close to being the death of you… Then it all hit again like a wave crashing down on you, and you started sobbing again. It wasn’t till you finished rubbing your eyes that you realised the mystery person was probably still standing there.

You quickly wiped your eyes only to open them to a tall, well-dressed cowboy. Oh. My god. The laughter came on again as it mixed with the sniffles, and you sat up, dusting yourself off and massaging your ribcage. Sucking your teeth, you spoke.

“Nice to see you.”

He chuckled and bent down to pick up your gloves.

“Always lovely to see you, Miss.”

There was a brief pause where you soaked in the awkwardness of the situation and fiddled with a bit of grass in your fingers. The leaves from the trees rustled in the wind, filling the void.

You cleared your throat.

“Thank you for the help back there. That was… Yeah.”

Arthur stood back up with gloves in one hand and extending the other. You took it, and he pulled you up gently. You smiled at him but were met with a look of solicitude; confused, you asked what was wrong.

“Yer’ face. What the hell happened?”

Frozen in place, you realised your makeup must have run off with the tears and debated on telling the truth or not. You didn’t know if he’d tell anyone.

“My mother's gift to me after my hotel ‘rendezvous’. She didn’t break anything this time, at least.”

Arthur’s face was one of pure shock, mouth slightly agape, and he seemed to try to process what you just said. It was scary how silent he was, the silence being filled by the breeze once again.

“Your MO-”

He calmed himself, stepping towards you and reaching his hand to your chin, tilting your cheek towards him.

“She did this to you? Yer’ own damn mother?”

He shifted to your lip, running his thumb across the split, sighing. Pulling away from you, he shook his head.

“I’m so sorry that happened. Really, I didn’t mean for you to get that drunk.”

You picked up your hat and coat and shrugged; you didn't want him to feel bad since he could’ve just left you at the saloon, and who knows what might’ve happened to you if he did. Realising that you’ve been missing from the corn maze for a while, you mentioned having to get back to Arthur.

“The corn maze? That’s where I’m stationed.”

He was your supervisor.

“I was wondering who I was with… Wait- How?”

How was a question that seemed like it was about to have a very long answer, so instead of waiting to hear what he said, you asked him to help you tie your corset, wanting to get back before someone noticed you were missing. Before he could answer, you had already turned your back to him.

“Miss, I… I don’t know how to…”

Holding the loose laces, you put them in his hands and told him to start from the top and pull tightly, but not too tight. It took him a few seconds to register what you said, but he finally moved towards you after a few seconds.

You moved your hair out of the way and looked over your shoulder to see his face slightly puzzled, and you chuckled before facing forward again.

His hands briefly brushed your spine and made their way to the first cross. He pulled gently, edging the laces tighter until you said stop. He stopped and made his way to the next cross, pulled to the same tightness and stopped again. Slowly but surely, he worked his hands down the rest of the laces, drawing them through the eyelets until he hit the bottom.

“I can’t tie bows…”

Your hands met his, and you took over, finishing up. Arthur shuffled a little closer, hooking the back of your dress, and you swear you heard him mumble another apology; you questioned him, but he said nothing. You turned around to get your gloves off him without realising how close he was. Everything clicked for a moment; for just a split second, you felt this intense sense of… something. It was a feeling that warmed your blood.

Clearing your throat, you grabbed the gloves from his belt and slipped them on, along with your hat and coat. Arthur stood there awkwardly, staring off into nothing whilst playing with the hem of his jeans pocket.

It struck you that the makeup was still smeared with streaks of blushed tint running down your cheeks and smudged lip paint that dragged down your chin. Searching for something to wipe it with, you expressed to Arthur that you couldn’t go into town without covering the marks and then pulled out a small handkerchief and tried your best to wipe away the remnants.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back, jus’ stay here”

The cowboy had already begun briskly walking away before you could protest, but you were stuck here, so it didn't matter. A few minutes later, he returned with a dark brown-haired woman in tow carrying a toddler playing with a small teddy bear.

“This is my friend Abigail. She’ll fix yer makeup for you.”

The woman gave the little one over to Arthur before reaching into her purse. You watched as Arthur sat down on the grass and played peek-a-boo with the bear whilst the child watched in awe, giggling and clapping.

“Don’t mind my son. His dad was busy.”

She seemed slightly annoyed but continued to rummage for a few seconds before pulling out a small compact, a bottle filled with a wine-coloured liquid and two brushes, one big and one small.

“So, you’re Miss Hotel. Yeah, I saw y’up on that stage earlier. You’ve got a pretty face. Ain’t that right, Arthur?”

Arthur's head snapped up from the boy with a startled look; he sputtered out a ‘Yeah’ and turned his attention back to the boy. Abigail snickered quietly and started to apply the rosy powder to your cheeks, brushing it over the mark and matching it on the other side; then, she painted the liquid onto your lips, carefully smudging it with her finger.

“Well, I’m all done here. It was lovely to finally meet you.”

Swiftly, she packed away the cosmetics and swept up her son and his toy before wishing Arthur a good day and returning to the fair. You slightly adjusted your clothes while Arthur got up and suggested that you two get going; you agreed.

——————————

Throughout the day, kids and adults alike filtered in and out of the maze, though you hadn’t paid much mind to it. You signed them in and waited ten minutes, and if they hadn’t come back to the front, you went in and guided them back out.

“I think it’s been ten minutes since that couple went through. I better go fish ‘em out. You’ve already done enough today. I’ll take over from here.”

Arthur stood from his chair and entered the maze, disappearing into the husks. The two of you had been talking since you returned, sharing stories and asking questions. You thought it was a great way to kill time and get to know each other better, considering you weren’t allowed to participate in anything until the last hour when most of the activities closed and the music and dancing started.

You had learnt about his upbringing, that he lives with a camping group that travels frequently and is essentially one big family, and about his hobbies, which included hunting, journaling and the occasional sketching and poetry. The last one surprised you a bit, and you asked if you could hear some, which seemed to get him flustered before he explained that it was kind of private, which you understood.

Fiddling with the sign-up sheet on the table, you looked around at all the stalls and activities and eyed your parents, one that was being swarmed for tartlets just like every other year. They’d be sold out in the next twenty minutes.

Sounds of rustling filled the air along with crunching footsteps from behind; you looked over and saw the couple giggling and dishevelled, with Arthur trailing behind, looking stunned and shaking his head. It took you a few seconds to put together what had occurred, and your face twisted in disgust, earning you a glare from the man before his wife dragged him away.

“You definitely do not see that every day.”

Arthur thunked down onto the chair next to you and leaned onto the table, dragging his hands down his face in disbelief.

“Jesus. People don’t have any sense these days. What if a kid saw ‘em?!”, He exclaimed.

“It’s entirely unsanitary and unholy.”

You rolled your eyes, people should leave that for their bedrooms. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Arthur's eyebrow raise in confusion but, he didn’t say anything else.

Time passed slowly for the rest of the afternoon, with more people coming and going and lighthearted conversations that ranged from ‘Favourite animal?’ to ‘Best flavour of pie?’, in which the only valid answer was apple-cinnamon, in his opinion.

——————————

It was later in the evening when you finally packed up the stall, the sun was going down and the band your father hired had begun setting up. Arthur offered to take the table and chairs to the piles on the other side of the town square whilst you took the donation jar and sheets to the crates that sat near your family’s wagon, you agreed and hoisted the jar into your arms and grabbed the stack of papers and made your way over.

Your mother was there organising the money and filing various papers into envelopes when you reached the wagon, though she was too distracted to notice you. It wasn’t like you were very big on talking to her at the moment.

You returned to the plaza where everyone was gathered, the place was lit by street lamps and candles that sat atop the highest tiers of the fountain and the stands surrounding the outer edge of the town square. The music had just started a few minutes prior and people were already dancing, though mostly children.

Sitting on a bench on the far side of the square, you watched everyone enjoy themselves, you thought you would’ve been more excited to participate but honestly, you couldn’t get that face out of your head. The image had been burned into your brain since you were fourteen and seeing it again today terrified you just as much as it did all those years ago.

The feeling weighed on you like ten sacks of flour and clouded your thoughts like a thousand hurricanes. Out of all days. It was more than what you wanted to deal with and you were pretty sure Arthur had picked up on it too, but chose to say nothing after your near-death fiasco.

“Not dancin’?”

A woman’s voice broke your train of thought. You looked up to find Abigail standing with her hand on her hip, looking down at you.

“Maybe later.”

She sat down on the bench next to you and you thought you smelled alcohol on her breath as she talked.

“Y’know, Jack’s father is horrible. Took off on me and my boy after I gave birth. Still isn’t very involved at all. Hell, Arthur has been more of a father figure to him than he has, and it’s not even his kid.”

As much as she tried to hide it, the pain and anger in her voice was clear. You couldn’t imagine having to raise a child, let alone without the help of the father. Abigail looked at you with tear-welled eyes for a moment before sniffling and wiping them with her hands.

“But I love him, I love that stupid bastard. He may not love me back but this feeling isn’t something I can shake. It’s like when you first meet someone and there’s this little lantern of hope that lights within you, and that flame just keeps burning, whether it gets bigger or not, that flame burns.”

There was a pause before she looked back to you.

“I saw the way you look at him. I see that flame, and I don’t even think you notice it yourself.”

You stared at her, a little dumbfounded. The two of you had just been friends. Yes, he is a very striking man, but that didn’t correlate to fondness or likeness, right?

“Yeah, I don’t think so. Arthur and I are friends. That’s all.”

She rolled her eyes at your statement, chuckling.

“Hey, I’m serious. I think I’d know if I had a thing for someone.”

“Whatever y’say, Sugarplum.”

The snarky remark mixed with her expression almost earned a laugh out of you but you took into consideration what she was saying for a moment. No way.

“Well, however you feel is however you feel, but I’ll tell you something. That morning he came back, John asked him where he’d been and Arthur, bless his heart, he said he spent the night hopin’ and prayin’ that the girl he got drinks with didn’t hate his guts!”

She laughed so hard after that, you thought she’d fall off the bench onto the ground. Did he really think that? You thought that he would’ve moved past it casually, that he did that kind of thing often, you guessed not.

“Well I don’t, and he was very gentlemanly about it. Put me to bed and all.”

A smile crept onto your face as you thought about that night, it was neither’s fault, you didn’t know your limit and he didn’t know you were such a lightweight.

“He’s spent the last week worrying about you so much, we thought his hand would get fused to his forehead from all the time he spent sitting in the damn same position!”

Abigail proceeded to ramble about Arthur's antics for a few minutes, mentioning all the details he told her about how the first time you two had met was purely coincidental and what you talked about and about a billion other incoherent things you couldn’t hear because of the speed she was talking.

“And get this! I asked if you were pretty, considering how much he talked about you, and he-”

She paused with a laugh, clutching her chest.

“He said ‘pretty enough’. Little shit was lying, and I could tell, though I suppose anyone could considering how much he was avoiding eye contact, and how any time someone mentioned your name, he got all dopey and such.”

You barely comprehended what she was saying before she was holding your face in her hands and staring at you intently.

“Look at you, you’re gorgeous! A gorgeous piece of forbidden fruit.” A smirk grew on her face and her voice became hushed.

“Pastor’s daughter. Arthur better tread carefully.” She giggled, dragging out the last syllable in a teasing manner.

The thought of your father finding out you had even been in any sort of intimate vicinity of a cowboy who looked about old enough to be your dad himself was terrifying. You could just imagine the beating you’d receive, your mother's sobs about you being a disgrace and a scandalous harlot. However, a small part of your mind wondered about the possibility of becoming close to Arthur. How well did you know him?

From what you had seen of him today, you wouldn’t have thought twice about his behaviour towards you or your behaviour towards him, but the more your mind replayed each interaction, it made more and more sense.

Maybe you did have a little thing for him. It’ll probably pass.

You heard your name and turned your attention away from Abigail to see none other than the man himself, standing there with a somewhat annoyed look on his face.

“Ladies.”

He cleared his throat twice before Abigail took notice, and when she did, she was nothing but cheery and smiles. A look was exchanged between all three of you before you broke the silence.

“Hey, Arthur. Did you get those chairs and table back, alright?”

Abigail snickered, pushed herself off the bench, and slowly slunk away, whistling and looking back at you before disappearing into the crowd.

“Yeah… Yeah, I did. Don’t mind Abigail, she jus’ likes to stir the pot. Did you she yap yer ear off? When she drinks, she gets talkative.”

You weren’t about to question him on anything she had just told you, absolutely not. Could you imagine? Actually, funny you say that. She told me that you have some sort of obligated sense of care for me, even though you’ve only known me for about two weeks . It wasn’t like you weren’t drawn to him at all, but you felt it wasn’t the time or place to discuss such a matter.

“She was just talking about Jack. Apparently, you’ve been a great help to her.”

Arthur leaned onto the back of the bench and looked at you. You felt like there was something behind his gaze that you couldn’t quite pick up.

“Well, someone’s got to do it, and no one else wants to. John doesn’t believe it’s his child, but I don’t really want to get into it.”

Oh. Oh. Poor Abigail.

“Of course, but it’s really sweet of you.”

The light danced in his eyes, and he stared at you intently for a few seconds, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“Thanks…”

He seemed mesmerised by the way the candles illuminated your skin and how your lips curled into a smile when you complimented him. For a few seconds, your eyes searched his while he searched all of you. You felt that same warmth grow inside your chest, making your heartbeat heavy and deep, and your lips parted when Arthur’s gaze drifted to them. He’s so…

Arthur snapped out of it, and his eyes met yours again, and the corner of his mouth stretched into a half-smile. He broke the silence and nervously spoke.

“Would you, uh, care t’ dance?”

The statement surprised you and the abruptness of it confused you before your mind registered what he said.

“I don’t think I can, my parents would see and-”

“No one will see you. Look at how many people there are, and I think you deserve some fun after all your hard work today.”

You looked out at the large crowd and debated his offer for a moment before answering.

“Alright. Just for a bit”

Your answer made Arthur grin before standing up and extending his hand out for you to take, which you graciously accepted and the two of you pushed your way through to the crowd’s centre.

The quartet was playing upbeat music that you didn’t recognise, and you slowly started to tap your foot to the beat, Arthur did the same. After a few minutes, the both of you began twirling and stepping along with everyone around you and getting caught up in the music. Dancing and jumping and swinging each other around, you let enjoy the moment and all you heard was your laughter mixing with the song and the sound of feet hitting the ground.

The song came to an end soon after and you stopped jumping to catch your breath, thinking that the next song would be equally as fast. You looked up at Arthur who was slightly sweating and smiling and started smiling yourself.

Much to both of your surprise, the next song flowed like water, delicate and slow, and everyone around you two partnered up and began swaying. The two of you looked at each other awkwardly and stood still while everyone else was getting up close and personal, and you looked away and began to dance by yourself.

“What’re you doin’? Don’t be silly, come ‘ere.”

He moved closer to you and gently pulled you in, moving your arms the rest on his shoulders then holding your waist. Oh my god. You took a deep breath, exhaling and relaxing into his touch as you both danced.

Your heart’s pace quickened and for the first time in a long time, your face flushed pink and you avoided eye contact at all cost. The closest you’ve been to proper slow-dancing was was you did group line dancing as a sport in school and that was nothing like this. Arthur was looking down at you and for a split second, you looked back.

“You okay? This too much?”

His tone was sweet and slightly concerned when he spoke. You nodded, feeling that if you were to talk, it wouldn’t be words, just a jumble of sounds. And maybe a squeal.

The feeling of something unknown bloomed in your heart, shooting down and blooming out throughout your body, it was only mild, but thrilling. For the second time today, you were breathless, and this time, it was for a good reason.

He stepped closer, hands drifting down to your hips while he looked at you and smiled.

“I must say, you are a pretty girl.”

Your eyes met and you didn’t look away. God. Something had changed in you like those words activated a switch. You noticed his tan skin glistening in the candlelight, the way his shoulders felt under your hands, broad and strong. The way his hands firmly enveloped your hips and the way he looked at you desirously, wanting.

“Thank you, Mr Morgan.”

He chuckled, bowing his head when you called him that. You thought it was the polite way to address someone, especially when they were older than you. He looked back up and began to speak.

“You don’t have to be so formal, y’know?”

“It’s how I was raised, my daddy said it’s the proper way to address someone.”

“Yer daddy ain’t here. Just call me Arthur.”

“Arthur. Thank you”

The two of you shared a laugh and he drew your hips in, gently pressing you to his body. Despite the cool weather, Arthur was warm and inviting, and his body was like a firm pillow. Talk about leaving room for Jesus.

You held your gaze on him, admiring his pretty, teal-coloured eyes and zoning out from everything around you. Nothing felt real, instead a mere fantasy and you were wondering when you were going to wake up, not that you wanted to.

Just as soon as you find bliss, it gets violently ripped away from you. Two hands yanked you backwards, causing you to stumble to the ground and all you heard was screaming, and when you looked up, your mother was getting ready to backhand you until Arthur caught her arm, causing her to scream even louder.

“Let go of me this instant!”

Somehow she managed to wriggle out of his grip and began swiping at you with her other hand, managing to land a few hits before your father came to restrain her, whispering something inaudible in her ear.

Whatever he said made her stop in her tracks and slowly look around at the people staring at the scene she caused. Her face was pale and she was silent for a while before grabbing you by the ear and dragging you away. You saw Arthur’s face, which was one of complete shock, and you mouthed ‘I’m sorry’.

——————————

“What on our Lord’s holy earth were you doing with that man!?”, Your mother sat across from you in the carriage.

Your mother had left your father and sister at the fair to damage control, and so she could chew you out without worrying about hurting her ‘precious angels’. Golden childs. Feelings.

“I was just dancing.”

You looked out the window at the sunset, too annoyed with her to give her your full attention. For once, one goddamn time in your life, you truly felt at home, but no, she has to go and cause a scene.

“Dancing? You call that dancing? More like rubbing fronts!”

Gross. Rubbing fronts? You never wanted to hear that term again.

“Ew, No.”

Part of you wanted to argue back, but the better part of you knew the consequences. It would end in another beating and you were still healing from the last one and now, the brand new scratches from her nails too.

The carriage came to a halt and you knew you were home, pushing open the door, you got out and made your way to the front door. Go to your room.

“Go to your room. I don’t want to see your face again until tomorrow.”

You just pushed the door open and went straight up the stairs and to your room, pulling off the uncomfortable clothes and collapsing on your bed. Tears formed in your eyes and you began to sob quietly into your pillow, smearing the makeup all over the crisp white linen.

How could she embarrass you like that? In front of everyone? She has officially lost it.

You lay there, listening to your clock tick and wishing that things went down differently. Tick. Minute after minute, you seethed in anger and had to remind yourself to breathe. Just breathe. Tick. The sun had gone down by now, plunging your room into almost darkness, only lit by the moonlight that filtered in through your thin curtains.

By the time you realised you were no longer crying and fading in and out of awareness, you guessed it was late at night and rolled over to look at your clock. 11:24 pm. Tick. You groaned when your stomach grumbled and mentally kicked yourself for not grabbing something to eat when you came in, but you just ignored the feeling and tried to go to sleep, not caring about the state you were in.

Tick, Tick. Tap?

#fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 writer #archive of our own #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur

29 notes · View notes

ladybirdswritings · 7 months

Text

BEAUTY AND THE HYBRID - Klaus Mikaelson Fanfiction

summary: the slip of burlap rope brings an unsuspecting girl into the arms of a vicious, bloodthirsty creature.

warnings: mentions of ab*se, stockholm syndrome, captivity, dea*h, and violence.

next chapter <3 | ao3 | tag list

one

"Oh fuck yeah!"

"Birdie!"

My face tints a rose-like pink, burning at my cheeks as I scold my sister with wide eyes. She is happy today, and that's rare for us. Regardless, happy or not, her sailor's mouth never fails to mortify me. The patrons of this syrup scented diner stare for a moment, but return to their meal soon enough.

Birdie is fourteen today, and her eyes are eager and swimming with starvation as she inhales the powdered sugar air. I can't really afford this, not right now at least. Probably not tomorrow either, but today is her birthday. She'll only be fourteen once and- mom would have done the same thing. In fact, mom did do the same thing. Many times for me. When I turned twelve, we snuck into a cake shop and ate each sugared treat cased in glass displays. That was my favorite birthday.

I am not brave enough or- stupid enough to steal from anyone else. I have done enough of that this week.

"Dude, they have french toast coated in chocolate syrup."

Birdie is drooling now, I smile at her.

"Whatever you want, Birdie."

It's sad, how this is like Christmas for her. A warm meal at a shitty Mystic Falls Diner for the big one four. I will do more, soon. This however, it will be dealt with if I just take over Riley's night shift at the Grille- she won't mind the time off anyways.

The waitress is a strawberry blonde, her legs seem to go for miles. Her eyes are a pretty blue and her smile is tinted pink. Birdie wastes no time.

"Chocolate syrup french toast please! Heavy emphasis on the chocolate syrup... Ooh! And a stack of four pumpkin pancakes with whipped cream and lots of bacon and eggs on the side. Some orange juice too."

The waitress stifles her grin as she jots Birdie's order down on yellow pad paper.

"And for you?"

Birdie looks at me hopefully. I gaze into her eyes for a moment and pretend that my next words will be a request of pumpkin pancakes too.

"Oh that's everything, I'm not hungry."

Guilt floods them,

"I can hold off on the pump-"

"No Birdie, really I am not hungry."

I'm starving. My stomach growls in protest, luckily quiet enough for only me to hear. Birdie believes me, at least I hope she does as she sinks back into the booth.

The waitress smiles sympathetically, nodding once before scurrying off.

Birdie is impatient, drumming her fingers on the cherry wood as we wait. It isn't just the food she's impatient for. She groans.

"Ahhh- apple! C'mon- can't we just take a two second peek at what's in the big dumb thing?"

My brows twitch in discomfort and urgency, and I lift my finger to hush her. Maybe what that man said was all just to scare me, maybe he thought it was funny. It is the month of halloween after all, I have learned in my years here how serious all of Mystic Falls takes it. Still, I don't wan't to take any chances.

I shake my head at her,

"No. Not happening. That dude told us to keep this locked tight under all circumstances."

Birdie only rolls her eyes at that,

"Pfft. That guy was probably just trying to scare us. Ooh! I bet its drugs, or illegal weapons! Or illegal drug weapons!"

I shush her again.

"It doesn't matter what it is, it's not ours. I'm not opening it. I need it safe till midnight, till I get the payout and we get the hell out of Mystic Falls."

Birdie frowns, eyes gazing at the lonely jack-o-lantern glowing golden on the concrete outside.

"You think all that money is gonna buy us real fancy meds for dad? Like ones that'll get him better quickly?"

I wince at the question, I want to say yes but I truthfully don't know. He's worsened this month, I only hope these days. So does Birdie. It's her birthday, I can't make her sad.

"I'm sure we'll figure it out, we always do. Dad's gonna be fine. We're gonna have lots of money, money for medicine and money for unlimited pumpkin pancakes until you're at least forty three."

Birdie nods in agreement with that statement, "fuck yeah." she whispers. She tries to keep it discreet but, I hear it anyways. I ignore it.

The strawberry blonde waitress returns, juggling Birdie's food on a golden arm. She places four plates down in front of my lanky sister, her eyes light up like a million fireworks have ignited within them.

"Brought you a coffee pot sugar, its on the house."

The waitress, Karen, she smiles softly and it's warm like the coffee pot. She throws pink packets of sugar and small cups of cream in front of me. It'll keep me awake, I'm grateful. I thank her as I pour the bitter drink into the mug and breathe in the aroma.

Birdie is devouring her food as if it will up and leave her.

"My my, all this food. Today a special occasion?" Karen inquires, I nod with a warm grin.

"It's her birthday."

Karen gasps, "A birthday!? Well how old are you sweetheart? Old enough to pay the bill?" She jests.

Birdie shakes her head, teeth crushing a mixture of chocolate whipped pumpkin toast topped with bacon and egg. Whatever she could fit in her mouth. "Nope. Fourteen." She speaks muffled with a mouth full of food- her words are hardly audible, masked by her chewing. I repeat it to the waitress.

"Well then, a birthday calls for a special treat don't it? I'll go get one."

I nod gratefully, "Thanks. Hey um- do you guys have a bathroom?"

She points to the right and I slide out of the booth-gripping the white oak case in my hands. I'll bring it with me. I would be a fool to lose it, let alone leave it with my very occupied sister. I almost don't believe it's anything of importance, probably just some cruel prank. My intuition reminds me just how too good to be true it sounds. Yet, I am hopeful this month. So I'm playing along anyways.

My eyes are glued to the case as I walk right, so much so that I don't see the polished boots in front of me. I gasp, accepting the fate of the floor before it even greets me. We never meet. I clutch on to the fabric smelling of maple and bourbon. It tethers me, lifting me to my feet.

It is silent, I meet ice blue eyes.

Christ...

They bore past my very being, into something I don't even see myself. My soul, maybe. He is tall, tall enough that it makes me feel quite small. He has golden brown hair that curls at the tips, and golden brown stubble that surrounds pink lips. His eyes, they're all I see.

I stumble, he steadies me again with two strong hands.

"Holy shit!" Birdie calls, maybe amused- maybe relieved. She saw that, everyone saw that. My cheeks are pink again, as are the tips of my ears. The man's eyes wander around us, and it seems like that is enough for everyone. They all mind their business and return to their meals. As if he just cast a spell to detour their gazes.

His hands still grasp me as his eyes devour my composure.

"Are you all right?" His voice is like honey, stuck in a glass pot but glazing sweetness dripping from the very lid. It is deep, accented. He isn't from here.

I can't speak, I feel like I am crushed under his boot, the same one I tripped over. I only nod.

He releases me, slowly.

His eyes remain on mine, until they don't. He peers at the white oak case with an expression I cannot begin to describe. I watch him for a moment, analyzing. Fear strums at my core... its familiarity- I think. Or maybe I am just paranoid. I gulp, bending down to collect the case in my hands in an instant before he gets the chance to. I gaze at it, praying my fall didn't disrupt whatever lay inside.

He gazes at it too.

I have to speak now, otherwise I will be stuck frozen here.

"I apologize I um- I should have been paying more attention."

He doesn't tear his gaze away from the case. Not at first, for a moment that seems far too long for me to stomach. He breaks, eventually and a part of me is relieved but it seems a bigger part of me wishes he would just return his stare toward the case again. His eyes feel like they're burning through me. Like as if I try and speak again, my voice will falter to nothingness.

"You're alright, sweetheart. On you go."

Sweetheart. It calms the nerves. I nod gratefully, but his eyes returning to what is grasped in my hands just reminds me of why exactly I should be stepping rather than shaking. A gulp, then I am on my way, feet clashing against the noir tiles. Birdie is accompanied by the waitress, I catch glimpse in a napkin holder and sigh in relief as I push through the faded blue door.

I am eager to release the case from my burning hands, I was gripping it tight enough to callous my reddened palms. I throw it on the ceramic sink as the faucet squeaks, my trembling hands splash my pink face with warm water. I heat even more.

The mirror greets my pallid features, sunken in with exhaustion and hunger. It also meets my eyes, swimming with a melting pot of emotions. My breaths are shallow and labored, and my heart is pounding on its cages.

I splash my face again and yet? I cannot shake the feeling that this won't be the last time I see that man again...

66 notes · View notes

ohforficsakelibrary · 8 months

Text

The Margay: Chapter 1

There Was Bogotá That One Time

series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santi ropes Frankie into a trial-run mission that doesn't go to plan but comes with one hell of a consolation prize.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC x Santiago Garcia in this part but only in this part because Bogotá was just the once. No age gap.

Word Count: 3.8K

Rating: Explicit 18+/ the beginnings of a threesome, Santi has a filthy mouth, oral over underwear bc Frankie’s a tease (f receiving) / Minors DNI

A/N: Hoooly cowww, thank you all so much for the love on Dominica as my first little foray into this world. And a special thank you to everyone who has liked and shared. Your comments (and tags!) have truly given me life.

OFC here is the reader from Dominica, although I may play with future side chapters where I flip to that pov again. No taglist, but I'll mark everything with #ohforficsake. I do hope you enjoy. Edited 11/3 - I've been asked so I will be doing a taglist, drop me a line if you're interested!

“Who the fuck else is out here, Pope?”

“No one,” Santiago sweeps the clearing in a quick circle, butt of his gun still dug into his shoulder, “no one else is supposed to be out here.”

Things hadn’t gone sideways and he hadn’t called anyone in.

And yet the mark stares back at him through lifeless eyes the same color as the leaflitter he threatens to stain red.

“Well,” Frankie gestures vaguely where he’s knelt down next to the still-warm body. “This ain’t local.”

The high-caliber bullet that blew out the back of the man’s skull is most assuredly not Nicaraguan-made.

“We have to move, Fish,” Santi says before letting out a sharp whistle. A signal to the men holding the perimeter to circle up.

“Nah, if whoever did this wanted us dead…” He lets the words hang in humid jungle air, propping the brim of his cap up just far enough to swipe damp hair from his forehead. “The angle of it’s weird though,” Frankie cants big dark eyes up into the trees even though that makes no goddamn sense.

The men have moved in by now and one of them lets out a low hiss.

“El Caucel.”

“Crees eso?” Santiago's gaze cuts towards him and then over at two other men nodding in agreement.

Two more from their team had departed towards the trucks the moment they saw the carnage.

Frankie stands upright with knitted brows before finding Santiago’s gaze.

He’s met with an imperceptible shake of the head.

And so he doesn’t open his mouth again until they’re back in their hotel room.

_____

“You got an explanation for that, Pope?”

“Not a good one.” Santi sits on the edge of a twin bed and unlaces his boots before toeing them off and flopping backwards.

Frankie stays standing, hands on his hips.

“Someone’s out there with high-caliber shit we didn’t even have as Deltas and that’s all you have to say.”

“That’s all I fuckin’ know, Fish. Look, at least we’re on the same side, ok? For now we’re on the same side. Fuck, I need a shower.”

He’s on his feet now. Clearly rattled.

“What’s El Caucel? A group? Where’d they get that kind of heat?”

“I don’t know, Fish. I don’t know if El Caucel is one guy or five…”

Santi doesn’t realize it but he’s pacing the room.

He’s useless like this.

“Go take a fuckin’ shower, Pope.”

“I need a fucking beer.”

_____

Frankie doesn’t speak again until they’re both perched on plastic chairs at the back of an open-air bar, cumbia blaring through tired but persistent speakers, waves lapping at the shore nearly on beat.

“I don’t like it, Pope," he mutters after a sip of beer. "I don’t like that people we don’t know, using shit that we don’t have, know the same things we do," each point punctuated by a finger stabbed into the table.

“They’re after the same people that we are, Fish. We were fifteen minutes late, more than likely that was our backup. I have a call out to my guy, but he’s out of pocket until tomorrow. Can we at least just leave it at that for the night?”

Somehow Santiago’s nerves aren’t as frayed as they were an hour ago.

“This isn’t what I signed up for, Pope.”

“You signed up to kill bad men and get paid, Fish. A bad man is dead today and I don’t know if you took a look at your bank account, but it’s $25K heavier than it was this morning.”

“We didn’t pull that trigger.”

“Take the fuckin’ win, Catfish.”

It's low out of Santiago's mouth. Like an order.

Frankie doesn’t run like this. Not with unknown eyes on them. And he doesn’t take money for jobs he didn’t finish. He agreed not to ask who was bankrolling this little excursion, he trusted Santi’s judgment enough for that, but things were starting to fall out of alignment.

The last time that happened they lost someone.

He doesn’t like how fucking cool Santi is right now either.

And Santiago pipes up as though he can hear the gears in Fish's head gnashing against one another. “Look, Fish. You’ve got a cold beer, the Caribbean fuckin’ Ocean right there, you’re in a beautiful tropical country instead of freezing your balls off in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere in February..."

"...There are hot girls in this bar.”

“Pope.”

“Do you trust me, Fish?”

Dark eyes lock over the table, Frankie searching for something Santi won’t give away. It takes at least a minute for the tight line of Fish’s mouth to soften into his usual pout.

“It’s a sea.”

“What?” Santi swallows a mouthful of beer.

“The Caribbean Sea.”

“Right, fuckin’, okay.” Santi grins. “The goddamn Caribbean Sea. Just enjoy it, Catfish.”

It’s not a good enough explanation, not by a fucking long shot, but he hates admitting that Santi is right. For the next few hours, there’s nothing they can do.

And for a moment, Corona and lime on his tongue and the thought of $25K in his bank account makes him ignore the insistent scratching in the back of his brain.

Dark eyes sail over Santi’s shoulder and happen to land on a woman reading in the corner, all brown skin and black curls that skim the tops of her shoulders. He can't help but notice the way she's left a few buttons on her linen shirt open.

Can't help but notice the way it allows the curve of one breast to peek out when she reaches for her drink.

“I saw her first.” Santi knows exactly where he’s looking.

“I wouldn’t, actually,” Frankie attempts to clarify, but his half-hard cock says otherwise.

“I would.”

“We’re sharing a room, Pope.”

“I’ll put a sock on the doorknob. Plus there was Bogotá that one time,” Santi arches a brow and grins before draining the rest of his beer.

Bogotá that one time and a blonde between the two of them.

There’s more space than you'd think on a twin bed.

“With $25K you can get your own goddamn room.” Fish quips.

Bogotá was before his girl. Before his kid.

“So could you. Honestly. I think you need it, Francisco. Come on, what happens in Nicaragua…”

“Nah, I’m…”

“Yeah, you need it. I’m doin’ it.”

Pope is out of his chair before Fish can bite back.

"Fuckin’ idiot," Frankie mutters under his breath and directs his gaze out to sea.

“Excuse me, miss?” Santiago purrs in Spanish, leaning over the woman’s table, his most disarming smile playing on his lips.

She angles huge green eyes up from her book and waits for Santi to continue.

“My friend over there,” Santi nods his head in Frankie’s direction. “Thinks you look like you could use a refill.”

“Your friend, or you?” She answers in the same tongue.

Santi’s teeth catch on his bottom lip.

“Myee, my uh, my friend.” Santi slips in English. “Mi amigo.”

Freud would have loved that one.

The woman sets her book aside and reaches for a packet of cigarettes, eyes cutting over to Frankie as she taps the top of the box on the table. He's lit up by red and yellow light and staring out across sand.

Plush lips wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle, wishing the ocean would come crashing through this fuckin’ bar.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Freddie.”

“Tell Freddie I’ll take a gin and soda with lime, but only if he does his dirty work himself and sits down here with me.” She lights up a cigarette. “I suppose you can stay too.”

Santi lets out a sharp whistle that has Frankie on higher alert than he’d care to admit.

“Gin and soda,” Santi calls over his shoulder. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Arabela,” she tosses the packet on top of her book.

“Sam,” Santi offers his hand and she takes it, surprised when Santi presses his lips to her knuckles.

Surprised in a turned-off way.

"What are you reading?"

She lifts the packet of Parliaments so he can glance at the title.

The Living Daylights.

"You like spy novels?"

"I think they're funny."

Frankie appears at last, two fresh beers, one gin, and three shots of tequila balanced easily between two massive hands.

The tequila was an impulse but he needs something stronger than Corona if this is Bogotá Round Two.

Which apparently it became the moment Frankie stood up from his seat.

“Freddie, this is Arabela.”

“Mucho gusto.” Frankie’s hand is shy.

All of Frankie is shy.

“I do speak English, if that’s more comfortable.”

“An American.” Santi perks up. “Where are you from, sweetheart?”

“Florida.”

“Ahh, Texas,” he jabs a thumb towards Frankie and then his own chest “and Miami. What part of Florida?”

“Orlando.”

Jesus this is boring.

_____

She actually just showed up here for dinner and a buzz because it was five minutes down the beach from her hotel. A function of convenience, nothing more.

And now with dinner over, she finds herself in need of another gin.

She’s up at the bar when two more men wander in. Not locals but not uncomfortable here either. Military, past or present, from the sound of their boots on the wood planks.

She quickly steals a glance over her shoulder. Military boys aren’t uncommon down here, and frankly not particularly interesting, but these two aren’t standard issue.

One of them looks like a good time and the other looks like trouble.

Trouble slips into a plastic chair at a table in the corner, choosing the seat that allows him to face the door. Good Time on the other hand is skating dark eyes over her bare legs.

She runs the top of one foot over her calf just for kicks as the bartender hands over fresh gin, and turns to leave the very moment that Good Time sidles up.

God it’s too easy.

She’s not here for this tonight.

But it’s been three, or was it four, months and she’s not opposed to it either.

Trouble is heated about something when his friend returns with beers.

He’s cute.

Not in a classically handsome way, his friend has that in spades.

Cocksure, chiseled jaw, perfectly coiffed hair.

No, Trouble is cute in a wound spring kind of way.

The kind of way that looks absolutely beautiful coming wildly undone.

What the fuck is in this gin tonight.

Ten minutes later when Good Time struts over, she decides she definitely isn't opposed.

_____

“What are you doing down here, baby girl?”

“Vacation. Just needed a break from work, I guess.”

Her phone buzzes face-down on the table and Santi Sam laughs.

“I like your phone case,” he grins as he pulls an identical one from his pocket.

Jesus Christ its a regular fucking Amazon phone case, how do we move this along.

“So what are you boys up to?”

He’s probably going to say something stupid like…

“Just appreciating the scenery.”

Yeah.

She checks her watch. It’s barely gone 19:30, she could still have a perfectly enjoyable night on her own.

Nope.

“Look,” she leans over the table as Good Time leans in and Trouble leans back, “I’m sure that works on someone else, but today’s not your day.”

Santi braces for the crash.

“You didn’t come over here just to chat and I’m more than happy to save all of us the grief. What’s on the table?”

“Both of us.”

No one at the table was expecting Frankie to be the one to speak up.

Pope shoots Frankie a look that swims with ‘hadn’t expected but not opposed...’

“If that’s what you want.” Frankie rumbles, arm draped over the back of his chair.

Trouble.

Something searing and unspoken in a language that Pope doesn’t understand passes between them.

“What’s your word, sweetheart?” He continues with the barest nod of his head in her direction, eyes dark. And starved.

“Bogotá.”

She hadn’t overheard them. There’s no way she could have with the music in this place.

And Frankie throws back his tequila because Frankie's not a man to question the Universe when it hands him something.

“Close the tabs,” a firm hand squeezes Santi’s shoulder as Fish stands. “Hers and ours. You. With me.”

Her with him finds them both outside, her back against the wall of the bar, cigarette nestled between her fingers, Frankie close enough that the heat coming off of him sets her nerves tingling.

He hasn’t laid a hand on her yet. One’s braced on the wall near her head, the other on his hip.

He’s angled such that she has room to slip away.

“Are you sure you want this? You can leave right now and I’ll get him out of here and we’ll pretend we never met.”

Dark eyes track the fingers that bring the cigarette to her lips.

“Is that what you want?”

“I didn’t ask about me,” he rumbles, shifting slightly closer and answering her question with his form.

“Right now,” she tilts her head to blow smoke away from him, “there’s nothing I want more.”

Frankie reaches for her cigarette, freely offered, taking a puff before he dashes it out. His fingers move to trail feather-light across her collarbone and over the buttons of her shirt nudging it open a hair.

He glances back up at her eyes and then her lips, plush and parted and waiting, and Frankie decides he can't wait any longer.

He slides the brim of his cap around backwards as his hand slides up her neck, thumb brushing her bottom lip before he replaces it with his mouth.

When Pope breezes through the door, Frankie nabs him by the back of the shirt, tongue never leaving her mouth. He pulls, slamming Santi against the wall before tearing himself away and taking a step back. His thumb comes up to brush the corner of his mouth, surveying them both.

Her dark hair is wild from his greedy fists, lips and chin reddened from his attention.

Santiago’s eyelids are heavy as he stares back.

“You started without me.” It’s restrained, darkly matter-of-fact. She reaches her hand over to wrap around the back of Pope’s neck and guides him to her, tasting his bottom lip and then his tongue. She slants half-closed eyes over to hold Frankie’s stare as she moans into Pope’s mouth.

Frankie nearly reaches out to rip her away.

“We gotta go,” is what he opts for instead.

_____

Not five minutes later, Santi’s back is pressed against the door to their hotel room. Her back is pressed to his chest. And Frankie is on his knees in front of her, nose pressed into the crotch of her cargo shorts.

Santi’s lips skate up the side of her neck as his hands splay across her stomach under her shirt, hips already searching for friction. She reaches back intending to slip her phone and card holder out of the back pockets of her shorts out of the need to feel Pope there unimpeded, pressed flush against her. He catches on, taking them both from her hands and placing them on the side table, fingertips bypassing two layers of cotton to slip just under the waistband of her underwear. He pulls her back against him by her hipbones, grinding the hardness in his jeans against the curve of her ass and she whimpers at the way it puts her just out of reach of Frankie's mouth.

Frankie pulls his shirt off up over his head, taking his backwards cap with it, and tossing them both over his shoulder into the room. He stands to occupy her mouth with his own while Pope unbuttons his shirt and lands it over the luggage rack. Santi meets Frankie’s eyes over her shoulder and nods. Fish breaks the kiss as Pope’s hands pull her against his chest once more.

She leaves one hand on Frankie’s cheek and reaches the other up to tangle in Santiago’s hair.

“We’re gonna take such good care of you, baby,” Santiago purrs into her ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he continues, mouth hot on her neck.

Frankie watches for a moment, taking in the way her plush lips are parted before he’s on his knees again.

He needs to be here. Needs to feel the heat of her on his face. Needs to get rid of this fucking fabric.

“I’m gonna hold you right here,” Santiago purrs, skating his nose over the shell of her ear, “and he’s gonna eat that pretty pussy of yours,” one hand rides further up her stomach under her shirt, “because that’s his favorite thing in the world.”

Frankie can feel goosebumps appear where he’s stroking his palms over her calves, lips tracing the chill up her thighs.

“Would you like that, pretty girl?” Santi voice is a heady whisper now, and her head falls back into the crook of his shoulder as she hums in approval.

“Need to hear you say it, baby,” Frankie murmurs against her skin.

“God, yes,” she moans and immediately Santi’s mouth finds hers, fingers making quick work of the button on her shorts. Frankie helps her out of her sandals and Pope unzips her, thumbs sliding the fabric down over her hips, passing the task off to Frankie’s fingers to take the rest of the way before moving to do the same with her underwear.

“Leave it,” Frankie bats Pope’s hands away, settling one of his own against the curve of her hip, running the other up over the back of one thigh before breathing heat against her mound. She reflexively cants her hips back against Pope’s and he hears the phone in his back pocket knock against the door before it’s tossed carelessly along with his wallet to join hers on the side table. She runs one hand over Frankie’s forearm, fingers of the other still wound in Santi’s hair.

Plush lips trace the seams of her underwear, falling everywhere but where she wants them.

And so she reaches both hands down, tangling fingers in his soft curls, short nails impatiently scraping at his scalp and she feels him smirk against her inner thigh.

Frankie hooks a hand around the back of her knee, guiding her leg over his shoulder.

“Hold her, Pope.”

Santi’s arm hooks firmly around her ribcage.

She spares a thought for the use of a call sign before suddenly there’s pressure and damp, open-mouthed heat breathed against the sodden cotton covering her core. The leg that’s still on the ground buckles, but Santiago holds her firm, grinning against her mouth.

They work well together, these two.

Frankie’s tongue traces the contours of her folds through the fabric, humming with pleasure at what little taste of her he’s able to get at. He can already tell from the feel of this alone that she’s bare below the cotton and his cock jumps at the thought.

And his cock jumps again at the thought of sharing the thought.

“Pretty girl?” Frankie rumbles, teeth catching gently against her mound as he angles his eyes up at her. “If I were to take these off…” he hooks a finger through the waistband of her panties and lets it snap against her flushed skin.

“I wouldn’t find anything under there, would I?”

He pauses and Santiago feels her grin against his mouth.

“I don’t think you would, Fish.”

“No, I think,” the bridge of his nose bumps against her clit just so and she groans against Santi’s lips. “I think you’re completely bare under here.” He inhales deep and her fingers tighten in his curls. “All of that smooth…soft…skin.” Each word punctuated by a kiss before he sucks, open mouthed against the core of her.

Pope has to hold her again.

Santi’s free hand skates up to palm her right shoulder where cream linen has fallen open before slipping his fingers under the strap of her bra, guiding it down her arm.

And Santiago’s not so much in control so much as he’s just the one they let speak.

“Is he good, princesa?” Santi asks against her lips in the lowest register of his voice. “Does his mouth feel good on you?” Santiago reaches down over her collarbone, under her shirt and bra to palm her breast, one arm still firmly locked around her ribcage.

“Fuck,” she gasps, “so good.”

Frankie hums his thanks and moves a little higher to flick his tongue over her clit. He dwells here a while, alternating light and fast with the tip of his tongue with slower, firmer strokes with the flat of it. The cotton of her thong is soaked from her slick and his mouth, and it’s not long before she turns her lips away from Santiago, panting and moaning in time with Frankie’s flicks.

“She’s close, Fish,” Pope breathes against her pulse.

“Mmm hmm,” he hums, the rumble of it causing her to buck her hips against him. Frankie lets go from where strong fingers have been digging into the thigh over his shoulder and brings his hand to her hip, both palms now holding her firm against Santi.

She can feel how hard he is through the denim that scratches against the curve of her ass. How it's taking all of Santiago's control not to grind against her there. Not to send her knocking against Fish's teeth.

Neither of these men have actually put skin against anything that matters, and yet she’s falling apart between them.

No sooner does the thought cross her mind than Frankie hooks a thumb into the crotch of her thong, pulling the gusset to the side.

He hums deep and low because he was right.

He’s just about to lick a stripe through her glistening folds when a clattering buzz rings out into the room.

All three of them startle.

Santi spares a glance down at the side table where the offending phone is casting blue light into the room.

His contact’s number.

“Fuuck,” he growls, “I gotta get this. Take her to bed, Fish.” Frankie lets her leg down from his shoulder, “and don’t you fucking dare make her come without me.”

“No promises,” he mumbles between kisses, allowing her to move him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sits and she straddles his hips and he bucks up against her, telegraphing what's on offer.

She presses her forehead against his as he fights to nip at her jaw, cursing softy at the feel of him before her fingers scramble to unzip his jeans.

Frankie grins, arm wrapping tight around her waist, and grinds his crotch against her heat as Santi picks up the phone.

“Hey honey, I uh...I can’t really talk right now,” Santi’s voice rings out from the hallway as if he wasn’t half naked and panting.

She props herself up briefly without breaking Frankie’s kisses in an effort to quiet the moans that he can’t seem to keep in his throat. He runs his palms down her sides to fit on her hips and pull but she’s strong.

“Santiago? Well, now that’s interesting.”

“How...how's that, babe, you called me?”

“Santiago, this isn’t your phone.”

And Santiago's blood runs cold.

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me over there for future updates.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

#frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #santiago garcia #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #a toasty lil sandwich #ohforficsake #The Margay

55 notes · View notes

corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months

Text

ain't no rest for the wicked - chapter four

ain't no rest for the wicked series

four: no telling what tomorrow holds

series masterlist | prev chapter | final chapter

Tess Servopoulos x f!reader x Joel Miller

words: 5.9k

summary: Joel and Tess pay you surprise visits after work.

warnings: dark-ish Joel and Tess, smuggler!Joel, smuggler!Tess, boston QZ, QZ life, poorly negotiated d/s-style dynamics, poor communication, enthusiastic consent, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v, degradation, stalking, threesome, light rope bondage, light choking with a belt, paddling, punishment, aftercare, strap-on, anal sex, rimming, light angst, orgasm denial, hurt/comfort, light description of a wound, flashbacks to outbreak day (reader), double penetration

This is the penultimate chapter.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You don’t get any warning the next time. It’s not more than a week later, and when you step out into the dying sun, Joel’s waiting outside your office building.

You’re pissed, because when he croons, “Where you goin’, sunflower?” from behind you, your heart shoots about sixty feet into the sky.

“Cheese and fucking Christ, Joel!” You’re clutching your chest, but you can’t even pretend to be mad for more than a minute.

Not the way he’s smirking, something bright behind his gorgeous eyes. He looks fucking beautiful like this, bathed in amber, dark coat against the snow.

“I can just leave by myself,” he says.

But you break and smile. Goddamnit. It isn’t just your cunt that’s happy to see him.

Though it very much is. You’re a little concerned about icicles forming, the way you’re abruptly dripping at the prospect of an evening with them.

He can read it all over you. Of course he can. He shakes his head and pushes away from the wall, not bothering to swallow down the smug curl of his lips.

“They been treatin’ you alright?” He asks as you make the walk across town.

“Who, work? Yeah, I mean. A job’s a job.” You shrug.

He’s looking at you like he thinks he’s some kinda human lie detector.

“Nobody’s bothering me, I promise,” you say, rolling your eyes.

His jaw ticks. You don’t realize how close he’s leaned until he’s murmuring into your ear. “Watch the attitude, little girl.”

You swallow hard. He leans back, but you’re acutely aware now, that he’s stayed close the whole time. There’s not five feet between you as you scramble to follow. No, he’s been near enough that your shoulders occasionally brush.

Thinking about it makes your stomach feel a lot like your very first (and only) cellphone. It had slipped from your pocket into the lake up north when you crossed from the dock to the little motorboat, and you just watched as it sank slowly. By the time you thrust your hand below the surface to save it, it was too late, and the water you displaced pushed it deeper into the darkness.

Your daddy had been mad beyond words, not that it stopped him from lecturing, and while you sat there peering over the edge, it lit up with a call from your best friend, even underwater. It rang over and over and over until your dad started the boat, and the motor buried it in a puff of kicked-up sand.

She had been calling from back home, where you’d be in about six hours. You figured you’d stop by her dorm and see what her latest fuckboy from the neighboring floor had done now.

By the time your dad pulled up to campus, though, the world was half over. He didn’t let you out of the car, your brother holding you back while your daddy peeled away from the curb and the bodies.

He was gone by midnight.

When you blink back to the grimy streets of Boston, you can’t remember what you were thinking about before. Joel’s still looking at you, brow furrowed.

“Where’d you go?” he says.

“Oh, uh. I dunno. Just got lost in my head,” you try to smile and shrug. Silly you, as always, drifting off in the clouds.

He doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t push it.

When you get to the apartment, you’re startled to find Tess in an apron. As far as you know, Joel’s been the only one cooking when you came over. She spares you a kiss before she turns back to chopping carrots.

You kind of want to drop to your knees right there in the kitchen, watching her tuck back a loose strand of hair while brandishing a knife.

There might be something deeply unwell about you, you suspect. But it seems like the kind of thought that hampers your quality of life, so you scrunch it up and toss it in your mental waste bin. It bounces off the rim.

Damn. You can’t even make a basket in your own mind.

Joel smirks at the way you already look a little dazed. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs in your ear. His thumbs hook into the belt loops at the front of your jeans, tugging you back so you can feel him press against your ass. “We’re gonna have dessert first tonight.”

Tess snorts. “Been workin’ on that one all day?”

“Shut up, like you didn’t tell me to go pick up something sweet.”

You think maybe you’re going to die from secondhand embarrassment. “Can’t believe I used to be scared of you guys,” you say, foolishly, “you’re just a couple of dorks.”

Tess shakes her head, lip twitching into a smirk. “Baby, you just going to let her disrespect you like that?”

Oh, shit. If you weren’t wet already, well.

“Do whatever you want with her while I finish this up,” she says to Joel, meeting his eyes over your head.

Her words are anesthesia. Your whole brain seems to fuck right off, and it’s like you’ve been a mermaid turned human, the way your legs don’t seem to work anymore.

He lets go and steps around before throwing you over his shoulder, taking the opportunity to slap your ass.

“M’sorry,” you say, clawing at the back of his shirt for stability. Not that you really think he’d drop you, but all in all, you’re a little off-kilter right now.

“You will be,” he says.

It should scare you, you think. Despite your joke, outside of this apartment, these are two terrifying individuals. Together? Well, your initial tornado siren instinct wasn’t far off.

Instead, you moan.

He shakes his head. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“She said whatever you want.” You don’t have a clue where the boldness is coming from, but you think you like where it’s going.

“You got a mouth on you today. First thing is gonna be findin’ a better use for it.”

“Fuck,” you whisper.

He swings you down from his shoulder, and you sink straight down to your knees.

“Open,” he says, belt buckle jangling as he tugs it from the loops.

You open your mouth wide and stick your tongue out, but he doesn’t give you his cock yet. He grabs your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks, and spits onto your waiting tongue.

You startle back a little but moan and swallow it, only for his hand to fly out and slap you.

“I didn’t say you could swallow that,” he growls.

“Sorry, sir,” you say, eyes wide and sorrowful.

He leans back down and spits again. You hold still, and he gives you a crooked grin. “Attagirl. Hold that for a minute.”

You whine until he brings the belt around your neck, sliding it through the hoop on the buckle and pulling it snugly around your neck. It’s not too tight, and the sight of the loose end wrapped around his fist almost does you in.

“Yeah, you like that,” he says, shaking his head. He leaves you waiting while he pulls out his cock.

You whimper when you see it, but he tugs on the belt to abort the sound and rests his cock on your tongue, thrusting so shallow that he’s barely inside the cavern of your mouth.

When it’s nice and coated with your saliva and his own, he pulls out and slaps it across your face.

The moan you let out would be humiliating if you had it in you to care. But you don’t, only concerned with getting his cock back in your mouth.

You give him your best pleading eyes, wide and sad, with your mouth still open.

“Aw,” he coos, dry and mocking, “are you not getting what you want?”

You shake your head.

“Brats don’t.” He rubs the leaking head of his cock over your upper lip, smearing precum in his wake.

You move instinctually to lick it, but he pinches your tongue between two unforgiving fingers.

“I don’t think so. You’re just going to sit still and be good. And quiet."

If you thought Tess’s words made your mind go blank earlier, then this made you think nothing. Literally nothing. The weight of his belt around your neck, the smell of him on your lip, and the rigidity of his commands are all you can handle. Like the shutdown of your old, chunky computer, your brain whirrs to a stop.

He pulls you forward by the belt, cutting off your air and leaving no room for resistance. Not that you’d have even dreamt of it. He slides in farther this time, the head just grazing against the back of your throat.

You keep your eyes and mouth open wide. The pressure on your throat eases up, not entirely, but enough to allow you air. He begins to gently thrust in and out, reaching deeper and deeper.

You whine, jaw aching for more.

He smirks. “What? You don’t like me usin’ your mouth to jerk off?”

Your cunt clenches, with nothing, nothing to comfort it. It’s strong enough that your head tips back a little, a raggedy gasp slipping around him.

“Did you just almost cum?” he asks, tugging a little on the belt.

“Uh-huh,” you try to say.

He whistles. “Damn. Don’t you dare, though.”

Easier said than done, but you manage to hold back. His cock sent sparks to your clit as he masturbated with your throat.

The door clicks softly shut as Tess comes in, apron abandoned in place of a shit-eating grin. “Havin’ fun, baby?” she asks Joel, wrapping her arms around his waist and taking in the scene.

“Y’should have a go, use her tongue,” he says. “Fuckin’ slut almost came from bein’ used as a cocksleeve.”

You moan and try to grab his thighs, but he just steps back, pulling his cock away. The whine you make is soaked with desperation and hurt feelings.

“Why don’t you tie her up, and I’ll have a turn,” Tess says. She comes close to you, a hand in your hair to tip your head back. “Same rules, sunflower. You just stay still and be good.”

You can’t do much more than blink up at her as Joel crouches behind you and tugs your arms back, binding your wrists together deftly. He moves to help Tess strip down, his movements gentle and devout. Her neatly folded clothes get set on the dresser, and he sits on the side of the bed to watch, cock drooling over his fist.

She makes use of your mouth, rubbing her cunt over your tongue. You’ve stretched it out as much as you can and your chest aches with the need to lick, to taste, to have anything more than they’re allowing. But the ache to be good for them is deeper and undeniable.

She grinds until her clit is pushed against you and rides your steady tongue until she cums. You don’t dare swallow what’s left in your mouth, remembering the scolding you got earlier.

“Good girl,” she croons, stroking your cheek. She steps back, and you jerk a little with the intense throb that seems to rattle your bones. You’re so close, and you know what’s about to happen.

You whine and give Joel sad eyes again, begging for mercy. He doesn’t grant it, but he does rub his dick through Tess’s slick where it sits on your tongue, groaning at the warmth and ease as his cock slides smoothly into your throat, pushing the taste of her with it.

Each thrust makes you whimper and plead, not that he can technically understand you, but the grin on his face makes you think he does perfectly.

“Damn, I wasn’t gonna let ya, but makin’ you cum untouched like this…” he muses out loud.

You hold back the plea, not wanting to dissuade him.

He cups your cheek, stroking his thumb up and down. “Nah.”

Your eyes are wide again, unable to stop the pout that turns your lips down around his cock.

“None o’ that,” he scolds, using his hand on your face to fuck into you. “You mouthed off. You can wait to cum on our cocks.”

You can’t help the way your head snaps to the side to look at Tess, where she’s leisurely sprawled on the bed. His next thrust was already in motion, and his cock jabs you below the ear.

He growls and yanks your face back to him, pushing inside while pulling on the belt. Your clit pulses with the beat of your heart, or maybe the beat of his cock. As if they’re any different right now.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he says. “And now that I think about it…” he trails off to look at Tess. Out of the corner of her eye, you can see a responding grin creep across her face.

She gets up from the bed and comes over to you. “Let me have another go, and you get it all out for me, baby,” she says to Joel.

He pulls out immediately, and you can hear him rustling through a drawer while she rides your tongue to a second orgasm.

“Look how sweet you’re being,” she says, bending to kiss your forehead. The praise settles somewhere in your ribs, a warm, wriggling thing.

The cock he’s picked out is smaller than the one he took last time and smaller than his own, but not by much. If you weren’t already drooling, saliva dripping down onto your tits and their carpet, you would be now.

She slips the harness on with practiced fingers, vibrator tucked snugly inside her, though she doesn’t turn it on yet. When she sets the plastic on your waiting tongue, you gasp, eyes fluttering shut.

Instead of fucking your face with it, she gives a jerk of her head to Joel. He comes around behind you and puts a hand on either side of your face, fucking your head back and forth on the cock.

“That’s it, baby,” she moans, reaching out to caress him. He presses his lips to her hand, and she pulls him in for a kiss. He doesn’t miss a beat the whole time, still using you as a fleshlight for her strap.

It’s not his roughness that brings tears to your eyes, though, or jealousy. He’s not expecting it when you break away, his firm hands guiding more than forcing.

“Please,” you beg. “Please let me touch you.” You squirm in the ropes, knocking a tear down your cheek. “Please fuck me, please something.”

Tess wipes the tear away. “Think she’s had enough?”

Joel grunts his agreement, grabbing you by the arms to help you to your feet. He hands a bottle of lube to Tess, who situates herself on the bed, one hand slickening up the cock.

He stands behind you and holds your jaw in one hand, so you watch her, not that you’d be looking anywhere else. His other hand slides down to your cunt, and he chuckles. “Y’ain’t even gonna need it,” he tells her. He pushes two fingers in with little struggle and starts working you open for her.

You writhe. It’s almost too much; it hurts a little. Somehow, you’re overstimulated, and this is the first time all day that anyone has actually touched you.

“I know,” he murmurs. “You’ve been so good. Let us both get in ya, and I’ll let you cum.”

He yanks his hand away, and you nearly sob. He unties your wrists and pulls his belt from your neck. “Go on,” he says, slapping your ass.

Tess grins at you as you climb up. She’s turned on the vibrator on her end and beckons you with open arms to crawl to her. You lean down, and she tugs you in for a kiss, her hands sliding to your hips to guide you down onto her strap.

“Can’t believe I haven’t fucked you yet,” she murmurs between kissing and nipping at your lips.

Your eyes roll back as you slide down, your pelvis angled just right so that when she bottoms out, you can grind your clit against her bush. She smirks but digs her fingers into your hips to stop you.

“Hold still and wait just a little bit longer,” she says.

Once you’re settled, Joel pushes you down by the shoulder to lay against Tess. It leaves you only partially seated, but you nuzzle into the nape of her neck, pressing kisses where you can reach.

It’s not a shock when his slicked-up fingers breach your asshole. You kind of assumed when he said they’d both be fucking you. He didn’t ask if you’ve done this before, though. He doesn’t really need to ask anymore.

You’re a little embarrassed that he’s got you pegged correctly as a slut. Before you came to Boston, you had fucked your way through the hard days, desperate to feel, well, anything.

But here, it had been harder. You made a point not to get to know anyone; it didn’t seem wise after everything fell apart before.

Then again, you think, they’re both experienced enough that they can hardly judge you for it.

You stop really thinking after that as Tess wraps her arms around you, gently thrusting up as Joel’s thick fingers work you open.

“Doing okay, sunflower?” she says.

You intend to respond, but Joel chooses that moment to stuff a second finger in you, and all that comes out is a broken, starving moan.

“Attagirl,” he says, rubbing his other hand over the dip of your spine.

When he finally deems you ready, he wastes no time.

“Oh god,” you pant as he pushes in with a strong, smooth stroke. “Oh fuck.”

They don’t really wait for you to get acclimated, not that you’re complaining. The back-and-forth rhythm is soothing, but you’re trembling, trying to keep it together.

True to his word, Joel slides his hand around and hovers his finger over your clit. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says. Blunt teeth nip at your neck as he presses firmly down, their thrusts jostling you and doing the work for him.

You cum immediately. It’s not a choice. You’d been barely holding on, and once he finally touches you, it’s like you break open. Vaguely, you’re aware of how loud you’re being, but he’s holding you tight and unrelenting. They both still and let you shake apart on their cocks, Joel’s dark chuckle against your neck as you fuck yourself through it.

You don’t think you fully come back to yourself the whole time they fuck you. You’re floating somewhere vaguely in the middle of the throng of bodies, lightheaded. Every pore feels electrified, each brush of their skin against yours drawing a gasp or cry. You know you cum again. Maybe you don’t ever really stop.

An endless wave of aftershocks, some orgasms in their own right, roll over you, and you just take it. Take them. Let them move and pinch and rub your body; just a soft vessel to soak up their attention.

When they’ve exhausted themselves and you, Joel spilling deep inside, he tugs you to the side to let Tess up. He lays behind you and tugs the sheet up as the sweat cools and leaves you shivering. His warm body presses against yours, an arm loose over your waist.

When Tess goes to leave the room, he sits up, but she’s not having it. “It’s my stew. Don’t even think about it.”

He grumbles, something you don’t catch as you fall asleep.

It feels like only a moment has passed when he shakes you awake. “Gotta sit up and eat somethin’,” he says. It’s gruff, as he always is, but there’s something that stirs you to seek him out. Instead of sitting up properly, you turn over to snuggle against his chest.

He huffs, shaking his head, but it doesn’t stop him from holding your head to him. He presses a kiss atop it before nudging you to sit up.

You can’t help the small, stupid smile that lingers. You’re too well-fucked, the pleasure still loosening your muscles and inhibitions.

Tess pushes a thick bowl of stew into your hands. You’re irritated at your own surprise. Why did you ever think it was going to be some normal canned Campbell’s shit? You literally saw her chopping fresh carrots.

It’s full of rice and tender meat, tomatoes, onion, and herbs. More than you can identify, but it’s so rich and hearty that you think you could die happy. All your senses are satisfied, and your stomach is full.

“Kill me now,” you sigh, leaning back against the pillows.

Joel and Tess exchange a look over you, but you don’t give a damn.

“Is something wrong?” she says.

“No,” you say, a soft smile settling as you close your eyes and nestle into their bed.

Joel shrugs, and they make the wise choice to ignore you while they finish eating. He wins the argument about who does the dishes, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom to clean yourself up while he handles them.

You only try to argue once against them walking you home. You’re pretty sure everyone is aware of how half-hearted it is.

Tess jumpscares you a couple of weeks later. Well, nearly. You’ve been on high alert since the Surprise Joel Incident, but your heart gets lodged in your throat at the sight of her.

It’s so incongruous that you stand there for a moment, just blinking stupidly, hand shielding your eyes from where the sun bounces off the freshly frozen snow.

“Hey, sunflower,” she says, and kisses your cheek, leaving you flushing hot enough to melt the drifts in your path.

“Hi,” you squeak.

She doesn’t hold your hand on the walk, but she sticks close and guides you through throngs of people with a palm burning at the dip of your spine.

When you let slip your worry—not that you aren’t just as happy to see her, but that the change makes you paranoid—she fesses up to Joel’s current predicament.

She warns you, this time. “I promise it won’t be like then. I’m not gonna put you in that position again.”

You’re comforted a little, but it’s still an upsetting prospect. You don’t want to see him get punished. And she won’t tell you what he did, but she does tell you she knows you’re going to understand her point.

“Lay down over the bed next to him, sunflower, just like that.”

You obey, quietly settling your top half on the mattress beside him. He keeps his face buried in the duvet while you squirm around, trying to figure out what to do with your arms.

His are bound behind him. Should you mimic it? You tuck them under you, lay them by your sides, and clutch at the sheets above your head. Tess comes in the room and snorts at your fidgeting.

“Want some help with that?” She’s holding another length of rope, and you know it’s not a question.

“What’re you doin’ to her, Tess?” Joel grumbles, finally lifting his head. He doesn’t look at you, only at her.

Her hand cracks against his thigh before you realize she’s even moved close enough. “You wanna try that again?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbles, hiding back in the blanket.

“I can do whatever I want with her, right? She’s yours, and you’re mine. You know what that means, sunflower?”

You’re suddenly a little jealous of grapes, as you try to respond but only manage a squeaky whimper. Under the focus of the sun, they get to shrivel up and hide. Instead, you automatically turn to face her.

“Well?” She prompts, but she doesn’t wait for you to respond before tugging your arms behind your back and threading the rope around.

“It means I’m yours, too, ma’am.”

At your words, Joel is finally, finally looking at you, but unlike Tess, his attention scalds.

“That’s right.” She tugs at the rope to check the fit, and when she’s satisfied, she crouches down and spreads your cunt wide open.

You jerk a little as her cold fingers swipe between your folds. “She’s wet already, baby.”

You’re burning, one step closer to your new life dream of being a raisin, when you hear what is unmistakably Tess sucking her fingers clean of you. You moan and finally turn your head to seek out Joel.

He’s fuckin' sick and tired of you seeing him like this. But there’s a good part of him that knows he brought it on himself. If she thinks humiliating him in front of you is going to work, she’s probably right.

So far, though, you don’t seem to have lost any respect for him. When he finds your eyes, they’re soft and pleading. You don’t need to say a word; he knows you’re seeking the grasp of his firm hand.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he says.

You smile, but you don’t get to respond, distracted as Tess fists her hand in Joel’s hair and yanks back.

“You wanna tell her why you’re here like this instead of fucking her tight little cunt?”

Joel does not, but he’s not stupid. It wasn’t really a choice.

Tess tugs, sharp pain blossoming across his scalp, so he has to face you.

“I made a reckless decision.”

“And?” She prompts.

“And I nearly got shot.”

You suck in a breath but don’t look away. He, however, does—still facing you but eyes looking anywhere but.

“Nearly,” Tess scoffs. She tugs him to roll a little bit, and you see the bandage on his side, stained like rust.

“It grazed me. That’s nearly.”

She nudges him back into position but doesn’t let him turn away from you.

“Now you both get to see what happens when you do careless shit, baby. Don’t look away.” She pauses for a moment, taking something out of a dresser drawer. “And Joel?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Count for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He wants to close his eyes to brace for the hit, but you’re looking a little nervous. “S’ok, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I can take it.”

But when Tess swings the paddle down, it’s on you. They’ve never used it with you, you’re not any kind of prepared for the broad, heavy stroke. You cry out, something akin to a yelp and a gasp, jerking forward into the mattress.

“No,” Joel snarls, wriggling against the ropes.

Tess clicks her tongue. “Not what you’re supposed to be saying, baby. Let’s start over.”

You’re slightly more prepared when she hits you again. It’s not any softer but a little easier to bear.

“One,” he bites out.

She catches you by the hair when you subconsciously press your face into the bed. “You keep looking right at him, sunflower. He needs to see.”

He looks at you, brows cinched and eyes wide. His lips part, but the words don’t come out.

You nod, a small duck of your chin, and he closes his eyes for just a moment.

When he opens them, they’re lined with pain, his aching muscles taut as he grapples with guilt. He returns the nod.

She doesn’t go easy on you. No, you get exactly the punishment Joel would have gotten. By the time you’ve taken 25 (or, well, 26), you’re sobbing softly, squirming to try to alleviate the burn.

“See, baby?” Tess says, setting the paddle down and running her fingers over your hot, aching skin. “This is what happens when you’re reckless. Someone gets hurt.”

Of course. No lesson in the world could make Joel more careful with himself for his own sake.

She cuts his ropes first, and he’s on you immediately, tugging the knot so you’re freed and pulling you into his lap.

He holds you against him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs as you sob into his chest. “I’m so sorry.” He lets you cling to him while you cry, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back. He steadies you in a way you can’t explain. So does Tess.

It takes you a long time to recognize that feeling as safety.

At some point, Tess hands him something out of your line of sight. He reaches around you to unscrew the lid from the tub, and you jolt when his fingers move to the raw skin on your ass, but whatever he rubs on it instantly cools the burn.

You let out a sigh, leaning lax against him.

“You okay?” Tess murmurs, a hand on your shoulder.

You blink up at her and nod. “M’okay.” You crane your neck to kiss her hand, and she smiles.

Her other hand threads into Joel’s hair, gently this time. She gives him a kiss there. “Learn your lesson?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, voice like a knife on toast.

“Good. You were both so good.”

It’s the final string for you, the snap of the last tether. You mumble what you think is a thank you, but it comes out undecipherable. She gets the idea anyway.

Everything is warm and heady, your limbs like silicone, but your mind like a sieve. You’re wet enough that Joel can feel the heat where your bare cunt lays across his bare lap.

He dips a finger in and strokes gently through your folds. “Gonna make you feel better,” he says, laying you down on the duvet. You keen, fingers reaching for him, but Tess catches them and kisses you, kneeling beside you on the mattress.

“Hang on,” she says as Joel gets to his knees on the carpet. “Lay down,” she tells him, gesturing to where he’s frozen.

He obeys, and she tugs you forward to the edge of the bed.

“Sit on his face, sunflower,” she says.

Joel groans and reaches his hands up to help you down, but you hesitate.

“I—” you start, but she sees right through you.

“If you haven’t figured it out by now, he likes eating pussy.”

“Fuckin' love it,” Joel says, fist clenching around his cock while he waits.

“I don’t wanna be ungrateful,” you say to the wall behind him.

“You wanna get fucked?” she says.

You nod.

“You can ride him first if you want. Or you can start on his face, and then we’ll switch.”

“No,” Joel says, and you both look at him.

“Get down here and give me your cunt, now.”

You look at Tess, and she shrugs.

Knowing you’ll still get his cock makes you care a lot less what order it comes in—you snort out loud at the pun—so you do as you’re told. He settles you down and doesn’t wait for Tess; he just starts licking you—almost too gently.

You don’t complain. It feels good, and you think he’s still apologizing.

Once Tess helps herself to his cock, she reaches for you and takes your face in the cradle of her palms, licking into your mouth.

It’s all slow and luxurious. Dangerously so. You and Tess are content to make out while she rides him, a gentle cant to her hips, and he holds you open with both hands to eat you out. He’s careful to avoid the irritated skin on your ass, prying at the inside of your thighs instead.

You don’t know how many times he takes you apart on his tongue, but when it crosses the line between just enough and a little too much, Tess lifts off his aching cock and taps you in to switch.

As nice as his mouth was, sinking down on his cock is fucking divine. Life changing. You could start a church.

Well, not quite, but anyway. The point is your cunt had been painfully empty, and now that it’s stuffed full, you think you might cry.

Instead, you go back to making out with Tess and groping her tits.

She lets him cum when she does, after you’ve both had your fill. She holds you down on him and rubs your clit so you all share an orgasm.

She stands up on trembling legs and tugs you to do the same, even though you really want to just collapse on the floor.

Joel’s moved to the bed when you come out of the bathroom, dozing in the slice of streetlight from the window. Tess is nowhere to be seen. You’re still feeling a little fuzzy and dazed, but you take your cue and slip out of the bedroom to get your things.

“Hey,” Tess’s voice cuts through your haze.

You stop where you stand, bag over one shoulder, leaning against the door with one boot tugged just past the toes.

“Do me a favor? Stay here tonight,” she says.

“What?” Your heart stutters. It’s never been an option before.

“Stay. I know I was harsh on ya. Both of ya.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. Your body betrays you, as always. Fuckin’ narc. Your hands are shaking and it rattles the zipper of your boot like an SOS.

She steps closer and cups your face in one hand.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the warmth of her calloused palm.

“C’mon, sunflower. Let me look out for you. Please.”

“Okay,” you whisper, pressing your lips to her hand.

She pulls you in, and when her lips meet yours, you moan softly. It’s less from your cunt than from your aching chest. She pulls you close, tucking your head to her shoulder, and you snuggle in, arms tucked up around her back.

It ends all too soon.

“Be good and go cuddle up to him, alright? Keep my spot warm,” Tess says, patting your cheek.

You nod, brain fuzzed over with the siren song of sleep.

Joel startles when you slip back into the room.

“Is this okay?” you say.

He blinks up at you with sore eyes and nods, peeling back the duvet for you.

You strip down. No one had said to, but you don’t feel right being clothed when he isn’t.

When you’re pressed against his warm body, he wraps an arm around you, and you sigh in tandem.

When you wake, the room is silent save for the light breaths of your companions. Moonlight refracts off the fresh banks of snow and scatters through the blinds. The city holds its breath and waits for the sun.

You lie as quiet as the streets. At some point, despite her quip about warming her spot, Tess slipped into the bed behind Joel. Her arm is snug around his waist in the way that his is around yours.

The moment is not lost on you. These two predators in symbiosis, lax and peaceful. You’re ever the ensnared dinner guest. Their places here are natural, and you… you’re scared. Scared of the way your heart is fighting to escape its cage and lay itself on their plates.

You either have to let it, or you have to run.

Joel wakes when you try to extract yourself from the bed, but he relaxes his grasp when you whisper something about the bathroom. He kisses the nape of your neck and lets you free. It’s not a lie, really. You do use their bathroom, and then you turn the light off and wait until you think he’s fully asleep again before you slip out.

It’s a longer trek home, what with having to sneak around. You’ve never been out past curfew before, and you really, really do not want to know what lockup is like.

But you don’t see much of FEDRA, and before long, you’re nearly outside your apartment building.

It wasn’t FEDRA you should have been looking out for, though.

next chapter

*title from "Duality" by Bayside

pls feel free to tell me how you feel 😬

#tess x joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel x tess #joel x reader #joel miller x reader x tess servopoulos #tess servopolous x joel miller #joel miller x tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x f!reader #tess servopoulos x you #tess servopoulos x reader #tess x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #fic: ain't no rest for the wicked

139 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 1 year

Text

On the Ropes - Chapter 22 - Imagine_Darksiders - Five Nights at Freddy's [Archive of Our Own]

Sorry this one's a shorter one! Between quitting my job and illustrating a children's book, life has again been getting in the way. BUT! I wanted to get this chapter out now, because I've been invited back to work on a horse ranch in Spain! Leaving tomorrow, so I'll hopefully update the next chapter way sooner. I've already written a lot of it out, but hadn't finished and wanted to get a chapter out since you guys have been so patient with me. Hope you enjoy! <3

#fnaf #security breach #on the ropes #montgomery gator #montgomery gator x reader #sunnydrop #daycare attendant #eclipse #glamrock freddy x reader #glamrock freddy

131 notes · View notes

loveforcarmen · 3 months

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 - CH. 1

- 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 | - 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘰𝘤 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳

NOTE: new chapters will always be posted on wattpad first!

| please let me know your thoughts on this chapter once you finish, thank you!!

MARGARET ADLER'S life had revolved around food since her birth. Her mother owned a small restaurant in Northern California called, Beatrice's Diner. That place was her second home up until her mother's passing.

Shortly after the funeral, her father flipped and sold the land the diner was on, packed everything up and moved back to his home town of Chicago, Illinois with Margaret.

Their new apartment was cold. Empty. It lacked the warmth that her mother provided through her paintings and photographs she had framed around their California home. There was not a family photo around the house. It hurt her father too much to even see his late wife's face.

There was never the pleasant smell of homemade food wafting through the house, just whatever canned items her father picked up along with his 12 pack that would be gone the next morning. Margaret tried her best to master her mother's recipes from her cookbook but always fell short from the lack of ingredients or her father getting drunkenly involved in her cooking process, sabotaging it without meaning to.

Margaret grew up resenting her father.

"God, I hope this is the right address." Margaret muttered as she approached the sign that read "The Original Beef of Chicagoland". The restaurant had clearly been established for a while or was just kept poorly.

Or both.

She pushed the door open, the hinges squealing slightly. The bell above the door rung as she stepped inside. Sydney sat slumped over the register, but perked up at the sound.

"You must be Margaret?" she asked, pointing at her with a pen. Sydney walked around counter to meet Margaret. She wore the standard outfit, a white tee with black slacks paired with a blue apron. She extended her hand out and Margaret took it, giving it a firm shake.

A loud crash came from the kitchen followed by a male voice yelling, "Fuck"

"Um.." Sydney scratched the back of her neck, "Just ignore that. That's Richie." Her pen waved around in her hand as she spoke, "Your application looked great; we're going to show you the ropes today so you can hopefully start tomorrow."

She began to walk to the kitchen and Margaret took this as her que to follow. The kitchen was bustling as everyone was getting ready for the lunch hour rush. It was loud. Exciting.

"We'll just teach you the basics today, like procedures - behind!!" Sydney called out loudly as she walked around a short woman, "That's Tina." she pointed behind her at the woman. "As i was saying, like procedures and stuff." she finished her sentence as they moved away from the kitchen.

They rounded the corner to the 2 rows of lockers in the back. They weren't very big at all, just wide enough to fit a pair of shoes side by side. There was billions of post-its and reminders on the sides of the both lockers.

"Go ahead and pick a locker, doesn't matter." Sydney laughed, "Well it does matter, don't take a locker that's obviously claimed." she smacked her pen repeatedly on her palm.

Margaret winked, "Got it." She picked the locker at the end of the row and set her worn leather coat and beige tote bag on the hooks. She closed it, but the door swung back open. She tried again and got the same result.

Sydney interjected, "Oh that one does that all the time, you just got to.." she lined her foot up with the bottom, giving it a swift kick, "kick it towards the bottom." Margaret looked down and saw the dents from others in the past doing the same.

Sydney continued to show her around the kitchen, telling her tips on how to get the clunky kitchenware to work, advice on what not to do. "I learned that from experience." she would say every once and awhile. She introduced Margaret to the rest of the family, and they all took immediate liking to her despite her being an outsider in their world.

Well everyone but one took an immediate liking to her. Except Carmen Berzatto.

"Carmen," Sydney caught his arm, stopping him, "This is our newest hire, Margaret." Carmen turned back around, irritated. The front of his apron was stained with some type of red sauce, if Margaret had to guess.

Carmen looking at Margaret through the corner of his eye. She was on the smaller side, just below his shoulder. She wore a green, knit top paired with blue denim jeans with 2 red stars on each ass-cheek. Her outfit was completed with her blonde, curly but unkept hair.

"Nice to meet you Margaret," he looked at her with his annoyed expression, then back at Sydney, "Can I go? I got something to take care of."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Sydney spat, clearly ticked off by his rudeness. Once Carmen was seemingly out of earshot, she leaned over to Margaret, "By take of something, he means have a smoke break." she said quietly.

"I heard that!" Carmen called from the front of the store, before opening the door.

Sydney finished up her small tour of the kitchen, which ended near closing time. "You need help cleaning up? I have no where to be." Margaret asked sweetly at the doorway of the restaurant. That was a lie, she had an Al-Anon meeting to attend but if she was late, it wouldn't be the end of the world. She wanted to make a good impression.

Before Sydney could open her mouth, Carmen butted in, "No, we're fine but thank you." he called from the kitchen. She located him and watched him furiously scrub a pan for 5 more seconds.

"Thanks for the offer. Bye Margaret." Sydney waved her off from the kitchen. Margaret waved back and left with the ding of the door.

"What's her deal?" Carmen asked Sydney as he swept. He held the dustpan with his foot, carefully sweeping the floor contents into it.

Sydney stopped sweeping to look at him, "Who? Margaret?" she put a hand on her hip while the other one held the broom.

Carmen had also stopped sweeping, "Yeah." he paused for a beat, trying to gather his thoughts, "She's just too..."

"Sweet?" Sydney finished for him. Carmen nodded his head then went back to sweeping. He bent over to the pick the dustpan up off the ground. Sydney walked closer to him, "What's wrong with that?"

"She won't last in this environment." He set the broom against the wall and tossed the handheld dustpan into a bucket in the corner, "She seems like a pushover."

He walked to his locker and began to pack his things up for the night. Sydney followed his same actions then walked to her locker. "Just give her a chance, you don't even know her." she threw her jacket on, fluffing the hood up.

"I'm usually right about my assumptions." he gave a sarcastic smile as he closed his locker. He leaned against the wall, waiting for a smart-ass response from Sydney.

Sydney zipped her coat up, "Oh really? What was your assumptions about me when we met?"

"Stubborn." He pushed himself up off the wall then headed out of the restaurant, "Bye Syd!"

"Bye." she said grumbled as she flung her pastel scarf over her neck.

Margaret arrived on the steps on the church for the Al-Anon meeting a little bit early. She pulled out her phone, checking the time. 15 minutes early. She opened the doors quietly, peeking her head in. They were just setting up when she got there.

"Margaret!" the group leader greeted her with an embrace. Margaret offered to help set up for tonights meeting and the leader happily accepted. They set up the chairs in a large circle, taking up half of the space they were allowed in the church. The pool of people slowly started to trickle in as the start time was nearing.

The meeting began, people sharing what they needed to get off their chest for that week. As everyone shared, Margaret scanned the group, looking for new and familiar faces. She was almost through the entire group when she stopped on one.

Carmen sat directly across from her.

He had lost the apron but kept the black slacks and white tee, which was covered by a fleece-lined corduroy jacket. She noticed the red sauce from earlier stained near the collar of his shirt.

The 2 made eye contact by accident, causing both looking away quickly. A minute went by before Carmen suddenly grabbed his backpack and stood up to leave.

"Thank you for joining us Carmen!" The group leader called out. Carmen let out a quick "yup", pushing the church doors open and leaving in what seemed like a hurry.

Why did he leave?

Syndey used the slow morning to show Margaret the system they had installed. She was a quick learner, making mental notes throughout the entire training process then eventually put in charge of prepping the vegetables for tomorrow. Sydney was stationed next to her, in case she needed to ask any immediate questions.

"You know what you're doing, you got it." she reassured.

Throughout the morning, she continuously kept making awkward eye contact with Carmen. When 3:30 rolled around, Margaret excused herself to take her break. She walked out the back door, unaware of Carmen's eyes watching her as she left. He noticed her white shirt was too big for her, most likely one of the extra ones from the back.

If they were on speaking terms, he would've ridiculed her.

Margaret sat down on the wooden crates near the door drawing in a deep breath. She rested her head in her hands as memories of her mother played through her head like a movie. Being back in the kitchen like that reminded her all too much the diner. She lifted her head up, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears welling in her eyes, repeatedly smoothing her apron to try and calm herself down. She stood up just as Carmen had walked out to take his smoke break.

"Hey." she greeted him. He swiftly walked past her, mumbling a "hi" back as he pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He flicked it a few times before it finally caught. There was a long beat of silence before Margaret spoke, "Who was it for you?" she asked, one hand on the door. Her question certainly caught Carmen off guard.

He turned around, wanting to confirm what he just heard, "Excuse me?" he took in a long draw of his cigarette as he waited for her to ask the question again. He watched as she delicately tucked a piece of floppy hair behind her ear.

She cleared her throat, "I saw you at the meeting. Who was it for you?" she asked again, but with less confidence.

Carmen shook his head and turned back around, "Can't a man have a fucking cigarette in peace?" he said, blowing the smoke from his lungs. Margaret huffed and went back inside, annoyed by his response.

Once he heard to door shut, he relaxed. Carmen could feel his heart beating faster as memories of his brother ran through his head. He lifted the cigarette to his lips with a shaky hand, taking one last inhale. He flicked the butt on the ground, exhaled and crushed it with the toe of his shoe.

He ran his hand through his hair, breathing deeply and counting down from 10.

"Why is Carmen so complicated?" Margaret asked as she washed her hands. She grabbed the striped towel above her to dry her hands.

Sydney sighed, "That's just Carmy. It's always a guessing game when it comes to his mood."

"Carmy?" she recited as she returned to her station, picking up her knife. She delicately diced the remaining onions on the cutting board, pushing them aside to put away later.

Sydney turned around to stir her boil, "Yeah, Carmy is his nickname. Pretty much everyone uses it. Except Richie. Richie calls him 'Cousin.' I would suggest calling him Carmen for now, I don't think you're at the 'Carmy' level yet." Sydney added, making finger quotations.

Richie's voice cut Margaret off before she could answer, "Margaret, register!" he called from somewhere in the front. Margaret walked to the front, almost bumping into Carmen, who was coming back from in his smoke break.

"Sorry chef." she apologized and kept walking. Carmen just shook his head at her, walking back to his station. He was still ticked off from her question from earlier.

"Who asks a complete stranger that?" he thought to himself, as he took the meat out from the oven. "Fucking ridiculous." he said outloud.

Margaret sped-walked to the front, but Richie stopped her before she reached the register, "Can I call you 'Marge'? It's just that 'Margaret takes too long to say and 'Marge' is just easier, you know?" Richie asked.

"Um yeah, that's fine." she said as she walked over to the register. She turned back to the customer, "Hi, what can I get you?" she greeted him with smile.

"I didn't like my meal, I want a refund for it." he demanded. He was a larger man, both in weight and height.

"Well, you finished the meal sir, we can't give you a refund." she said, starting to grow anxious.

The man slammed his hand down on the counter, "Listen bitch, I asked for a refund so I'm getting my refund."

Margaret felt her nose sting as she looked over at Richie for help. He shook his head and silently encouraged her to figure it out herself. She turned back to the customer, "If you had something to give back to us, we could've given you a refund-" her voice wavered as she was cut off.

"I want my $9 back, fucking now!" he yelled. Richie set down the label maker and walked over to the register.

“Sir, you can’t get a refund. You ate the entire meal.” he stated, clearly annoyed. His italian accent grew thinker with each word.

The man looked at Richie, then Margaret, then back at Richie. He scoffed, "I don't have time for this," and turned around to leave.

Margaret sighed, resting against the counter. "You okay, Margy?" Richie rubbed her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

She looked up at him, brushing her hair out of her face, "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks Richie. But a nickname for my nickname?” They both laughed at that as Richie backed over to whatever project he was working on.

Carmen had watched the whole incident from afar.

"Margaret, a word." he called her back to the kitchen. She excused herself from Richie, then went to follow Carmen to his office. She walked into his office, which seemed like a large closet with shelving. There was piles of manila folders with papers sticking out of them that read "overdue", "rejected", etc.

"Sit down." he motioned to the chair in front of her. He stood against the wall, with his arms crossed. She timidly sat down, not knowing what to expect from him. She picked at her fingernails as she waited for him to finally speak.

"Why'd you get into this buisness?" he finally asked her. He kept his hard stare on her the entire time. She parted her lips to speak but nothing came out. "What was that?" he asked. She cocked her head slightly, not understanding what he was talking about. "At the register." he clarified.

"There was a customer-" she started but was cut off by him. She bit down on her lip to refrain from saying something rude.

Carmen pushed himself off the wall, "You let him walk all over you. Richie had to fucking step in." he said as he walked to the doorway.

"He didn't walk all over me." Margaret disagreed. Her back was turned to him, so she was not able to see his reaction.

He stopped, turning around to look at her, "If you can't hold your own, maybe this isn't the place for you, California." he said. He hit the doorway twice then left, leaving Margaret with her thoughts.

END

AU: so what did we think of the chapter?? like or dislike? i’ll post ch2 in a couple hours on here but it’s already on wattpad @littlesadcowgirl

#carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto headcanons #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto the bear #carmy the bear #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear hulu #carmy x nyc chef #carmy x fem!reader #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fic

21 notes · View notes