#SHE'LL FUCKIN DO IT AGAIN TOO

[dailykugisaki]

Day 250 | id in alt

I like to think that Maki plays the game of "How many weapons does it take to make somebody mad" against Kugisaki and it never works because that girl loves to fight as much as she loves to shop.

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement

Series Masterlist

Words: 8k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Drugging, age gap, coercion, loss of innocence, dub-con, explicit sex, oral (f rec), breeding kink (inferred), HEA

Your stepfather made an ill-advised wager with Arthur Shelby and when he lost the coin toss, you were are to be given to Arthur for the night. And you will be taken tonight. Just not by Arthur...

A/N: I don't know if any of you are fans of Peaky Blinders. The DH started watching it recently and I've watched it with him. My muse grabbed me and this was the result. But I find if I keep her happy, she'll let me work on my other projects so... Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

You shivered in the chilly air, wearing your best dress and wrapped in your heaviest shawl, as you walked along the cobbled street, slick with rain and coal dust. You felt numb, struggling to accept the situation you found yourself in through no fault of your own. 

One one side of you John Shelby walked with his usual restless energy, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. Though younger than the others, he had a sharpness in his eyes, a tension in his jaw that betrayed the weight of the world he’d been forced to carry. His hair was slightly disheveled, his cap pulled low over his forehead, casting a shadow that makes him look harder than his years. The dim gas light flickered across his face, highlighting a faint bruise on his cheekbone—evidence of a recent scrap, though nothing too serious by Shelby standards.

On the other side, Liam Murphy, one of the Peaky Blinders’ trusted men, walked along. Taller and broader than John, he carried himself with the calm confidence of someone who knows he can handle whatever comes next. His dark eyes scan the area as they reach the destination, ever-watchful. His fingers tapping idly against the handle of the revolver holstered beneath his coat. Dressed in the same razor-brimmed flat cap and three-piece suit as the rest of the gang, Liam looked every bit the part of a man who’s bled for the Shelbys and would do so again without hesitation. The faint trace of whiskey lingers on his breath, but his movements are steady, his focus razor-sharp.

Around them, the air hums with unspoken tension. John’s energy crackles like a struck match, eager, impatient. His gaze landed on you and he cracked a smile. "Look at you. You look like a fuckin' lamb going to slaughter."

Yes, were scared to death. But you lifted your chin, holding his gaze. "Wouldn't you?"

Both of them burst into laughter at that as they stopped in front of the apartment, the agreed meeting place. 

"Yeah," John said. "Can't say I'd want to fuck Arthur either."

The reminder of why you were here was too pointed, too impersonal. You glanced around Small Heath, the neighborhood the Shelbys dominated here in Birmingham. It was a rough area, a working-class district, thick with the grime of industry and the weight of hardship. The narrow, soot-stained brick houses huddled together as if bracing against the cold, damp air rolling in from the factories. The sharp scent of iron and smoke from nearby foundries clung to the wind like an ever-present warning.

Gas lamps cast flickering pools of light, their glow struggling against the heavy smog that lingered in the alleyways. The sounds of the city never truly died—somewhere in the distance, a train whistle howls through the night, blending with the rattle of carts, the distant shouts of drunken men spilling from the back doors of a pub, and the occasional bark of a stray dog scavenging for scraps.

When the door opened, your heart lurched in your chest to see Arthur Shelby standing there in the dim light, a shadow of the man he once was—wild-eyed, disheveled, and teetering on the edge of something dangerous. His waistcoat is unbuttoned, his once-crisp white shirt now rumpled and stained with whiskey and the sweat of a man who'd been drinking too long and thinking too hard. His tie hung loose around his neck, the knot twisted and undone, as if he tried and failed to make himself presentable before giving up entirely.

His hair, usually slicked back with care, was in disarray, tufts sticking up where he’d raked his fingers through it in frustration. His face was a map of old scars and fresh exhaustion, his beard uneven, the shadow of stubble catching the flickering light. His knuckles were raw, split from a recent fight—maybe a brawl at The Garrison, maybe something worse.

His eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, burned with the remnants of rage and sorrow, that familiar fire barely held at bay. His breath reeked of whiskey and smoke, and when he exhaled, it was slow, heavy, as if the weight of the world pressed down on his chest. When he saw you, his eyes lit up in surprise as if his mind just pushed the memory of why you were there through the haze of his enebriation. 

"Come in," he said after studying you for a moment.

What else could you do? 

Dropping your head, trying to keep your desperation and fury at bay, you walked quickly by him and into the apartment. 

When John and Liam tried to push their way in, Arthur smashed a fist into Liam's face. The crunching sound made you think Arthur broke his nose. "What the fuck?" Liam yelled. "Aren't we supposed to be witnesses?"

The question sent a spike of fear through your heart.

"The hell you are!" Arthur raged at them. "Now get out before I knock some teeth out, you fuckin' bastards."

With that, he slammed the door hard and locked it for good measure. 

Inside the small apartment, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood, old tobacco, and the faint traces of stew long gone cold. The walls were thin, covered in peeling wallpaper that was once floral but now curls at the edges, stained by years of cigarette smoke and candlelight. The floorboards creaked under the weight of every movement, betraying any attempt at stealth. Outside, heavy boots scuff against the cobblestones, stopping and starting, keeping you on edge.

The only light inside came from a low-burning candle near the window, its feeble glow barely touching the dark corners of the room. A single iron-framed bed sits against one wall, its mattress lumpy and worn. A wooden table stands near the hearth, cluttered with an empty bottle, a playing card bent at the edges, and a knife someone left behind—perhaps a warning, perhaps a promise.

The Peaky Blinders owned these streets, and yet, danger lurks in the shadows, even for them. Every knock at the door could be salvation—or the end. This is where you were born.

You stood in the small space and waited. You had no intention to make this easy for anyone. Particularly when it wasn't fair at all how you came to be here.

Arthur swayed slightly, adjusting his stance, his grip tightening on the half-empty bottle he lifted from the small table by the window. At least the curtains there were closed. There was an eerie stillness in him, the kind that only comes before a storm. He wiped a hand down his face, inhaling sharply, trying to steady himself, but the chaos inside him is still bubbling, waiting for the right moment to spill over.

"Look," Arthur said, "I'm truly sorry for this situation. It's nothing personal towards you, you know. It was your father and the coin toss. He--"

"Stepfather," you corrected him. Your father had been a decent man who didn't make it back from the war. Your mother had married Sean O'Grady out of necessity, to keep you and your younger brother fed. Your stepfather was as bad as your father had apparently been good.

"Whatever," Arthur said. "He lost the coin toss and the coin is sacred to us. He promised me a turn with you if he lost."

Something like shame flashed in his eyes as he looked you over. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking. You were inexperienced with men. Your brother had started working at the factory at a young age but you stayed home and helped with the garden, with the sewing. Your mother took in work as a seamstress here and there and that's how the Shelbys came into your life to begin with. Arthur started it, coming by to have a couple of shirts repaired, stains removed. He'd been intimidating enough but he wasn't the one who scared you the most.

Tommy Shelby.

His name alone carried weight, pressing down on your chest like an iron shackle. He was the kind of man stories are whispered about in dark corners, the kind of man who steps into a room and bends the air around him. He never needed to raise his voice to command obedience, nor did he need to lift a hand to make someone afraid. His power was in the silence, in the way his glacier-blue eyes stripped a person down to their bones, exposing every weakness, every lie, every desperate plea before it ever leaves their lips.

You'd seen men stronger than you shrink beneath his gaze, their bravado crumbling under the quiet calculation that lurks behind those cold, unreadable eyes. There was no excess in his movements, no wasted gestures. He was precise, measured, a man who played chess while everyone else is swinging fists. And yet, beneath the tailored suit and composed expression, there lurked something even more dangerous—something hollow and broken, something that made him unpredictable.

He didn't look like a man who enjoyed violence. That would make him easier to understand. No, Tommy Shelby wore it like a necessary burden, a tool in his arsenal, wielding it with the same detached efficiency as he did his words. That detachment terrified you the most. Because men who enjoy hurting others can be manipulated, can be fed their own hunger until they slip. But a man like Tommy—one who kills without joy, without hesitation, without remorse—he was a different kind of monster entirely.

Arthur drank straight from the bottle, the amber liquid splashing inside it. His eyes never left you and now you were shaking. You knew your stepfather wanted you married off and gone from his house, but he felt like this was the way to do it? Or was this punishment because you hadn't made that happen?

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, slurring his words. "Come over here."

"And do what?" you had to ask. "I don't know... how..."

His eyebrows shot up at that. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

You shook your head. Waves of shame and anger rushed through you to be in this situation. You were untried and terrified. He was drunk and seemed at a loss as to how to handle this situation. After a moment, he set the bottle back on the table and marched towards you, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you in place for his kiss. Just like that.

Instinct had you fighting him. His kiss was sloppy and wet, the liquor on his breath heavy, making you feel a little sick. He was easily twice your size and it was nothing for him to drag you in the direction of the bed. When your back met the mattress, you closed your eyes in acquiescence. You just wanted it over with so you could go back home, soiled goods thanks to your stepfather's poor judgment. But you'd live to fight another day. At least you hoped you would.

Arthur's weight dropped onto you on the bed, but after a moment, you realized he wasn't moving. When he snored by your ear, it was all you could do not to burst into tears. Did this mean you'd have to wait for him to sober up? Would this torment be rescheduled? You didn't think you could take that.

You didn't know what to do. Carefully, you managed to roll him off you and onto his side. He didn't wake or even move as you managed to get off the bed. Hope had your heart swelling in your chest. Could you make it out of this apartment then? You could claim that the deed was done and he passed out after. You could declare it done, right?

Rushing to the window, you moved the curtain just enough to see the street and it didn't look like anyone was outside the door now. Could you make it out? If you moved fast enough? 

With your heart flying in your chest, you unlocked the door and pulled it open, dashing out onto the street and sending up every prayer that you'd ever said that you could just make it home. 

You collided with someone hard. You were shaking as his hands came up to steady you, keep you from falling. An apology was on your tonque as you glanced up to see who blocked you.

It was him.

Tommy Shelby was the one who had you, his figure a sharp silhouette against the darkness. A beat after he released you, a match flares to life, momentarily illuminating the angular planes of his face—the high cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the cigarette resting between his fingers. The glow flickers out as he exhales, smoke curling around him like a specter, and in that brief moment, his icy blue eyes locked onto yours.

He didn’t look surprised.

No anger. No raised voice. Just that cold, assessing gaze—as if he had already predicted this, as if he knew you would run before even you did. A slow inhale. A subtle shift of his stance. The barest tilt of his head, like a wolf considering a cornered rabbit.

You expect fury, maybe even threats, but what terrifies you most is the patience in his expression. Calculated. Absolute. Unshaken.

“Going somewhere?” His voice is soft, measured, all the more dangerous for its calmness.

You want to run, but your legs refuse to move. The street around you seemed empty, swallowed in shadow. But you know—he's never truly alone. Somewhere, in the darkened alleys, his men are watching. Waiting.

Tommy takes one step forward, slow and deliberate.

“You should know,” he murmured, flicking his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his polished boot, “I don’t like having to come after people.” The weight of his words coiled around you, squeezing the air from your lungs.

Hooking your thumb in the direction of the apartment, and it was trembling, you said, "He's d-done."

That cool gaze moved over you, up and down, and his gaze returned to yours. "Not with you. Arthur loves the ladies but I've never seen him move that fast."

You hadn't thought of that. 

"Did he pass out?" he asked quietly.

Tears stung the backs of your eyes and you nodded. It wouldn't do any good to lie to him. "What happens now?" you asked, cringing under that cold gaze. 

"There's still an arrangement," Tommy reminded you. "And it has to be honored."

You glanced back over your shoulder at the door wondering what he meant by that. Would you wait for Arthur to wake up? Come back another day when he was sober?

Rough fingers at your chin turned your face back to him, and you shrank away from that unfamiliar touch. When your attention was returned to him, he grabbed your upper arm and started walking, almost dragging you up the street at first. What was he going to do? Where was he taking you?

Men were walking not too far behind you now, his men. They stayed behind the two of you until Tommy abruptly turned a corner, heading up a short flight of steps. Leading you into another apartment.

The new apartment was different—cleaner, quiet and cold. A stark contrast to the cramped, smoke-choked rooms you just fled from. The walls are smooth, freshly painted in an off-white shade that seems almost too pristine for a place in Small Heath. There’s no peeling wallpaper, no damp smell clinging to the wooden floorboards. Instead, there’s the faint scent of tobacco and whiskey, mingling with the lingering traces of fresh linen and polish—evidence that someone actually cares for this space.

The furniture is sparse but elegant in a way that doesn’t fit the rough streets outside. A solid oak table sits near the window, a glass decanter of amber liquid resting on top, two crystal tumblers beside it. A plush armchair, its deep leather cracked at the seams, faces the fireplace where faint embers glow, casting flickering shadows against the walls. A bottle of Scotch, half-empty, stands on the mantel as if waiting for its owner’s return.

Against one wall, a proper bed. Not a cot, not a lumpy mattress stuffed into the corner, but a well-made bed with crisp white sheets and a thick wool blanket folded at the foot. A luxury in this part of Birmingham. A reminder that this isn’t a prison. But it’s still his space. His territory. And now, you're trapped inside it.

The gas lamps flickered, their glow reflecting off the dark glass of the window. Outside, Small Heath moved on—voices drifting through the night, a horse’s hooves clattering in the distance, the faint murmur of a pub emptying out. But in here, the world feels still, heavy with unspoken rules and the weight of Tommy Shelby’s presence.

His men have left by now, their boots retreating down the hallway, leaving you alone with him. The door clicks shut.

A moment of silence.

“You’ll be more comfortable here,” he says, his voice as controlled as ever, but there’s no mistaking the finality in his words. This isn’t a courtesy. It’s an arrangement.

You didn't understand why you were here. Was he going to keep an eye on you until his brother slept it off? Or would he expect you to stay here until the deed could be done?

With practiced ease, he hung up his cap and shrugged out his dusty black coat, hanging it up. Then, the soft sound of a match striking as Tommy lights another cigarette, his gaze unreadable as he exhales a slow stream of smoke. Grabbing the Scotch and tumblers from his mantel, he moving to the table at the window, filling the crystal glasses and motioning you over. 

"Have one," he said. 

He wanted you to drink? You'd never drank spirits in your life. You must have stared at the glass like a snake about to bite you.

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette. "Since my brother is unable to do the honors," he said, "we'll finish the arrangement here and now. Drink it. It will make it easier."

Panic threatened to overtake you. What? Arthur Shelby passed out drunk so now you were expected to fuck Tommy Shelby?

Not doing as he said seemed terrifying, so you reached for the tumbler meant for you with a shaking hand. Bringing it to your lips for a sip, you almost coughed. The drink was smooth but potent. It burned like fire all the way down to your stomach. 

"Sit down," he said, using his foot to push one of the two chairs at the table back for you. You did as he wanted, taking another drink of whiskey. You felt the weight of those ice-blue eyes on you as you stiffly took a seat. "You ever been with a man?"

The man could just talk about something so personal like it was nothing more than business. It was a lot more than that to you. It took a moment for you to work up the courage to meet his gaze now, but you made yourself do it. You may have been trapped in this situation but you had to remember that you personally had done nothing wrong. 

“No,” was all you said. “Never drank either. Until now.”

Tommy tilted his head slightly, still studying you, the faint glow of his cigarette illuminating the sharp angles of his face. “Your stepfather isn’t a smart man.”

“Or a kind one,” you murmured, the words bitter on your tongue.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, effortless yet edged with something unreadable. “That why he offered you up?” His voice was calm, almost casual, but his gaze never wavered. “Strict with you, was he? That why you haven’t got any experience?”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around the tumbler in your hands. “No. He just wants me gone.”

Tommy hummed in answer. The room feels smaller with him in it. The air is thick with the smoky bite of liquor and tobacco, the soft glow of the gas lamp casting shadows across his sharp features. Tommy took the chair across from you, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, the other resting on his thigh, fingers curled loosely around a half-filled tumbler. He hasn’t spoken for a couple of moments, and yet his silence is as oppressive as a threat.

He studies you, slow and deliberate, his ice-blue gaze dragging over you like a weight you can’t shake off. Not leering. Not curious. Calculating. Like he’s unraveling you in his mind, peeling back the layers of fear, of defiance, of whatever fragile armor you've built to protect yourself. He sees through you. And he enjoys it.

The cigarette smolders between his fingers, the red ember glowing each time he takes a slow, unhurried drag. He exhales through his nose, the smoke curling like ghostly fingers in the space between them, thick, intimate, suffocating. He’s not trying to scare you. He doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough.

And yet… he is devastating.

The angles of his face, chiseled and unyielding, should make him look harsh, unappealing, but they don’t. His dark lashes, too long for a man, cast shadows over his cheekbones as he watches you, the corner of his mouth curling around the cigarette in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but is. The controlled power in the way he moves, the effortless confidence—it draws you in even as you will yourself to stay afraid.

He lifts his glass, taking a slow sip of Scotch, the tendons in his forearm flexing beneath the crisp sleeve of his shirt. When he sets it down, the clink of crystal against wood echoes too loud in the quiet.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low, even, dangerous.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, tapping ash from his cigarette, “and I’ll start thinking you’ve forgotten why you’re here.”

It’s a warning, a challenge.

And God help you, it’s both terrifying and intoxicating. You take another sip of from your glass, welcoming the burn and the warmth. You'd been unable to really eat today given what was going to happen. Your entire life would change after tonight. The alcohol went straight to your head, taking the edge off of your fear. Not enough but it was better than nothing.

"If the... arrangement is settled, here and now, then I'm done?" you had to ask. "Arthur..."

Tommy takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a ribbon of smoke that curls lazily between you. His blue eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and unreadable, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to look away. He lifts his glass, takes a sip, then sets it down with an almost deliberate slowness.

Then, in that same calm, cutting voice, he asks, “Would you prefer Arthur?”

The question lands like a blow.

Your fingers tightened around the tumbler, the burn of alcohol lingering in your throat, but you can’t find your voice. Prefer Arthur? Tommy says it so easily, like the answer doesn’t matter to him either way, like it’s nothing more than an idle curiosity. But the way he watches you now—eyes half-lidded, cigarette balanced between his fingers—you know it’s not.

Your pulse quickens. Arthur is rougher. Louder. More reckless. But Tommy… Tommy is something else entirely. Colder. Calculating. Inevitable.

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No.”

Tommy doesn’t react, not right away. He just studies you for another long, unbearable moment before flicking the ash from his cigarette and smashing out in a small tray. “Good.”

You don’t ask why. Something tells you you don’t want to know.

Your heart pounds as he drains his tumbler in one slow pull, then rises from the chair with a grace that feels almost too controlled. His movements are smooth, deliberate—never hurried, never uncertain. Without a word, he reaches for your glass. Carefully, but firmly, he takes it from your hands and sets it on the table. Then, he offers his hand.

Your pulse spikes. A silent command. A choice that isn’t really a choice. Despite the tension tightening in your chest, you take it. His fingers closed around yours—not rough, not gentle, just steady. He pulls you effortlessly to your feet, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin, grounding you even as your nerves coil tighter.

It’s only a few steps to the bed, but the space between felt heavily charged. Tommy sits at the edge, his grip still firm around your hand. Then, he glances up at you, those piercing blue eyes pinning you in place. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words, the weight of the moment pressing down on your skin. And still—he doesn't let go.

Tommy’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand, almost absentmindedly, as he studied you with that same quiet intensity that makes your breath catch. His gaze flickers over your face, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail—the way your lips part slightly, the way your pulse jumped at your throat.

Then, in that smooth, low voice that sends a shiver down your spine, he murmurs, “Pretty thing, aren’t you?”

It isn’t a question. It’s an observation. A fact.

Your stomach tightens. There’s no warmth in his tone, no flirtation, just a simple acknowledgment, spoken like he’s already decided exactly what to do with you. Like he owns the moment, owns you. His fingers tighten, just for a beat, before his grip loosens again. And for the first time, you realize—it’s not just fear that’s making your heart race.

You weren’t prepared for the way his other hand slips behind your neck, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to send a shiver down your spine. No hesitation. No uncertainty. He pulls you toward him with quiet intent, as if he’s already decided how this will go—as if there was never a question.

The only time a man had ever kissed you was Arthur’s sloppy, whiskey-soaked attempt in the other apartment. But this—this is something else entirely.

There’s no drunken sway, no careless fumbling. Tommy moves with purpose, with the same measured control he applies to everything he does. And that’s what makes it dangerous. When his lips touched yours, it was a whisper of a kiss at first. There was no overpowering smell of spirits, just the faint scent of tobacco, of him. As his lips moved against yours, firmer and seeking, you tried to mimic him, afraid not to do something. You must have done something right. He increased the pressure at the back of your neck to pull you closer, and your hands landed on his shoulders, crisp linen covering tight muscle under your palms. When he deepened the kiss, you let him, and the slide of his tongue against yours gave him a deep taste of you. His deep moan surprised you, and you felt that subtle sound all through your body as he continued to kiss you breathless.

It was easy for him to pull you onto the bed and roll you under him, breathless as you were. When his mouth claimed yours again, his kiss was more demanding, and his hands were everywhere. Tommy managed to pull the shawl free of you without breaking the kiss, his hands then sliding down to work the worn leather Mary Janes you wore off your feet, tossing them off the side of the bed. One hand grabbed your ankle before sliding up your leg, up to cover the globe of your ass and panic had you jerking in his hold. 

Tommy pulled back to look you in the eye, his face flushed in his excitement and quiet intent. There was a wildness in his eyes—untamed, dangerous, something raw and unchecked. You doubted many had ever seen it, and for good reason. It wasn’t meant to be witnessed. His gaze searched yours, piercing, relentless, and you trembled in his arms, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of it.

"I'm going to have you," he said breathlessly, his weight pinning your body to the bed. Grinding himself into your tummy, the hard, heated length of him was unmistakable, even with both of you clothed. His eyes darkened in sheer determination and his hold on you tightened. "You understand?"

You nodded quickly. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

Sliding his hand roughly up your body, he smoothed his hand over you cheek, his gaze never leaving you. Tommy kept watching you as that hand moved back down to pluck at the buttons of your blouse and his nimble fingers made quick work of it. Impatiently, his hands pulled the garment free of your skirt before undoing the buttons of your camisole beneath. You couldn't stop trembling as he undid the last barrier and peeled it back to reveal your upper body to him.

His gaze was sharp, moving over your breasts with growing impatience, hunger. With a delicacy you wouldn't have believed him capable of, his fingers traced over your collar bone, over the tiny gold cross pendant of your necklace. He trailed a finger over your skin, across to one breast, using that digit to tease your nipple to a tight peak with a gentle circular touch. When his heated gaze returned to yours, he filled his hand with your breast, squeezing firmly but not enough to hurt. Tommy began kissing you again, heated and greedy now, with his hand teasing your breast before sliding down your body and beneath your skirt. As if he knew you were about to start fighting him again, he broke the kiss to cover your breast, teasing it with his lips and tongue as his hand slid under your skirt, into your underwear. Sensation overwhelmed you, need battling fear, and your hands clutched in the bedding beneath you as his fingers teased your private flesh, the light pressure drawing sensations from your body that you'd never experienced. 

"You can touch me," he muttered around your nipple. It felt like a command. Your hands shook as they slid up to him, instinctively moving to his head. The glossy black locks of his short hair slid between your fingers as he continued to tease you relentlessly, burning you down with his mouth and hands. 

Chills and pulses of unexpected pleasure had you writhing feverishly beneath him as his tongue smoothed over your aching nipple and his fingers danced in the wet folds between your legs. Your breath sucked in when he touched your pearl, and he lifted his head to savor your reaction. Whatever he was doing with his fingers, all you knew was that it would soon drive you insane, continued, but he didn't give you the speed or pressure you wanted. The touch was fleeting, maddening. Your fingers clutched in his hair as he continued to delicately torture you, your legs clamped around his hand because you couldn't help it in your need. And it didn't slow his efforts at all. 

When his touch stopped, you whined, an unfamiliar sound to you. In a frenzy of movement, Tommy unzipped your skirt and roughly yanked it off along with your underwear, your stockings. He wasn't satisfied until you were stripped bare beneath him, all of you trembling under the intensity of his stare. As he sat there next to you, taking every inch of you in, his fingers went to work with haste, undoing his tie, stripping off his waistcoat. His fingers flew at undoing the buttons of his own shirt which he pulled free of his trousers but didn't remove it. 

Tommy shifted down the bed and moved to throw one of your legs over his shoulder so fast, you didn't have time to react. And by the time you did, he'd buried his face between your thighs. The flames of humiliation only burned you for a few seconds. The man's mouth covered your sex, his tongue a wicked torment that was unfamiliar and almost too much to bear. One of his hands worked to keep your folds open, your curls out of his way, as he kissed your pussy as he had your mouth. The other slid up over your tummy with pressure, holding you in place for his assault on your senses.

You accepted it but your entire body was shaking, shivering and it was impossible to stay still. Your back arched and you would have been horrified to realize that you were pushing yourself towards him, towards his mouth, wanting more, if you hadn't been so lost in the storm of sensation. What he was doing didn't make the fever better, it made it worse. It felt like fire running through your veins with raw need pooling low in your belly. When he slid a finger back to your pearl as he continued to work you with his mouth, you gasped. When his movements sped up, when his tongued traced your opening, you screamed long and loud. A wave of pure pleasure swept over you and he didn't stop what he was doing the entire time, dragging it out until you violently shook beneath him, crying and moaning as your body shivered and eased. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he moved up the bed toward you, his hands working the fine leather belt at the front of his trousers. He wore nothing beneath and the sight of his cock, angry red and larger than you expected, filled your vision as you watched him take himself in hand, working himself as his gaze roamed over you. Tommy shifted, one of his knees pushing yours apart. You let him, watching him drape himself over you. There was something obscene about the way he stripped you naked but was still mostly clothed himself. 

He surprised you by stopping then, a hand smoothing over your hair and face with care. You sensed he was holding back, respecting your inexperience. You knew it meant nothing to him but he realized it meant something for you, and your heart squeezed in your chest at the gesture. 

"It's going to hurt," he said, whispering against your lips. "Not for long. Hang onto me."

You did what he said, but slid your hands beneath his shirt, running your hands over the muscular plane of his damp back. Your fingers found scars, a lot of them, but it gave you a distraction from the way he lined himself up with your entrance, the smooth head of him pressing into you insistently. It felt better to bring your legs up, your knees hovering around his hips. You held your breath as the pressure built, and the intrusion of him pushed further into your body. When he met that fleshy barrier inside you that proved your claim, Tommy surged through it, and the pain was searing. It took your breath away, had tears stinging your eyes as he completely filled you. Your tender walls quivered around him, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar length of him.

With the pad of his thumb, he caught a tear, brushing it away with a touch that was almost too careful for a man like him. Then, without a word, he lowered his head, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was soft, deliberate—unexpectedly tender. No force. No urgency. Just a slow, measured touch, as if, for once, Tommy Shelby was in no hurry to take what he wanted. He held still inside you, allowing you to adjust. Lost in the dizzying mix of pain and pleasure from his kisses, you found yourself clinging to the unexpected gentleness in his touch. A contradiction. A quiet mercy. Something you never would have expected from a man like him.

But the arrangement wasn’t over. Not until he decided it was. Not until he was finished.

Slowly, he started moving inside you and it stung like fire as he thrust in and out of you. You knew you were wincing, but you'd be damned if you'd complain now. You wanted to be brave, feeling like you'd earn his respect if you were. And as he pushed in and out of you, the pain lessened and dulled, easing to be replaced with more of the sensations from before. The good ones. Before long your thighs were clamped around his hips as he plunged into you again and again. Hot, reckless kisses dropped over your face and breasts as he fucked you. Your arms and legs were wrapped around him but it was more than that. You weren't just lying there and thinking of England as you'd been advised by your mother and aunts. You were riding waves of unexpected pleasure, soaring to those heights again. Your hands became claws at his back, your nails carving into his skin. Your thighs tightened around his hips as you moved with him, wanting more, craving more.

His lips blazed a path to the sensitive skin of your throat, peppering your skin with kisses and swipes of his tongue as he rode you harder. The drive of him inside of you, his hands on your breasts, fingers teasing your pearl, drove you mad. You started begging him, pleading for release from the intense experience he was drowning you in.

"Please," you chanted.

His actions pushed you higher until, with your heart racing in your chest, until he sent you flying again. Your cries and screams filled the room as the man literally destroyed you. 

Tommy drove on above you and you knew he was now chasing his own end and you still held him. But it also occured to you in that moment that there was no birth control being used here, no condom or anything. You tried to steady your breathing, pushing down the rising panic. Surely, a man like Tommy Shelby wouldn’t want a bastard running around—wouldn’t leave something like that to chance. Tommy was many things—ruthless, dangerous, unreadable. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had more honor than that.

 As his movements sped up, his thrusts just shy of painful, you tensed, hoping he was going to pull out of you when his time came so there'd be no worry about a baby. Above you his eyes were closed, his mouth slack. The beauty of him in that moment made you pause as he came. When you jerked beneath him, his hands collared your wrists and pushed them into the bed on either side of your head. Holding you there, he pumped himself into you growling as he did, thrust after thrust. Truthfully, you didn't have it in you to try and stop him. As if you even could.

Maybe it wouldn't take. You tried to shove that worry to the back of your mind, not even wanting to think about that right now.

He'd collapsed onto you, but his weight wasn't too much as his breathing rushed with yours. Running your fingers through his hair, you tried to stay calm. Your mind couldn't help jumping ahead.

Now that the deed was done, you'd be sent back home. Everyone in Small Heath knew you'd been won in an ill-advised bet. Would other men consider you an easy mark? You couldn't count on your stepfather to protect you. 

Tommy pulled himself free from you and it stung. He stretched out next to you on the bed, his finger tracing the curve of your breast. He watched you in that way of his—sharp and knowing. His gaze settled on you, unreadable yet unrelenting. Then, in that low, measured voice, he asks, “What are you thinking so hard about?”

It’s not just a question. It’s a test. Like he can already see the storm rising behind your eyes, the panic tightening in your chest as you grapple with the future he’s tangled you in.

You open your mouth, then close it. Because what do you even say to him? But he doesn’t look away. He waits. And somehow, that’s even worse. At the end of the day, only the arrangement mattered. His family’s honor was intact, the deal upheld—that was all that concerned him. Whatever you felt, whatever came next for you, wouldn’t change a thing. Tommy wasn’t the kind of man to concern himself with your plight. You knew that. It was better not to mention it at all.

So instead, you took the coward’s way out.

“Can I go home now?” The words left your lips, but somehow, they didn’t sound like a plea. More like a quiet resignation.

Was that reluctance you saw in his face? Just for a flicker of a moment—something unreadable, something hesitant beneath the mask of indifference.

Tommy considers your question, his expression giving nothing away. But he studies you, weighing something. You can’t tell what. And that’s the most unsettling part.

With a deep sigh, he finally says, "You can."

As you start to sit up, you watch him search through your clothing on the bed, finding your simple underwear. You watch in stunned silenced as he carefully takes them and dips them between your legs, staining the white garment with your blood. When you instinctively reach for them—alarmed by the sight of your own blood, mortified by what he’s just done—Tommy’s eyes snap to yours, sharp and unyielding. Before you can touch them, he moves them out of reach, his grip firm, his expression leaving no room for argument.

“I’m keeping these.” The finality in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. Like a claim. Like a promise.

Why?

You were shaking as you watched him dress, dressing yourself as quickly as you could with shaking limbs. It was over now, right? Was your underwear stained with your blood proof that the arrangement was met? You were bleeding and he was keeping your undergarment. It was distressing. He must have noticed. Without a word, he stepped to a cabinet drawer and pulled out a clean, white towel, tossing it onto your lap.

"Clean yourself up," he said, already pulling on his coat and adjusting his cap with practiced ease. Then, just as effortlessly, "I'll be back to take you home."

And with that, he was gone.

You sat there, staring at the door he’d just disappeared through, the towel limp in your hands.

Tommy Shelby was taking you home.

A short, breathless laugh escaped before you could stop it. That would scare the shit out of your stepfather. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss you.

Or maybe—it wouldn’t matter at all. You didn't know what the future held for you or what impact this night would have on it.

***

Tommy’s grip tightened on the wheel, his jaw set in that familiar, unreadable line. The road stretched dark and empty ahead of him, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. He didn’t glance her way—didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of her presence beside him, could hear the way she shifted slightly in her seat, the tension rolling off her in waves.

This was necessary. That’s what he told himself. A loose end tied up, an arrangement upheld.

When he pulled up to Watery Lane, the headlights cut through the mist curling over the cobbled drive, illuminating the towering structure of Arrow House. The place had never really felt like home, but it served its purpose—just like everything in his world.

He killed the engine and stepped out first, running as he rounded the car and opened the door for her. She hesitated, just for a moment, then followed without a word. He could almost see the question in her mind. Why am I here?

Because he wanted her here. He wanted her. Tonight merely sealed her fate.

Inside, the house was dimly lit, the scent of wood smoke and aged whiskey lingering in the air. Tommy didn’t break stride, already pulling off his gloves as he spotted Polly standing at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, dark eyes sharp as they flicked between him and her.

“Take her up,” he said simply, voice low and clipped. “My room. Find her something to sleep in.”

Polly didn’t move right away. Instead, she gave him a look—one of those looks. The kind that didn’t need words, the kind only Polly could give.

It was half question, half judgment. What’s this, then?

Tommy exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before muttering, “Not now, Pol.”

With a slow shake of her head, she turned to his girl, her expression softening slightly as she gestured for her to follow.

Tommy watched for a second longer, then turned on his heel, heading straight for the whiskey decanter. He'd knock back a couple then he'd join her in sleep.

***

The house was quiet early the next morning, but Polly was already up. Tommy found her in the sitting room, a cigarette between her fingers, an untouched cup of tea going cold on the table beside her. The morning light filtered weakly through the windows, casting a dull glow over the room.

She didn’t look at him right away, just took a slow drag, exhaling through her nose before finally speaking. “That the girl Arthur won in the coin toss?”

Tommy poured himself a drink, even though it was too early for one. He took his time before answering. “It is.”

Polly’s gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing. “So why is she upstairs, in your room, and not with him? Or home with her family?”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately. Just swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught in it. He didn't feel the need to explain himself.

But Polly wasn’t stupid. Her eyes narrowed slightly, putting the pieces together faster than most ever could. She leaned back in her chair, cigarette poised between her fingers, a slow smirk curving her lips. “You wanted her.” It wasn’t a question.

Tommy took a sip of his whiskey. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. But Polly was already seeing through him, like she always did.

“You let Arthur think it was his idea.” Her voice was quieter now. “Tricked her stepfather into wagering her. Then drugged Arthur when the time came to claim her. You waited, knowing she’d panic, knowing she’d run. And who was there, ready to catch her?” She let the silence hang for a beat before answering her own question. “You.”

Tommy tilted his head, nonchalant, unreadable. He took another slow sip of whiskey before finally meeting Polly’s gaze.

She sighed, shaking her head as if tired of playing this game with him. “What are your intentions, Thomas?”

Another pause. He could lie. He could deflect. But Polly wouldn’t believe him, and they both knew it.

So instead, he took another drag of his cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and simply said—“She’s mine.”

Polly let out a breath, long and slow, before muttering, “Jesus Christ, Tommy.”

Tommy had already made his decision.

Arthur would know soon enough. There’d be no shouting, no drunken outburst—just the facts, laid out cleanly, irrefutably. Tommy would hand over proof that the arrangement had been upheld, that the wager had been honored in the way that mattered. It would be enough to keep Arthur from questioning him, enough to silence any complaints before they started.

As for the girl’s stepfather? He would be a cautionary tale. A reminder of what happened when someone gambled with the Shelbys and lost. When a debt was called, when something was taken and then never seen again. Her sudden disappearance—her absence—would be enough to send a whisper of fear through Small Heath, a warning to any fool who might ever think to challenge them again.

And in time, when the dust settled, when the moment was right—he would marry her. Not because of obligation. Not because of the arrangement.

Because she was now his.

[madewithsilk]

dealer!ellie with bimbo!reader 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that’s usually so sweet to you, treating you like a delicate princess who can't do anything by herself. She'll practically mansplain things to you, and when your head can't fathom anything, she'll simply chuckle and do it for you. That's how she likes it, keeping you dumb and dependent most of the time.

"What's wrong, ma', can't roll it right?" She chuckles, watching you struggle and try to roll a joint for her. She places her hands right over you, guiding yet watching you still miserably fail. "Jus' don' worry about it, lean back, 'kay?" Your little dumb nods fuel her even more.

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that likes keeping you high and floaty constantly to make you easier to deal with. There's very few times she'd prefer you at full force. Whether it be on a weekend that you're constantly nagging her or a day you're acting up and she wants you to be apologetic, she'll coerce you into finishing a whole joint by yourself.

“Yeah, mama? Feeling all nice n’ airy?” She whispers, kissing down your neck. Your eyes flutter, half-lidded and staring at Ellie. All that leaves your lips is mumbles and a nod. "Y-yea," Ellie simply chuckles, "Yeah, baby? Jus’ spread your legs a little wider for me?” Having you high and unaware is such easy access.

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that fucks you even more senseless than you already are. Strip you without any heads up, ram her strap into you, and give you a persistent pace to deal with. Or maybe she'll bend you over the counter when you're making something for her, eating you out from the back. It's slightly humiliating to be just a fuck toy for free use, but you're too dumb to even process that.

“Only good for taking my dick, huh, ma’?” She whispers, her fingers curling into your g-spot over and over again nonstop. You babble, manicured fingernails digging into her bicep, jaw going slack, little "uhn, ngh, fuckkk,"s leave your lips. Her words are always condescending with a bit of praise mixed in, she notices how much tighter you get when her insults are disguised as sweet words. "Fuckin' dumb on my cock, no wonder I love you so much,"

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that knows you're usually so fucking good for her, listening to her every word mindlessly with doe-eyes and a willing gaze because Ellie was just so sweet so how could you not behave! It always takes her by surprise when you don't behave, and she has to teach your little brain it's not nice to be bad. Maybe she's a little stern with her punishments, but she just wants to get it through your head! When you're both at a party, Ellie is far too busy dealing to give you any attention, and all you're doing is being bored by her side.

You huff a few times, grind against her thigh a few more, and after getting shut down each time with either a stern gaze or a "Be patient, baby. Don't make me repeat myself, 'kay?" while she doesn't even acknowledge your presence, counting her money, you finally get enough of it. You stand and walk away, ass swaying with the little miniskirt you wore, finding one of Ellie's closest friends, Abby.

Abby was attractive, that much was undeniable. But she wasn't the same as Ellie to you, yet you knew if you pretended, Ellie would still be ticked off. Your arms wrapped around Abby's neck, and Ellie's eyes darted over with a mean, mean stare. You finally got her attention, yet it wasn't the good type.

She dragged you out of there without any hesitation, hand-fisted in your hair, and a silent car drive till you both got home. It ended with you bent over her lap, squirming, crying, as she slapped your ass over and over again. “Embarrassing the fuck out of me at a party? Seriously, babe?” Your sobs and babbles were loud, spit drooling down your chin. "I'm sorry— said I was sorry!" You envisioned a different type of discipline, perhaps fucking you into the mattress, but this? Definitely not. "Too fuckin' bad, should've thought about this before you went to be a whore with Abby."

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie who's possessive but in a bragging, show-off way. She'll pick out your outfits for you, bralette-like tops with miniskirts that expose your entire ass. She likes having people stare at what they'll never get.

She takes you to every dinner with her friends, right beside her in a booth, only speaking when spoken to with your tits out. Ellie will even play with your clit under the table for being so good to her. "Arm candy over there, Williams?" One of them will say, and you won't even think twice about the objectifying nature of the statement, merely happy you're seen as Ellie's.

[babysfirsthaze]

need gross perverted caitlyn so bad.........

Untitled (Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader)

Synopsis: uhhh gross Cait I've been promising since January, or something. Sorry. Doing my best out here. CAITLYN KIRRAMAN IS TRANS TO ME, SHE HAS A PENIS. She violates you but it's hot I swearrrr.

Content: f! reader, cnc, spitting, lots of spit, brief fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, nutting inside, sex referred to as rape, heavy degradation, praise (because she's dignified like that), hand holding, cnc again, the cnc is very heavy, seriously dead dove do not EAT, she starts off mean and gets nicer when she starts fuckin you, aftercare kinda, the aftercare is pathetic, you shld really get a better wife...its rape the kink is rape don't read it if you don't like that. not proofread

A/n: SORRY I PROMISED THIS AGES AGO AND IT'S ONLY COME OUT NOW I KNOW I KNOW I'M SORRY. I started writing this back in February and then shit got hectic and I got cheated on and just ohh my god I couldn't. But it's done now I hope it was everything yg dreamed of,,, gross Cait nation ily please don't have died on me :(

Caitlyn has missed you. She’s been out all day, getting work done, getting, frankly, incredibly pissed off. You’re all she can think about as she addresses a meeting full of idiots, as she stomps around and barks orders. Your soft body, the way you smile at her, the way you looked so cute this morning, when she got up and left the house before you woke up. You’re all she’s thinking about as she stuffs her key in the door, pushing it open roughly with her shoulder so she can see you. When she finally does you look up from your book, startled. You weren’t expecting her home quite this early. She doesn't look happy, and you slowly put your tea down on the coffee table, before sitting up against the couch. “Hi, Caitie. How was work?” 

“Shut up,” she grunts, stomping her way over to you. Then before you know what's happening she's got her weight on you, and you grunt, feeling yourself pushed back against the couch. Ah. Alright. This is what we're doing. 

“Missed you so much,” Cait all but slurs, grabbing at your shirt, long, slender fingers clumsily trying to pull it off. “Gonna rape you, okay? Gonna rape this pretty fuckin pussy.” And then she pauses, slightly, you can feel it; a nod from you, yes, Catie, you can rape me, and she's grabbing at you like it's the last chance she'll ever get. Her mouth latches onto your neck, it's less a kiss and more like she's trying to eat you alive. “Fuckin whore. Missed you so much, fuck, baby– gonna hurt you so bad.” You groan in response, squirming slightly where you've been unceremoniously slammed into the couch. She licks a stripe up your neck, and begins to pull off your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor by the couch. She smells like sweat and the last notes of your perfume, her hands are rough, her breath heavy, her muscles twitching and shaking. 

“Stupid fucking– mm,” she's too overwhelmed to insult you, so instead she just grabs your face, kissing you wet, heavy, slow. You're pretty sure you feel her spit in your mouth. One of her hands tangles in your hair, grabs a fistfull of it, and the other moves down your body, grabbing, groping, exploring. 

She pulls roughly at your hips, trying to tug you closer to her. “Come here.” She kisses you, again, licking her tongue into your mouth, everything feels vaguely sticky and wet. You pant, trying your best to process everything that's happening. “Fuck, Caitie– slow down,” “What don't you understand about shut up?” she spits, literally, leaning up over you and spitting on your chest. She gathers the saliva with the pad of her thumb and brings it down to your nipple, circling around the sensitive skin and watching as the temperature change makes it perk up. The stimulation sends tingles down your stomach and you bite your lip to suppress a whine. She groans, a sadistic sort of grin on her face, and kisses you again, leaving open-mouthed, wet kisses on your face. She can taste the sweat and the makeup on your skin, it makes her dizzy. She is so, unbearably hard, and you look so good under her. 

You whine, and she pinches your nipple. “‘S gross, baby,” you're pouting, and right hand on the bible, Cait feels her heart stutter. “You don't like it?” She spits on you again, just so see that pout, saliva landing right under your eye. “Take my fuckin dick out, baby. Stop complainin. I know you like it, fuck– yeah, that's it, good girl, good baby…” The metal of her jean buttons is cool against your fingers, and you can feel warm saliva rolling down your cheekbone, to your hairline, as you pull her trousers off, palming her through her panties. She is indeed, very hard. You can feel the warm wet of her precum leaking through the fabric, and she lets out a long, low moan, pressing her face into your shoulder. And she bites, making you gasp, the sting deep in your muscle. 

“Oh you fucking bitch, what a good girl. Hmm? Does that- ohh, fuck, fuck. Let me- shit, baby. C’mere.” 

The first thing you register is her cold, harsh hands on your thighs, pressing them apart. You can feel her wedding ring on one finger, the metal digging into your warm skin, and she scoots up to get a good look at your pussy, wet and waiting for her. “Good girl,” she croons, dribbling more spit onto the sensitive skin. She presses a thumb to your clit, harsh, making you gasp and arch your back. She grins. “You gonna take it, sweetheart?” She works her length out of her pants, circling her thumb around your clit as she gets them off, a little awkwardly. You nod, and she begins to work her middle finger into your entrance, jerking off her tip in time, groaning under her breath. Her slender digits stretch you out deliciously, curling into your soft walls and making you mewl, her technique practiced and precise- she knows her girl, knows what gets you off, what makes your eyes go fuzzy and your pussy go nice and loose. She mutters something about fucking slut you don’t quite catch, and then grabs at your thighs to rest them around her hips. 

Cait presses her tip against your entrance, azure eyes half-lidded and filled with lust. “Fuck, I missed you,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your love like she’s talking right to your pussy, but her left hand dips down to entwine her fingers with yours. She squeezes, hard. And then with a groan she presses the head of her cock into your pussy, your warmth squeezing her so wonderfully tight, and she can’t help but press her weight further, burying her length in you, eyes closed in complete serenity and bliss. 

You on the other hand, are struggling. 

“Caitie- Cait,” you whine, trying to reason with her, squeezing her cool hand in your own. Her girth always stretches you out, you’d think after years with the woman it’d get easier. But no, the stretch still stings, and she still goes so deep you can feel it in your tummy, poking at your insides. She responds by rutting into you, forcing you to just take it, you both know you can. “You’re fine,” Caitlyn says almost soothingly, still pressing on your clit, she’s trying really hard not to just fuck you senseless right now. She’ll wait. And eventually you do relax, the pain subsiding to a pleasant full feeling. Immediately she’s taking the opportunity, pulling her hips back and snapping them forward again, cock bullying your newly accustomed walls, earning a lewd squelch. “Tha’s it,” She groans, beginning to fuck you properly, her weight pressing yours into the couch, sticky, hot skin smothering you. The sensation fills your tummy with warmth and you moan loudly, back arching to take her dick better. 

Cait growls into your skin, thrusting her hips hard, as if trying to get out all her frustration on you in a single round. Your walls squeeze her so good and she can hardly think straight, her head spinning, the only thoughts in her mind about pounding you, raping you, emptying her load so deep in your pussy a part of her becomes embedded in you forever and she never has to let you go. Hot, overwhelming pleasure fills your body, blooming from between your thighs all the way up to the back of your throat. “Baby- mmf, fuck,” you mewl, squeezing her waist with your thighs, which earns you a harsh slap because it slows her down and she can’t have that. Almost as an apology she shifts to kiss you, licking into your mouth, encouraging your tongue to push into hers so she can suck on it. 

The feeling is mind-numbing, and you whimper into her mouth, unable to do anything but take it, take her mouth, her dick, her treatment. She fucks at a relentless pace already, bullying your pussy and giving your clit enough attention to make you cry. The smell of sweat and sex fills the living room, your book layed neglected on a couch cushion, and the only thing you can hear is Cait groaning, muttering into your skin, and the steady plap, plap, plap sound of nasty sex. You can barely get a word in and when you do, she swallows it up greedily like it’s the only thing she's been craving. She fucks you like it’s the last chance she’ll get, like she’s been waiting, waiting to fuck you like this since the first time this morning some idiot made her jaw clench. 

“Fuck, baby, such a good whore…love this pussy, sh’takes me so well, huh? Yeah, yeah…” Cait trails off somewhat breathlessly, burying her dick so deep it makes your eyes prick up and all you can do is gasp uselessly against her lips, overwhelmed by sensations and already feeling your tummy start to clench as your orgasm approaches. Your eyes flutter, and she hisses as your left hand finds her back, raking harsh, red lines into her pale skin. She doesn’t let up, doesn’t change pace. Just pants and growls into your ear, hitting that spot so deep inside you over, and over, and over, making that knot so impossibly tight you think you might cry. 

Suddenly she changes the way she touches you, going from slow circles around your clit to fast, hard side-to-side motions. “Ah-..!” You squeal, nails digging further into her back, the unforgiving pace of it all making you writhe, making your body feel like it’s on fire. “Fuck, fuck, right there, fuck, Caittttcaitcaitcaitcait!” You babble, thighs shaking and pussy squeezing so tight around her. She groans your name with an almost predatory look in her eyes, moaning loudly when your release does come. She works you through it relentlessly, keeping up her bruising thrusts, working your clit till you stop shaking, till you moans becomes whines and then squeaks. At that point she shifts her weight, leaning over your body and pressing herself completely against you. She ruts into you, chasing her own release, teeth bared and drooling onto your shoulder, her fingers gripping onto your thigh and gripping it so hard it hurts. 

“Take it, take it, take it, take it,” she repeats like a mantra, rutting into you every time she says the words. You can feel her dick twitch, pulse against your walls- and then with a heavy groan she cums, shaky hips pressed flush against yours. Even through your hazy mind you’re lucid enough to appreciate the way it fills you up, a warm, gooey feeling you can’t get anywhere else, from anyone else. She stays pressed up against you for a few seconds while you both catch your breath, before pulling out gingerly. 

“Good girl,” she hums, pressing kisses up your shoulder to your neck, your cheeks, your mouth. She laps up any drool that wound up on your chin, hands running appreciatively over your twitchy body. “Took me so well. Such a pretty girl, hm?” One more kiss, “Sorry I spat on you.” 

[archangeldyke-all]

I just know Sevika’s gotten so used to sleep holding you that when for some reason you have to leave town (maybe a work trip or visiting family) she can’t sleep for the life of her, she even tries spraying your perfume on her pillow to no avail. She gets so grumpy all week and when you finally get home she’s immediately dragging your ass to bed so she can nap on top of you

oh my god i love her

men and minors dni

honestly, at first sevika was looking forward to the weekend of sleeping by herself. you're the love of her life and all, but you're also fucking annoying sometimes.

like when you stick your freezing cold toes down the back of sevika's boxers, or you smack her awake with a pillow when she's snoring too loud, or you eat your snacks in bed and get crumbs everywhere.

so, sure, sevika's gonna miss you. but she doesn't think she'll mind having the mattress to herself for a week.

she's going to indulge herself. she's going to take a nice hot bath and then get in bed still soaking wet. she's going to spread out like a starfish and smoke a cigarette in bed-- something you curse her out for every time you catch her doing it.

and indulge herself she does. sevika almost feels like a bachelorette again, being as loud and messy as her heart desires.

she smokes her cig and talks to you on the phone, the sound of your voice relaxing her until she's struggling to keep her eyes open.

"sev?" you ask. "you fallin' asleep baby?"

"mmm." sevika hums. you giggle.

"go to sleep, love. i'll talk to you in the morning."

"'kay. miss you." she whispers.

"i miss you too." you giggle.

sevika smiles softly and pulls the blankets up over her shoulders, ready to dream of your smile...

only, sleep doesn't come for her.

sevika huffs and flops onto her other side, pulling your pillow to her chest and burying her face in it. she's tired, dammit. she just wants to sleep.

thirty minutes later and sevika is cursing as she sits up in bed and punches her pillow a few times.

why can't she sleep? she's gotten rid of her biggest distraction-- you-- so shouldn't she be sleeping like a baby right now?

"fuck." she huffs as she lays back down. it seems that despite all the things you do to piss her off at bedtime, sevika's still so in love with you she can't sleep without you next to her. or, on top of her, depending on the night.

sevika reaches out and grabs her phone. your line rings two times before you're answering. "you okay?" you ask.

sevika snorts. "i can't fuckin' sleep without you." she whines.

she listens to you relax with a giggle. "oh sevi-bear. poor thing."

"don't patronize me, i know it's pathetic."

"it's sweet!" you giggle. sevika groans.

"i don't get it! you're so annoying in bed! you kick me in your sleep!"

"hey, you kick too!" you defend.

sevika giggles. "and you're so clingy!"

"you're the one who insisted we get a queen so we'd be forced to cuddle!" you shout. sevika grins.

"you can't sleep without me, either, can you?" she asks.

you giggle guiltily. "i was five minutes away from callin' you, myself." you admit.

sevika whines. "remind me again why we're not together?"

you laugh. "'cause i'm here for a baby shower, babies freak you out, and you've got that meeting with silco tomorrow anyways."

sevika huffs. "i'd rather be well rested dealin' with a buncha baby shit than sleep deprived and dealin' with silco."

"aweeee... you love me that much?" you giggle. sevika grins.

"yeah, i guess i do."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

[leighsartworks216]

Imagine if you will if Caleb and Zayne were each other's firsts...

Like I'm talking high school (they're 18, don't fuckin yell at me), neither of them have eyes for anyone other than MC and they've come to some sort of terms with that. But... well if one of them does win her over, neither of them have practice. Shouldn't they make sure they know how to kiss properly just in case...? And it can't be with another girl cuz that feels like a betrayal, and obviously they're not into guys so practicing with each other would be okay, right...?

Sitting on Zayne's bed while his parents are gone on a business trip. They agree that they're just doing this for MC, because surely she'll pick one of them one day, they love her too much to think otherwise. And they agree never to let her - or anyone - know about this

It's so awkward. Their hands are staunchly by their sides, holding onto the neatly made bedsheets and scrunching their eyes up too much for a short little peck. Blushing with embarrassment as they "do research" into kissing. Studying hand placement and techniques and shit

Their next attempts have them with one hand on the other's cheek. It feels different when they kiss this time, awkwardly sucking on lips, opening mouths to meet tongues... but it's good. Pulling away after a minute, so hot in the face and hearts racing, but it's definitely just because it's their first kiss, not because of who it's with...

Caleb taking off Zayne's glasses, claiming they're in the way. Setting them aside. Leaning in again and kissing him. Again and again and again, and fuck why is this so good? Zayne tangling his fingers in Caleb's hair without thinking, choked little sounds in his throat. They should stop, they succeeded in what they set out to do. But Caleb's breathless and whining and palming himself through his jeans and fuck why is Zayne so hot right now, he's never seen him like this before

Ahem. Can you see the vision?

[ashen-char]

expensive cars never took me where you do

my masterlist, to check out my other works, is here

ship: anora mikheeva (anora) x gender neutral reader

summary: being a mechanic dating a stripper is hard because you never get to spend enough time together. so anora spends a day in your garage.

word count: 3000+

notes: requested here. enjoy!

With your respective jobs, your schedules don't allow much time to be together. Not much overlap when you're in the garage from 8-6 every week day, while Ani's out from 5pm to the late morning stripping. Weekends, your main time for relaxation, were HQ's busiest times. As such, you had to make the most of the time that you did get. No more meal prepping for Ani when she gets home, for example. You took it upon yourself to whip stuff up for her to take to work in her trusty Tupperware, saving you two some much-needed cuddle time. Plus, you loved the awed look on her face whenever you made her favourite meals, the way she'd dance and hum happily when you let her taste-test it.

The train blares its horn, rattling Ani's entire room as it passes by. Cheap rent, Ani had explained the first time you stayed over and jerked awake to the sound, startled by the sudden noise and movement. She hadn't even opened her eyes, just stayed cuddled up on your chest. She's used to it. Even after months of dating her, it wakes you up everytime, which makes Ani laugh, teasing and calling you 'Princess and the Pea' for being so sensitive. So right now you're wide awake, checking your phone to see if she'll be home soon.

wifey💕: on the subway now! keep the bed warm 💋

You smile, sending back a kiss of your own. "stay safe," you type.

It's 4am when Ani slips into the room. Her harsh expression (or resting bitch face as she sometimes refers to it as) softens when she sees you, and she quickly sheds her coat, scarf, and beanie as well. "Why are you still up, dummy? You're gonna fall asleep on the fuckin' job, I swear..." she chastises.

"Sorry, babe," you whisper, stretching and shifting over to your side of the bed to let Ani into the sheets. "I knew you were coming home soon is all. Wanted to see you come in."

Your sleep shirt, like most of your clothes really, has these distinct splotches of oil on them. Made worse by your bad habit of wiping your hands on whatever's around. After years in the garage, you've learned to not bother with trying to keep clothes looking clean. The very worst of them get turned into rags or purely as sleep clothes since you don't like wasting anything. 'Waste not, want not' is a deeply-rooted mantra from when you didn't have the money to dispose and replace things so easily.

"I'm just saying." Ani shrugs, slipping the rest of her clothes off too. Fluid in her movements, as if her commute clothes were made to be taken off just like her HQ attire.

Your eyes trail over her frame appreciatively, taking in the rose tattoo at her ribcage that makes you smile, or the slight muscle of her core and arms. She's fit. She needs to be to work the pole like that, but can't put on too much muscle to turn away the knuckleheads that frequent Headquarters. Stupid but it brings in the dough, as Ani would say.

"Don't blame me if you smash your finger in a door again 'cause you weren't paying attention," she says, giggling when she throws her tank top at you. You catch it, give it a deep sniff. "God, you're so gross!" Ani complains. There's that laugh you were looking for.

"I'm not that clumsy." You frown, but it's hard to keep on when she's giggling like that. "It just clipped me, I didn't lose a nail or anything."

After slipping one of your larger shirts on - which almost comically swallows up her frame - she finally slips in beside you. You kiss Ani's cheek, and let her cuddle into you. Even if you know you smell of grease and gasoline and she's gonna cuss at you and say you need a shower. Burrowing her nose into the crook of your neck, she inhales you deeply, letting your scent fill her lungs. With the way she hums, you know she's content. Soothed. Letting the night melt away, all the pressures of the club or the bullshit from Diamond. She doesn't have to be on, not when she's here with you.

"Some of your body glitter's still on ya," you tell her. Your finger dabs at the corner of Ani's neck, which must have been missed by her makeup wipes.

She shivers at the contact. You used to be insecure of the fact that your hands feel like sandpaper but Ani sure seems to love it. One time she told you it was weird that you've never seen her as 'Ani'. The way she is in the club, she meant. No makeup, no heels, no cute little outfits. Of course, she likes to glam up when you two do make the time to go out on dates, but it's not similar to what she puts on for the club. Doesn't have to think about balancing the right amount of cling to show off her assets with the ease of removal.

With you, Ani said she felt like the girl she was before all this. Before the club, before Vanya, before the glitter and glam. There's nothing sexy about your lives, really. Both of them working shit jobs, living paycheck to paycheck. But for some reason, she found it comforting.

"Well, I missed you."

She's so tired. Never enough sleep, always on the go. But your body is warm and solid and she can relax. Just for a bit. "I missed you too," she mumbles. "Even if you fuckin' stink or whatever."

Ani lifts her head to look at you, eyes soft. "What time you gotta be at work?

"In a few hours," you answer in a groan. You didn't want to be reminded of it. You hate leaving before she wakes up, hate the way her body always tries to cling to you by instinct. Feels wrong, even if you know it's necessary. "The new apprentice, Jon, he still needs to be trained. He keeps texting me dumb ass questions. Like, dude, change the oil, you don't need my permission!"

"Mm I getcha. Like sometimes I show new girls the ropes. I remember Lulu being the newbie once actually," your girlfriend shares. "Poor thing. She was scared shitless when she mixed up a song request and didn't know how to play it off like a pro yet."

Ani tells you about the 'fresh meat' sometimes, how they're usually gone within the month when they realise the gig's not their thing. Usually 18-21, the type of girls that got told they were pretty enough times to want to make some coin off of it but without any dance training to speak of. The established girls do their best to make the space inviting and fun. To guide them to the right classes, how to manoeuvre around the club and look impressive on the pole without getting hurt. But ultimately it's their choice. Leave or stay.

Mostly, your definition of 'training' is trying not to yell at the poor kid, unless it's a safety concern obviously. He's an idiot and fixing his mistakes is a pain in the ass, but you don't want him quitting. It'll be more annoying to find a replacement since you've already spent the last few months making sure he can do shit without your supervision. The garage is small, started off as a glorified chop shop that you converted with some friends,

You must have gotten lost in your thoughts for a while, because Anora laughs at your scowl and shoves you. "Geez, who pissed you off? You're not even listenin' to me now huh?" she complains from her spot on your chest.

"Sorry, sorry. Just the apprentice. Broke a 10mm bolt today."

"Boooo. Speak American. What the fuck is a millimeter." Her eyes roll at the excuse and the metric system, and her sheer... Anora-ness makes your bad mood lift and a smile crack.

Which is where the idea comes from. "Do you have any days off soon?" you ask.

Anora shrugs. "Yeah, this Thursday. Why?"

"I want you to visit the shop! Come on. Didn't you always say you wanted to come and 'see what I do all day'?"

Her nails scrape up your arms, and her words are mumbled and muffled against your chest. A vibrating sensation that tickles you. "What would I even do there though? No offense, I'm sure it's riveting, but you can't exactly entertain me if you're working. Plus, when I said I wanna visit I meant I wanted to drop in sometime, give you coffee or something. Not... what, sit there and look pretty?" Anora laughs at the image, shaking her head against you. It's clear she thinks she'll just be a burden if she comes, that she'll do more harm than good.

"For one, I'd be a lot less stressed explaining myself over and over to him if you were at the shop. I could pretend I'm explaining to you," you say, trying to convince her.

Honestly, the idea of Ani 'sitting there and looking pretty' has already won you over. Who wouldn't want their gorgeous girlfriend there to impress with their mad car skills? You've been dreaming of this moment since you were a teen, fixing up a rusted hunk of a truck. Looking back it's embarrassing, but you were convinced that if you got it up and running, your crush would've swooned and asked you to give her rides to school then and there. Explaining your passion to a beautiful girl, showing off your hard work and how you could help her... it's a fucking dream.

Anora giggles. "Oh, I'm sure. You just wanna flex your mechanic brain and your stupid sexy muscles." Tilting her head up, she flashes those big brown eyes at you and you're gone. She's so heartbreakingly perfect like this. No makeup, bags under her eyes, the natural pout of her lips. Tired, from all the hard work and effort she puts into everything she does.

"Come on, please?" you ask, tilting your head down in response so your forehead meets hers. Skin to skin, gaze to gaze. Her nose presses into yours. "I wanna spend more time with you. I wanna show you what I do. Bonus points that it'll help me not scare off the new kid."

Anora nods sagely, like it's a sacred task you're entrusting to her. Her arms wrap around your neck, keeping you pressed against her. She's definitely not complaining about how you smell now. "Alright, grease monkey. I wanna be wowed."

--

"OK, you might remember this one. That's what I attached my cables to when your car wouldn't start," you say, gesturing to the battery, particularly to the red end in case it looks familiar to her.

To you, it's unforgettable how the normally cool and confident Ani was shaking in her leather boots when you told her to clamp it. Like she thought she'd get electrocuted then and there. Anora grasped you so hard, and your heart thumped at the knowledge that she trusted you'd never let something bad happen to her.

Ani leans against the wall, watching you work under the hood of a car. Her arms are crossed, one foot kicked up behind her, resting against the wall. She's putting on her best 'cool girl' attitude, but inside, you know she's fascinated. You know your shit.

"So, like, what's all this stuff do?" Ani asks, gesturing vaguely at the engine. "It's all just metal and wires and shit to me. Rusted shit."

You chuckles, wiping your hands on a rag before taking hers. "Well, babe, this here's the heart of the car. The engine. Makes it go vroom vroom," you teases, revving an imaginary engine.

Ani rolls her eyes but smiles. "Okay, smartass. But like, what do all the parts do?"

You take the time to point to the different components, explaining in layman's terms. The specific car you're looking at is one from a regular customer, so you've run maintenance on it for years. You tell her stories of the parts you had to replace, especially the shitshow last month when you had imported specific parts from Japan and the apprentice misplaced them.

Ani listens intently, asking questions when she doesn't understand. She grins like she's won the lottery whenever you tell her she asked a great question. You involve Jon too - if it seems like something he should be able to handle, you make him answer it. Correcting him when he gets something slightly wrong, or if you wanted a more detailed explanation. It makes you laugh when Jon messes up his words because Ani is just that gorgeous. As for the complicated ones, you're patient, breaking it down so she grasps the basics.

"So, like, this is why it's important to get your oil changed regularly," Ani says, tapping the oil pan. She's squatting down to watch you as you're laid out on the dolly. "Cuz if it's all gunked up, the engine can't, what, lubricate itself or something? No lube is rough, I get it." She sighs, patting the hood like she's empathising with it.

That makes you chortle, never prepared for Ani's crass jokes or references to your very active sex life. "OK, hold on, no lube has always been your idea!" you protest, giving a weak kick from underneath.

"I didn't say I didn't like it~"

"Alright, masochist." Rolling your eyes now, you focus on her actual observation. "And to your previous point, exactly," you beam, proud of her. "See? You're a quick learner."

Ani preens under the praise. "I got a good teacher."

She helps you out from under the Nissan Tiida, sliding you back out. Work's slow sometimes. The city's got a lower amount of people who own their own cars, and you don't like the monotony of working on the same make over and over, so you don't usually go for fixing up taxis or rented cars. This specific one has been a passion project, something you toy around with when there's not much to do. You've wanted to take it home for a while, but you've been holding off. Not until it's perfect.

"Alright. What's, mm, that one?" Anora asks.

Standing up, you come up behind her, your warm breath on her neck as you lean over to see what she's pointing at. "That's the intake manifold. It brings in the air and fuel mixture the engine needs to run. Sometimes it cracks and leaks out more air than it should."

Ani nods, trying to wrap her head around it. "Okay, I think I get it. So, like, if this thing's fucked up, the car won't run right? Or at least the engine will go fucky."

"Pretty much," you confirm, wrapping your arms around her waist now. Jon's off on a lunch break. You make him go pick up burgers at a spot a few blocks down when the shop's quiet like this. Means less time of him hassling you. "But don't worry, I'll always make sure our ride is in tip top shape."

You press a kiss to her hair. The tinsel in it always falls straight down, which is why Anora straightens her hair every day to make it look right. With you, all natural without anyone else to impress? Her hair's got her natural waves, looking healthy and sleek.

Ani melts into your embrace, leaning her head back against your shoulder. "I know you will, babe. You're the best."

The two of you stand there for a moment, just enjoying each other's presence. You can't help it. You wanna tell her everything, there's a compulsion in you. Then you pull away, taking Ani's hand. "C'mon, I wanna show you something."

You lead her to the car you were just working on, opening the driver's side door. It's not flashy, not luxurious or even running perfectly yet. But it's got its charm. The seats are comfortable unlike leather which gets hot quickly, it's surprisingly spacious on the inside, and the wooden look of the interior detailing makes it look and feel cozy.

"What are you-"

"I bought it for us. Out of pocket," you explain, helping Ani into the passenger seat. "It wasn't cheap, but it's been sitting in the shop for months, and I just couldn't let it go to waste."

Ani runs her hands over the dashboard, the textured cream seats. It's not new, but it's been lovingly restored. All by you. No way you'd let Jon touch this. "It's beautiful," she breathes. "Did you do all this?"

You nod. Her awed look makes you push out your chest a little, ego thoroughly inflated. "Most of it. I had a friend look at the AC, but yeah. This is all me, babe."

Ani turns to you, throwing her arms around your neck. "I love it. I love you. You're amazing," she gushes, peppering your face with kisses.

"I figured it was time we had a real car. One that's ours. No more borrowing beaters or taking the subway everywhere. Even if you say it's alright and you like the subway." You return the 'I love you' and pucker your lips for her to kiss.

"Thank you," Ani whispers, cupping your face in her hands. "You're the best partner a girl could ask for. I mean that. Who the fuck fixes up a whole car just to surprise their girlfriend?"

"Anything for you, princess," you murmur against her lips.

"Princess?" Anora playfully shoves you away. "You're fucking high."

But you mean it. You wanna spoil her to the best of your abilities, wanna make her feel like a princess even with your meagre funds and lack of time together. You want to make her feel like the most special girl in the world.

"How about I take you for a spin in our new ride?" you offer. Your hands grip the steering wheel, the polished wood under your hands. "And the best part! No more relying on the subway. I know this isn't exactly rolling in style but..."

Anora shakes her head, taking your hand. It's calloused and rough, but the way she holds it makes you feel like you could be tender in your own way. Makes you appreciate that your hands and hard work is the way you show it, not by blowing cash. "It's perfect," she tells you. "Because you did it, because you wanted to provide. That's all I need."

"Better than the limos Ivan rode you around in?"

Anora rolls her eyes, looking at you like it's a stupid question. Because how could she even compare the two when you're in front of her, giving her everything you can? "No competition, baby. I thought I wanted that, back then, but you're what I was really waiting for."

It's so mushy and vulnerable, coming from her. Just straight from the heart. "I'm nothing special," you attempt to refuse.

"You're the only fucking one who knows what I need. Who gives it to me, no matter what it is," Ani tells you, refusing your refusal. "You've got me. Body and soul."

[entitled-fangirl]

Breakfast is ready.

Felix Catton x reader

Summary: The reader feels sick, but Felix is going to make sure she eats breakfast.

Words: 968

Warnings: sickness, cursing

Author's note: This is kind of from an ask but I made it just about breakfast!

Masterlist

................................................................

She woke up to the blinds being opened by the maid, "Breakfast is ready."

She let out a soft groan, sitting up and stretching her arms out. Her hair was a mess, her clothes frumpeld. She looked over to see that Felix's side of the bed was empty and quite cold. He had been out for a while, and she couldn't possibly guess why he would leave her.

She pushed herself to the edge of the bed, standing onto her feet. Her head hurt, perhaps her body becoming ill, but there was no skipping breakfast. Her legs shivered, her now realizing she is only in Felix's shirt and her underwear. 

Running to the dresser, she pulls a pair of slacks. Pulling them on quickly, she throws a jumper over Felix's shirt. She tames her hair just enough to look presentable. But she takes an extra minute in the mirror, looking at the bags under her eyes. How late had they stayed up?

Throwing on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm, she quickly goes downstairs to breakfast.

Entering the dining room, she's greeted with quiet, "Morning"s. Her eyes immediately scan the table, seeing Felix look up at her too. A bright smile comes across his face at the sight of her sleepy form.

She quickly moves to sit next to him. As she sits down, she feels Felix's hand rest on her back, "You alright, angel?" He asks in a low tone.

"I… yeah. I just don't know why you didn't wake me up this morning." Her hand reaches up to her head as the headache comes back.

He lets out a soft laugh, whispering in her ear, "Well, I figured you deserve as much beauty sleep as I could give you. Seemed to work. I mean, look at you this morning. Taking my fuckin breathe away."

A smile graced her face as her cheek turned a shade of pink.

Duncan entered, "Goodmorning. How would you like your eggs?"

She grimaced, her voice coming out still quiet and hoarse from her sleep, "I'm fine, Duncan. I'm not that hung-"

"-She'll have them over easy. Thanks."

Duncan leaves with a nod.

She turned to Felix, "Why did you do that?"

He shrugs, his arm going over the back of her chair, "You need to eat."

She gives a slight pout, "I can't… my head hurts too bad."

His eyebrows furrow, "Did you sleep alright?"

She nods, "I slept fine, Lex."

He doesn't take that for an answer.

"Listen, angel. You think you're getting sick?"

"No. No. I'm alright."

He nods, deciding not to fight about it at the table. A silence ensues for a while before he decides to break it again. "Oh, angel. We were talking about the Shelley biography."

Venetia jumped in, "yeah. Do you know the story about Shelley's doppelgänger?"

She shook her head, stopping once she remembered the headache.

Felix got up from the table, going to the side table.

Venetia continued, "Shelley's housekeeper was cleaning one of the rooms when Shelley walked past the window and waved at her. So, she waved back before she realized that Shelley was in Italy…"

Felix had returned to the table, gently setting the now made plate in front of his angel for her to eat. She looked at him with a slightly disagreeing look, but knew not to fight about it at the table. 

"…And she was on the top floor of the house…"

Felix grimaced at Venetia's story, his hands moving over his girl's ears to keep her from hearing it. If it would freak him out, he knew she shouldn't hear it, "Oh, Vee. Stop, stop, stop. I won't sleep."

But she continued, "…a few hours later, he drowned."

Elspeth gasped, "oh. Oh, that's just given me goosebumps."

Felix took his hands back, considering it safe for his girl to listen again.

Farleigh stared at the paper in front of him, his voice strong and uncaring, "I heard he fucked his sister."

Sir James finally spoke up, "Oh, for God's sake!"

Felix turned, "Jesus, Farleigh…"

Oliver quipped up, "I think that was Byron."

The table went quiet, as if everyone had forgotten that Oliver was there. That quickly turned to small chatter between the adults.

Farleigh looked disgusted but Felix held an amused smile on his face, turning to her to see she had a matching one. He then pointed at her plate, as if telling her to eat it. About that time, Duncan brought out her eggs, setting it next to her other full plate. She let out a sigh, staring at the food. 

Elspeth was brought out of her talk hearing the girl's sigh. "Oh, darling. Is everything alright?"

Her eyes snapped up, her mouth opening to answer, but Felix beat her to it, "she's not feeling well, that's all."

The mother nodded, "Oh, I see. Nasty sickness going around this time of year. Take your time today, darling."

She nodded gratefully, turning back to her plate. The chattering continued and she continued to stare at the plate. Eventually, Felix brushed her arm lightly with his, his voice soft again, "Is something wrong, angel? You really must eat."

She simply stared at the eggs, feeling herself get sick just staring at them. Felix noticed it, immediately moving the plate away, "Duncan. Could I actually get some eggs just… scrambled?"

"Felix, stop."

"No. I want you to be able to eat what's in front of you. Duncan?"

Duncan nodded, taking the plate away quickly. 

She turns to see everyone staring at them. She mutters a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Felix sighs, "Don't be, angel." He kissed the top of her head as she stared at the table in embarrassment. 

Breakfast continued, Felix's arm around the back of her chair the entire time.

...................................................................

[abigailovesz]

IM JUST HELPING OUT

pairing: bsf!jj maybank x fem!pogue!reader

synopsis: jj notices something when both of you were walking down the stairs, so he assumes he can do it too.

a/n- idk guys, its kinda- 'uhm?', but i thought of it and ran to my computer. set in season 1.

warnings: boob touching, jj being a dumbass perv, boobs, suggestive language.

it happened a lot. JJ would walk down the steps of the dock, public places and all with you, alot. and whenever he looked over, he saw you- cupping your boobs to prevent them from painfully bouncing- i mean, come on, its an instinct but it does things to jj.

the sun was reflecting off of your skin, the tanned and oily skin- from sunscreen, was practically glowing, and jj couldn't keep his damn eyes off of you. you were like a goddess in his eyes, and he enjoyed every single second of it.

" jj, eyes on the job." mr.heyward spoke from the dock. jj was helping out with the catering at the heywards- pope asked him too. he was supposed to be carrying plastic bags full of food up and down stairs, you were asked to do it too and you kindly accepted, you never ever disrespected adults unless they really deserved it. everyone knew that.

" jj come on, we got stair duty." you spoke, jj grabbed your hand and helped you down from the edge of the boat, like always. " alright, well- i'll carry the bags, you put the stuff away and you can..." he trailed off, realizing he had to watch you walk the stairs- watching your boo- " yeah, come on, we gotta bring the bags up" you said, walking beside his still figure before he mentally shook his head and walked with you towards the old, wooden stairs.

jj and pope are the ONLY people that knew jj had a massive ass crush on you and has had one since the 5th grade when you both met, but over the years you've grown- puberty hit hard and he swore you formed into some sort of greek goddess- like said, earlier.

" so, whats goin' on with you today, j, your like- spacing out each fuckin' second" you said, turning the corner to walk up the stairs, jj tried, he tried not to look at your boobs, but it wasn't working- he wasn't being very subtle either, and it was not on purpose, though you didn't notice, your eyes were focused ahead instead.

" i'm fine..just didn't get enough sleep last night. " he said, his voice almost hoarse, which you side eyed him for. "seems like you didn't drink much water either, dude" that wasn't the reason. he knows its not. its because hes losing his stupid mind over his best friends boobs.

you left the conversation behind and walked up the stairs, on the 3rd step- instincts kicked in and your pushed your ringed fingers up to cup your clothes boobs. 'oh my god. she's doing it, i think i'm going to pass out- lord' jj thought but quickly looked away. jj's boots clicked with the floor, the back of your flip flop hit your heel as you both stepped onto the top of the staircase.

" alright, ill carry the bags back, j" you say, crossing your tan arms in front of your chest, as you both walked towards the destination of where heyward asked to drop off the groceries. jj nodded, clearing his throat- he just doesn't want his voice to be shaky next time he speaks.

jj placed the groceries onto the counter and you walked over to the small, mustard yellow crates. you bent over , jj turned around just as you did and he swallowed hardly. " a-alright, you ready", you picked up the 2 gray plastic grocery bags filled with food, nodding " yep, m'ready"

after both of you walked out towards those damn stairs again, he stood even closer. he had an idea. if you were carrying the bags, your hands would be occupied right?..she cant do her little trick, so, i am. he thought to himself, smiling as well. when you took the first step, he followed. second step. he twitched his finger. he had to do it- right? she'll appreciate..my help, yeah. help.

the third step, your face cringed at the slight pain, but you knew you had to deal with it, you had food in your hands. he cleared his throat and then reached his hand up and placed the palm of his hand in the middle of your chest, his fingers gently pushing into your boob.

" jj!' stop it.." your face flushed with confusion and embarrassment. he held back a bark of laughter, raising his hands in surrender as you both stood on the 5th step. "hey- your hands are full, gotta help my girl" he was honestly amused, he thought you'd appreciate it but your face was full blown red. you continued staring at him with the ' im gonna fucking kill you ' look.

" im just helpin' out"

[222col]

bimbo!reader x art donaldson

summary: your friend goes missing...

cw .ᐟ missing person, murder

꒰ notes ꒱ more of joe goldberg!art

art had been so good recently. kept his emotions in check, didn't make an rash decisions. he was focusing on you, wasn't letting anyone get in the way of your relationship. until, of course...

"artie!" your bloodshot eyes appear unannounced at his dorm, thank god he'd already gotten rid of the guy in his bathroom. his heart clenches at the sight of you, sniffling through your tears as your hands reach out for him immediately. art's already working out a new hiding spot at the sight of your tears, and he doesn't even know what happened yet.

his strong arms carry you into his room, cradling you in his lap, stroking through your hair as he waits for you to be ready to speak. he'd never rush you, art does everything at your pace. "my– my– she–" you mumble, choking out the words through sobs. "what is it, princess?" art coos, gently tilting up your chin to force your eyes onto his.

"y'know my friend lexi?" oh, fuck. he definitely knows lexi. lexi is currently in the trunk of his car, he was planning on discarding her body today, before you arrived. shit, shit, shit.

art nods softly, pushing down all feelings of panic that are threatening to boil over. he has to be here for you right now, not thinking about himself. "yeah, baby, i know lexi, she lives in your building, right?" of course he knows that, it's where he killed her. "mhm, yeah," you mumble, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you sniffle through more sobs.

"she's– she's missing," you whisper, as though saying it any louder would make it more real than it already was. your lip trembles as your doe eyes look to art for comfort. "oh, princess," he murmurs, pressing his lips gently to your forehead. christ, was this girl miss popular or something? art only killed her in the early hours of the morning. fuck, he's in deep shit. she's still in his fucking car and the whole campus is looking for her.

no, it's fine. a missing persons report can't be filed before she's been gone for twenty-four hours. art has time. the police will think she's just some college student who got too drunk and didn't come home. she'll turn up, they'll say, don't worry. yeah, she'll turn up. in a fuckin' ditch somewhere as soon as art's ready for her to be found.

and hey, look, art didn't have a choice, okay? he's not just some psycho that kills people for the fun of it. it's not fun. it's fucking hard work, actually. he had to find out exactly where she'd be, when she'd be alone, make a copy of her dorm key, make sure her roommate was out. and that's all before he killed her. he had to get her body out, unseen, bleach her dorm, get her into the trunk of his car, and he's still got to get rid of her body, now with everyone looking for her! it’s fucking hard to be a serial killer. especially one that doesn't get caught.

it's her own fault. stupid girl shouldn't have been bad mouthing you like that. to do it so out in the open too? bitch had it coming. yapping around campus how she only kept you around 'cause other people liked you. nuh uh, no one talks about art's girl like that. she'd been getting too close to you anyway, it was only a matter of time before art took things into his own hands.

"oh, baby, i'm sure she's fine," he murmurs, rubbing up and down your back under your, his, sweater. art's trying so hard not to let his mind run away with him, especially with the feeling of your skin under his and how fuckin' pretty you look with tear stained cheeks and that pout on your lips. "she probably just stayed at some frat boys house, lexi can be like that." lexi can be a slut, is what art's trying to nicely say. always dragging you with her to stupid frat parties, that art hates you going to. he's the only boy who should be seeing you all dolled up.

brows knitted, bottom lip still poking out as you meet his eyes again. nodding in agreement, always taking art's words as gospel. he would never lie to you, right? "think you should stay here, until she's back though, baby." art murmurs softly, holding your cheeks in his hands, breath ghosting across your face. any excuse to have you staying with him, he'll take. "yeah?" art hums, a smile threatening his features. poking your side, making you giggle, when you don't respond to him.

"yeah, artie." you mumble, smiling up to him. you're too easy. he'll have you convinced lexi was a horrible person by the time he's even dumped the body.

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[lost-romantique]

"We aren't a family, sir!"

"We aren't a family, sir! You are the boss! We are the employees!"

"Who's that?"

"Oh, her? That's just Loona. What a nightmare. Serious attitude problems... She'll be out of our hair next month when she ages out. Good riddance, if you ask me. She'll never amount to anything much."

"Fuck, Blitzo! Why can't you stay out of my face for, like, five minutes?!"

"Because, I adopted you! And that should mean something!"

"Oh, what does it matter?! You're not my real dad! I was almost eighteen!"

"It still counts!"

"Well, it shouldn't! I didn't need you then, asshole! I don't, now!"

"I love you, dad."

"Okay, not much of a talker, are you? I'm Blitzo, the "o" is silent. I'm sure we're going to get along just fine. So, what's your deal? What'd you do? Who'd you diddle? You look like someone good with a gun. You look like someone who could shoot up an office-"

"I'm just worried about Millie. She'll be on her way by now, I'm sure!"

"Ugh, she'll be fine, Moxxie. It would take a roided-up hippo to take down that woman when she's upset."

"We've never dealt with the human government before! She's in danger!"

"Do you ever honestly shut up about Millie?! It's always "Oh, how's Millie?" "I can't tonight. I'm hangin' with Millie!" "I'm so worried about Millie!" And she's ALWAYS... FIVE FUCKIN' FEET away from you! It's pathetic!"

"Do you remember what you said to me after my first day with the company?"

"Not really..."

"I remember. You told me I did a good job and that you were proud to work with me. I feel like you wanted to say something more judgmental, but... you said that because I needed it... And it helped."

"Look, I'm hard on you, because I know what you're capable of, Mox. You care too much about what everyone thinks except for... me, because, y'know, my opinion is correct, but just... keep doing a good job. 'Kay? You shoot 'n kill good, you escape things easy... you can be strategic and cold-blooded when you need to, aaaand don't expect any more compliments; I'm maxed out."

"Thank you, sir."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Someone with an eye for potential. Now you wanna keep working for peanuts, or do you want to shake things up?"

"I'm done. I don't wanna play ghost hunter with you, and I-"

"Uh, it's ghost-fuckers"

"I wasn't done! You know, I always love to have fun with you, and I ain't said boo to you moping around like a sad sack for weeks. But we have bills to pay... So look, you can go be pathetic and play sex ghosts, if that's what you need to do, but I gotta get this job done!"

"Fine! Who needs you anyway!? Bethany Ghost-Fucker works ALONE!"

"We're just Wrathians, Blitz. Muscle. It's all we're good for, all I'm good for. It's why you hired me. Any demon good at making a buck is welcome in Lust or Greed, but here? Demons like us ain't cut out for this."

"Uh... fuck you!"

"What?"

"Millie, I have spent too much of my time, energy, and holes into setting this up for us to entertain your bullshit. I brought you into this company for a reason, okay? You're tougher, smarter, and frankly more capable than anyone I've ever met in any ring..."

"Look. What I said earlier, you've just always been so unbothered by everything. Almost bulletproof and, I guess I never realized how much I depended on that. I didn't know how to react to you being reduced to…Bethany. But I should've respected you like you always do for me. I'm sorry."

"NO! Not them, Your Highness! It was me, it was all me, okay? Y-you can't expect to teach anyone a lesson by killing all of us!"

"You dare try to tell me how to PUNISH!?"

"Look, all that Hell is gonna see is you executing imps who are just trying to do their job! I'm the rogue here, not them!"

"Blitz, what are you doing?"

"Your Highness, please. Blitz just--"

"Moxxie, stop."

"Blitz, I can't let you-"

"This big red bitch never planned on hearing us out... Just... just take care of Loona for me."

"I love you, guys."

"Sir-sir, you're here!"

"Dad!"

"Don't you ever do that to me again, you fucking idiot!"

Moxxie was right, they are most definitely not a family. /sarcasm

[oneforthemunny]

🧸, 🪺, 🔮

rockstar!eddie, baby/kid fic, vacation.

"I feel like I'm herding a bunch of fuckin' cats." Eddie muttered under his breath, reaching for Sicily who started to bound towards the door.

"What?" You frowned, nose crinkling in slight amusement at the phrase. "What does that mean?"

"Nothin'- Hey! Sienna Noelle, sit down." Eddie hissed over the squeals of laughter from the twins, who thought running away from Eddie was the most fun game in the world.

You bit back a smile, ducking to press a kiss to Zahra's head, the toddler lulling to sleep on your lap. It had been an exciting day after all, a trip to Disneyland. It was Eddie's idea, a sweet but chaotic one at that. He wanted the stereotypical trip to the "happiest place on earth" with his family- one the both of you never got to have.

The girls had been more than excited, seeing each of their favorite characters throughout the parks, riding the rides. Eddie had nearly thrown up on the tea cups, grimacing as Kensington and Persephone squealed with joy, twirling them as fast as they could.

Now, in the private room the VIP tour offered, everyone was exhausted, hungry, a little cranky. Except the twins, who napped in their strollers and were energized after a Mickey pretzel.

"Are we going back?" Persephone mumbled, eyes starting to droop the same way Eddie's did when he was tired, fighting sleep. "I wanna ride the Peter Pan ride again."

"We'll ride it again." You cooed, swaying Zahra on your lap. "It'll be a little later. We're going to eat, and then we'll head back to the hotel room for a little bit. Let everyone get some rest so we can watch the fireworks later."

"I don't wanna go back to the room." Kensington whined, knuckling at her eyes. "I wanna go see the Princesses again."

"You'll get to see them later, Kens." Eddie hummed. "We still have two days left. And you have dinner at the castle tomorrow."

Kensington perked at the mention, seemingly settled for now.

The walk back was quiet, even the twins nodding off in their stroller, Persephone on Eddie's hip as he pushed Zahra's stroller one handed. "You think they're having fun?" Eddie hummed, following the Disney escort to the monorail.

You grinned, looking down at the exhausted kids, who had spent hours before squealing and beaming with excitement. "Yeah, I think they're having a lot of fun." You giggled lightly. "Even Sephy."

"Yeah," Eddie snorted lightly. "She's loving that Haunted Mansion ride. We've been on it, like, four times today."

"She's so your kid." You clicked lightly, head shaking playfully at him. "But I did swing by the gift shop after the second time. Picked her up a little shirt with the ghosts on it. I figured she could wear it later."

"She'll love that." Eddie beamed, dimples creasing in his stubbled cheeks. There was a pause, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you.

"Are you having fun?" You asked, looking up at him carefully. "Everything you wanted it to be?"

"Are you kiddin' me?" Eddie scoffed lightly. "Havin' the time of my life, baby. Kids are having fun, we get VIP service, and get to see you in your little ears." He teased gently.

The infamous Mickey ears, a rite of passage you assumed. All the girls had gotten a pair, and Eddie had insisted you had some too. You rolled your eyes at him when he passed them to you, but he didn't miss the way you smiled- the way your features brightened with joy as the girls squealed that you matched them. There was something so healing about getting to do that with your babies, what you didn't have with your own parents.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 2 : Esmerelda Variation

Heaven's outfit at the match:

Note: Thank you for the insane amount of love you guys are showing this. This is still a ground work laying chapter so still a little short but with a bit of drama. I should warn that just like the characters from the movie, Heaven is going to be ambiguous. Sometimes she'll be great, sometimes she'll be toxic (you have to remember she's best friends with Tashi for a reason). Anyways, you will get to know her as the story goes on. Thank you for all of the likes, follows, reblogs and notes, I really love hearing from you all and will be responding to them today. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I wrote it in the middle of the night lol. (P.s. I have a bad track record with tag lists but I'm going to try, let me know if it works.)

Taglist: @spookystitchery @anehkael @fkaams

“You remember when you said you’d let me win this one?”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

Art whips his head to look at Patrick who’s staring out onto the currently empty court, leaning back on the bench with his elbows. “But what about my grandmother?”

“You better hope she has a stroke.” the brown haired man shrugs, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I mean Tashi Duncan is gonna be watching. Tennis princess. And her hot friend. Can’t fuck up, sorry man.”

Art just shakes his head and takes a swig of water. Two hours had passed since this morning’s run-in and he still hadn’t been able to force himself to tell Patrick about the fact that Heaven’s number was on the line too. It’d only be fair, he knows that. But…Art really didn’t want Patrick to have it.

He should’ve just asked her for it directly instead of hiding behind this performance in interest in getting it from her. But he’d been thrown off. He’d truthfully thought he wouldn’t be able to see her again after she announced she had a boyfriend to the group. When he saw her on the beach that morning he found himself jogging down to catch her, and struggling to keep pure thoughts as she talked to him in her skimpy workout gear, telling him she’s single now. 

She was just so pretty. The sweat and the morning sun made her skin glisten. Her smile on her face made her cheeks dimple cutely and drew his attention to her soft lips. And she had this look in her eye. She and Tashi are so different yet so alike. She was asking him if competing was how he wanted to get her number. He was asked to make the choice. But it was the challenge he found swimming in her gaze. Like, there was only one right answer, that she expected him to be able to make the decision himself. Like if he shied away now, the little fire he saw in her eyes would die. 

Heaven was just as into this as Tashi was. 

The thought of her giving that look to Patrick too, it was something he couldn’t handle.

“Shame about that boyfriend though…wonder if it’s serious…Art. Art?” 

Art jolts out of his inner thoughts and focuses on his friend opening his breakfast sandwich next to him. “D’you think Heaven’s relationship is serious? I feel like she was flirting a little. Poor bastard. Sending his girl on the road without him when she looks like that? Fuckin’ idiot. And she’s a dancer, do you know what that means?” Patrick asks, holding the sandwich out for Art to take a bite, smiling when he does and swiping his thumb across his mouth to rid him of some crumbs.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“She’s fuckin’ flexible, Arthur.” He growls, a smirk on his face. “She’s bendy and shit.”

Art’s lip curls in disgust as he shoves his friend, huffing out an irritated laugh when he’s shoved back. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that. Either of them, they’re people, jesus, Patrick.”

“Yes, exactly. Beautiful people. That I would like to fuck.”

“You’re a great guy, man, really.” he sighs sarcastically, tossing his arm around Patrick’s shoulder.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Heaven is quiet as she lets Tashi guide her to their seats in the center for the Donaldson v. Zweig match. Her friend had been excited all morning, ready to finally see some “real fuckin’ tennis’. Heaven was excited too. She’s always enjoyed watching people she knows do what they’re passionate about. 

That’s why she’s always loved watching Tashi play tennis. Tashi plays tennis like she’s making love and going to war all at the same time. She leaves everything on the court, like each match is the last thing she’ll ever do. She goes somewhere, and Heaven likes going with her. Passion is what moves her. She’s passionate about dance. A life without it is meaningless.

“You good?” Tashi asks, nudging her knee with her own, grabbing Heaven’s attention.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

The taller girl shrugs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder with pursed lips. “Just making sure you’re not letting that dickhead Trevor get to you. He’s a waste of time and space in your brain. Can’t play basketball for shit and doesn’t know when to stop.” Tashi nudges Heaven again when she rolls her eyes, facing the court. “I mean, you obviously don’t have to listen to me, babe, I just know you’re too good for that shit. Don’t want you to waste your energy.”

That shit. That’s the shit she doesn’t like about Tashi. When she can’t tell if she genuinely is being her best friend, or is jealous that she’s been sharing Heaven’s attention. The condescending demand that Heaven show no weakness regarding someone other than her. Heaven knows Tashi wants what’s best for her. But she doesn’t own her emotions. 

“Said I’m fine, T.” Heaven huffs, ignoring Tashi’s stare out of the corner of her eye and opting to watch the announcer climb the ladder and take position. “By the way, I saw Art this morning. I told him that we could double the stakes. Winner gets your number and mine.” When Tashi’s reaction doesn’t come, Heaven looks at her to see that she’s now facing forward, smiling almost evilly at the court.

“God, this is gonna be so good. Do you know how horny those guys are? They think the winner is gonna end up fucking us together, this is gonna be a real match.”

Heaven goes to respond but pauses as the men begin making their way onto the court, their names echoing in the microphone as they begin placing their bags down. Tashi finishes signing an autograph for a fan sitting behind them and settles back into her seat. 

Both men immediately seek them out in the crowd, two sets of eyes finding the girls sitting in the center. Patrick points his racket in their direction with a cocky smile before turning to take to the court. Art gages their reactions to his friend, watching both women offer smiles to him and offering them his own wave. A bright grin lights his face when they return it. 

“Boys are so easy.” Tashi laughs through her teeth. 

“Very.” Heaven agrees, crossing her legs as she watches the match begin. Both men are working their asses off out of the gate. The ball sails back and forth across the net. Their grunts ring out into the air. Their eyes tense, sweat dripping, breathing heavy. At first, they were being showmen. Both of them stopping, looking to the stands for the girls' approval only working harder when the most they are offered back is a small nod. 

But they got focused. They moved faster. Worked harder. They forgot them and just played some fucking tennis. And it was sexy as hell. For the first time ever, Heaven was experiencing the feeling she gets watching Tashi play. And she was experiencing it watching someone else.

Tashi was enjoying the game immensely. She loves this shit. This is the game she lives for, and she and her best friend had made it more interesting. She grins as she watches the ball go to Patrick, then Art, then back again. Her head swiveled with everyone else’s and she felt happy. Impressed. 

Until she saw Heaven out of the corner of her eye. 

Heaven sitting on the edge of her seat, looking at Patrick then Art then Patrick then Art. She hadn’t looked at Tashi since they started. It’s normal. They’ve watched matches together before, but this look on her face. That was supposed to be Tashi’s look. 

Biting her lip in focus, breathing slightly elevated in the excitement, one hand toying with her name chain on her otherwise bare collar bone as the other clutched the arm of the chair, arched forward, leaning towards them. 

Tashi shakes her head briefly and focuses back on the match, placing one hand on Heaven’s knee. 

Just in case she slipped from her seat. 

When Patrick took his bow, looking through his dark lashes to see Heaven and Tashi’s reactions. Both of them look pleased. Offering him applause as he stands before going to grab his things. 

Art watches in defeat. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches it in irritation. He walks off his adrenaline, pacing between clearing his things from the bench. He feels a heavy hand clap on his back. “Good game, man. I’ll meet you out front, yeah? I’ve got a number to collect.”

“Yeah. Good game.” he says quietly. 

Two. Two numbers. Both. He’s getting both. He deserves neither, and he’s getting Tashi Duncan and Heaven Whitlock. 

Art sits on the competitor’s chair, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over his head to shield himself from the sun as he puts his head back. He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there. But he can’t bring himself to get up. To meet Patrick. To watch Tashi know he’s better than him as she gives him her number. To watch Heaven decide that he hadn’t earned the right to want her.

He doesn’t remove the shirt until he hears shoes clacking on the court. He’s expecting to see an employee of the tournament but is shocked to see Heaven standing in front of him with an unenthused look. 

“Oh, good, I thought you were crying.”

“Um, nope.” Art huffs, a wry smile on his face. “That would be a little pathetic, even for me.”

Heaven’s head tilts, her dark, silky hair falling to the side as she does. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and Art hops out of the chair, offering it to her. “How is almost winning pathetic?”

“I didn’t almost win-”

“He didn’t sweep you. You could’ve won. He’s just better today. When Tashi wins, the other person usually doesn’t even get more than one point.” Heaven pushes up into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. Art can’t help but reminisce. Her legs are now covered by her light washed jeans, but her bare shoulders remind him of the expanse of glowing skin he’d seen earlier this morning. “The score was close.” 

Art smiles slightly at that. He’s still annoyed he was unable to beat his friend, but her words, while based solely in logic, still managed to be comforting. “So, uh, I bet Patrick was pretty fuckin’ happy to get you and Tashi’s numbers.”

“Oh, he was pretty damn excited.” Heaven laughs. “It was cute.”

Ouch. “Yeah, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it.”

Heaven nods, lips rolling inward as she uses her arms to push herself forward, kicking him lightly with her leg, smiling flirtily when he catches her foot, his large hand encasing her ankle. He rights her gold anklet, turning it so that the cross on it is facing upward before bringing her foot back to the ground. “What about you?”

“What about me? I lost. Fair and square.”

“You did.” she grins, resting her chin in her hand. “But the wager changed this morning didn’t it? I agreed that the winner would get my and Tashi’s numbers, but you had an added requirement, right?”

Art’s brows furrowed in confusion briefly before the realization hits him. “I had to earn it.”

“If you’d won, but didn’t earn the win, I wouldn’t give it to you. I have my opinion. What’s yours? Do you feel like you earned my number today?” 

“You want to give it to me anyway?” 

Heaven shakes her head and hops down from the seat, moving closer to Art and fully expecting him to back up, pleasantly surprised when he just tilts his head down to accommodate her height. “I want you to tell me if today was your best.”

Art breathes out heavily. There’s a part of him that wants to just say ‘fuck it, yes’. He wants to say that's the best he can do, and he did earn her number already. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look her in the face and say he couldn’t do better. He couldn’t have her look at him like he didn’t have potential. “No.”

That’s apparently the right answer, because Heaven offers him a quiet, “Good.” before brushing past him, her arm narrowly missing his, causing the hairs on his skin to stand. 

As he watches the girl prance away from him gracefully, Art bites back his own smirk, looking to the ground and nodding to himself. 

He has some work to do.

“Just tell me. I just wanna know.” Art chews his gum, trying to look nonchalant as possible as he and Patrick make their way onto the courts.

He’d been haunted by the way his friend is seemingly getting joy from being very secretive about what he’s been doing with Tashi and Heaven. He knows he’s been talking to them. He can tell. It’s in the smug looks. The fucking half stories without names. He’s fucking keeping them to himself. Won’t even share their names with him. And in response to Art’s irritation, Patrick smirks. The same stupid fucking crooked smirk that always hides his snide remarks and secrets. Usually, Art has a twin one to match, now, the joke is on him.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me to kiss and tell. You used to be a gentleman, Art.”  Patrick chuckles, grabbing a ball and preparing to serve.

“Just tell me if you slept with either of them.” Art pushes, moving to the opposite side of the net and getting into position. “C’mon, it doesn’t matter. If you’ve slept with Tashi, do a normal serve. Serve like me.” 

Patrick hesitates a bit, shaking his head as he looks at his friend’s determined face. He knows Art is not gonna stop asking. But he’s gonna be so butthurt about the answer. He rolls his choices around in his head, briefly considering if it would piss off the girls for him to talk about it and deciding they wouldn’t care about Art knowing. And, he couldn’t help himself from bragging. 

Setting up the serve and sending the ball sailing over the net, Patrick gives Art the confirmation he was seeking. Art offers him a smile in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and goes to hit the ball, only to see a second one flying past him on his other side.

“Wh-”

Patrick grins again, watching the two balls bounce and roll on the opposite sides of Art. He shrugs, strolling over to the net. “I figured you’d ask about Heaven too.” Holding his hand out in front of Art’s mouth he catches the gum he spits into it. “They…uh fancy themselves a package deal.”

“Really?” Art breathes through the smile he has painted on his face. 

“Yeah.” Patrick squirts water into his mouth. “S’fuckin’ awesome.”

Art just chuckles politely until Patrick turns around to get another ball, using his friend’s distraction to let his smile drop into an aggravated frown.

The next time the whole group is all together is move in week. Heaven and Tashi had somehow convinced the men that even though Patrick was packing up for his tour and Art was also moving in, they needed to help them move into their dorms. They were starting with Stanford today and planned to make their way to UCLA tomorrow to get Heaven’s stuff together. While Art now naturally had Tashi's number because they were going to school together, he and Heaven had stuck to their deal. He hadn't decided what he was going to do to get it. Maybe win a match while she was here visiting in a couple weeks. Or maybe he had to beat Patrick specifically. He didn't know, but he as much as he wants her respect, he was getting sick of waiting.

Both men had removed their shirts in the California heat, carrying Tashi’s tennis equipment, replacement mattress, mini fridge and all ten tons of luggage she brought. 

The women were being helpful too. Heaven was apparently resting her legs in anticipation of her audition tomorrow, and rode comfortably on Patrick’s back up the steps during the first trip from the van. After that the girls had made Tashi’s bed before both climbing onto it and sharing a lollipop as they watched the boys work. 

“No, I want my printer over there.” Tashi calls, popping the candy out her mouth and passing it to Heaven, who is absently scrolling on her phone when she drags it into hers.

“Next time, I want green apple.”

Patrick drops the printer on the desk and turns to them. “You know, people hire movers for stuff like this. Where’s your dad?”

Tashi just ignores him, leaning her head over to look at whatever Heaven is staring at on her phone.

“Men used to build houses, you know.” Heaven says, tilting the device so Tashi can see better. The latter nodding at whatever she’s being shown.

“Mm, and go to war.” Tashi sighs boredly, “You guys can’t carry mini furniture?”

Patrick huffs irritably and looks to Art to back him up. “We’re almost done.” The blond shrugs, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“You just like kissing their asses.”

“And you don’t?” Tashi calls from the bed. 

Patrick huffs and lifts the printer again, moving it to where Tashi indicated it should go. Meanwhile, Art moves over to the bed finally done emptying the trolley they borrowed from the university. “What’re you two looking at?”

“I’m helping Heaven decide what piece she should do for her audition in a couple days.” Tashi rolls off of the bed and stretches her muscles, “she’s being stubborn.”

Art’s brows furrow as he looks down at Heaven, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, not reacting to Tashi’s criticism at all. She’d known about that audition since before they met them. He’s shocked to hear she still hasn’t decided on a piece. 

“It’s not being stubborn, Tashi-” the girl pauses her movements at the use of her real name, brow raising. “It’s my audition.”

“Okay. Yeah, I just don’t wanna hear you whine for the next two weeks about how you should’ve done Odile from Swan Lake but pussied out because it’s hard and you know you’d complain.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Exactly, babe, exactly. That’s why I don’t get why you don’t just go set the tone.” Tashi chirps. Her voice does that thing. That thing she does when she's pretending she's being casual about something. Going up an octave to show just how much she doesn't care.

Heaven sits up then, a stern look on her face that can rival the one Tashi gives, both hands planted in the bed as she stares the other girl down. “You don’t think I’ll get the lead with whatever I pick.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A dare. The look she gives dares Tashi to say the wrong thing. 

Patrick and Art don’t know what to do. They’d never seen the girls disagree before. They’re always tag-teaming everyone. Tagging in and out of conversations, finishing each other’s quick remarks, cutting people down with sharp looks together. They’d never seen them face off before.

“I know you’d better get the lead.” Tashi shrugs, flipping her hair over and tying it up with a hair tie.

“I’m gonna. Have I ever not?” Heaven sends back. 

Tashi gives her a noncommittal look before snatching up Patrick’s shirt, tossing it into his hands. “Come hit the ball with me.” 

She offers Art one glance. It’s an invitation, very clearly for everyone except Heaven, who was already turned away on the bed, scrolling on her phone again. 

Patrick and Art have their own wide-eyed, silent conversation, finally settling through gestures. ‘You go with that one, I’ll stay with this one, hopefully no one pitches a fit.’

The dorm room door slips shut and the room is quiet aside from the clock ticking on Tashi’s dresser. A few moments pass before Heaven lets out a loud sigh and rolls over, gasping when she sees Art sitting at the desk on his own phone. “What the fuck?”

His eyes widen as he looks at her. “What?”

“I thought you left with Tashi and Patrick.”

He softens as that, offering her a smile. “And leave you by yourself? Nah. Anyway, we’re gonna be playing tennis everyday for the rest of this semester. Let’s go tour my college campus.”

Heaven looks up at the blond man outstretching his hand to her. Part of it is because she’s pissed at Tashi and didn’t wanna be laying here when she got back, but another part of her thought it might be fun to use this as an opportunity to get to know Art more. 

Since she, Patrick and Tashi started hooking up, she’d decided she was satisfied with keeping the set up she had. She had some fun, they dated, and ultimately, there weren’t many requirements. Her focus was just dance now, she wasn’t looking to waste her time on another boyfriend who wouldn’t work out, and going down the exclusive route with Tashi would get…complicated.

But sometimes she thought about Art. She thought about his cute smile and blond hair. She thought about his voice and muscles. And since the match, she thinks about how he played tennis. She could’ve came from watching him play tennis.

A secret she’ll take to the grave, mind you.

But one that led her to walking around campus with him, despite the fact that she and Tashi had agreed she needed to rest her legs before her audition.

Art told her all about the stuff the guide book talked about, showing her the historic buildings, the dorm he now calls home and the dining hall. And somehow, they ended up in the small theater that’s located on the campus.

He smiles, glancing at her, rocking on his feet as they stand outside the building. 

Heaven rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. “Huh. I wonder how we ended up here.

“Couldn’t tell you. Definitely didn’t walk you to this…very small theater on purpose.” Art shrugs. “Probably should go in though.” He says breezily, pushing the door open for Heaven to walk through.

As she steps over the threshold, Heaven’s bad mood nearly dissolves. Her tense shoulders relax and her eyes slip closed. Art watches her all but melt into the environment, her pretty features smooth out as she breathes in deeply. “A theater is a theater. I missed this, traveling with Tashi.”

“I’d bet. I’m sure you don’t get much time to dance when you do that.” He says softly, watching her run her hands along the stage.

“Just drills so I don’t get rusty.” She hums. “I’m gonna end up doing Odile. She’s right, it’s a show stopper, guaranteed lead.”

Art sits in the front, center seat, watching as Heaven pushes her way up onto the stage, sitting on the edge. “I’m sure you’d get it no matter what you did. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Heaven sweeps her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve never seen me dance, Arthur.”

He looks at her with an earnest, almost pleading expression that makes her stomach flip. “Could I? Please?”

“Okay.”

Art hasn’t experienced that much of life yet. He’s young, he’s had the same best friend forever. He went to a boarding school for tennis. He hasn’t traveled the world yet or anything.

But he’s pretty sure he would like to watch Heaven Whitlock dance. 

She was in sweats. Unprepared, with no shoes. Though she denied it, she was clearly nervous that her friend would bust in, see her, and it would start round two of their squabble. But she stretches for a moment before crouching to set up her phone. “Do you know what you wanna see or…”

Art blushes at that, he doesn’t exactly know any ballets. He just wanted to see Heaven in her element. “How about you show me the dance you wanna do.”

There it is. The truth. They both know she’s gonna do the dance Tashi is recommending. But right now she’s not here. And Art wants to see what Heaven would enjoy doing.

“It’s the Esmeralda Variation.” She says, untying her shoelaces before pulling her shoes off altogether. “I need something to kick.”

Art immediately pulls his hat off, tossing it up to her and chuckling as she giggles catching it. One tap on her phone and the muffled music is echoing in the empty theater. 

And she’s moving.

And Art can’t breathe. 

He’s never seen anything like it, like her. The grace. The control she has over her body. He didn’t know people could look like that. He didn’t know balance could be so beautiful. It was like, he didn’t even want to blink. He didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

His eyes tracked her body’s movements with precision, but what they really focused on was her face. He’d never seen perfection like that. Peace like that. This was what Tashi was talking about. This is what she feels with tennis, Heaven has dance. She was in a relationship. With the song. With her body. The floor. The audience. Him. 

Watching Heaven dance felt like witnessing love.

She’s amazing.

The dance was fun, playful, and looked difficult as hell. And she did it with ease.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she stopped, sliding down into a final split with a bright smile on her face. “That’s…you’re beautiful. That’s amazing, what you just did.”

Heaven gives him a pleased look that has him feeling warm. She moves to sit on the edge of the stage, letting her legs dangle as she looks at him. Her hands rest on her knees. “Thanks, Art, that means a lot.”

He shifts in his own seat, leaning forward. He pushes up out of the red theater chair and makes his way over to stand in front of her. “I mean it. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You’re really good at that, you know.” Heaven says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looks at him. This is the first time they’ve been face to face before. He’s tall, and imposing despite his accommodating demeanor. She bites her lip and watches his eyes immediately drop before he forces them back to her eyes. “Making people feel good about themselves.”

Art’s startled by the compliment, and immediately starts to laugh it off. Betrayed by the redness of his ears. “You have a gift.” He shrugs. “You should be told you have a gift, all the time.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. The wave of boldness. It might’ve been that they were alone. Or he was still worked up from what he just witnessed. Or the way Heaven was looking at him, with intensity. Like she saw something. He rests one hand on her leg, feeling smooth skin. And pushes into her space, bringing their faces impossibly closer. Heaven’s big eyes flutter shut as he gets closer, and he smiles.

She wants him to kiss her.

Grabbing his hat from behind her and placing it on his head.

Her eyes open after a beat and she gasps out a laugh, their faces still just a breath apart. “Ha. You’re funny-”

He presses his lips to hers in a brief but deep kiss, pulling away just as she pressed her lips back. “I’m sorry.”

Heaven balls her fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him back to her and making their lips meet again. Their mouths move together in a new dance. Suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and hums of contentment. Heaven’s hands find their way into Art’s hair as he anchors her waist, pulling her to the very edge of the stage so he can stand between her thighs.

When they pull away their lips cause a loud smack in the dimly lit room. Art’s thumb sweeps over the soft skin of Heaven’s cheek as they both desperately try to catch their breath. Her own hand moves about his curls, smoothing them before sliding to his jaw. Art turns his head to press a kiss to her palm before he speaks.

“Heaven-”

His eyes widen as he sees the girl’s eyes watering, her rose petal lips trembling as she looks at him. Chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. She runs her hands through her hair with a stressed look that Art thinks he would do anything to remove.

“Please don’t tell Tashi.”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

side by side with me (a tlou x hunger games au)

joel miller x f!reader

words: 3.6k

summary:

After FEDRA finally laid waste to the Fireflies and snuffed out the light, they devised a system to keep the QZs in line.

75 years later, the violence is commemorated with a special Quarter Quell edition of the Hunger Games. It gives FEDRA a chance to kill the nation's favorite victor - Ellie Williams, who they have a very good reason for wanting dead.

After all, would the QZs still obey if they knew most of the kids born in the outside world were immune now? Or would one little girl tear the fabric of their control apart?

To find out, she'll have to win the games again. And the odds were never in her favor.

warnings: major character death, suicidal ideation, reference to suicide attempt, canon-typical violence, canon-typical systems of oppression, we hate fedra in this house, i look liberties with tlou and hg, p in v, oral, ellie is the mockingjay basically, there's far less plot here and mostly just angst, bittersweet ending, dead dove do not eat

for @guiltyasdave who was enabling me and whose own hunger games au with joel i CANNOT fucking wait for.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

are you—are you comin' to the tree?  wear a necklace of rope side by side with me.

I. 

He knows, somehow. He’s toward the back of the crowd, still in his work clothes, faded and filthy jeans with a denim shirt, soil-caked boots and all. Sweat from the sun drags mud down his brow. The bandana around his neck is saturated from the heat.

He didn’t bother to change, didn’t see a point in dressing up. The cameras knew who he was. And he knew for certain he was about to be on that little stage. 

It shouldn’t have been a sure thing. There were three other male victors there. But he knew. 

There were two female victors—one older than him and one far too young. So when they called for Ellie Williams, two years out from her victory at twelve, there was no question. 

The year she’d won, he hadn’t mentored. Couldn’t stand in that room again and watch another little girl die. He stayed home like a coward and threw up every time the bell tolled, and he didn’t know where she was. Each time, he caught himself prayin’ to no one, begging forgiveness that he didn’t try harder. Should have gone and schmoozed, should have got her a better chance.

In the end, she didn’t need him. 

He wasn’t going to let her go alone again. Didn’t need to know a damn thing about her other than she had been promised survival and then this. The fuckin’ Quarter Quell. 

So when they called out for Mitch, Joel stepped forward instead. 

“I volunteer,” he said. He didn’t wait for the peacekeepers or the crowd’s gasps to fade. He strolled right on up to the stage. 

And that was that. 

Your fate was sealed when they announced the Quell. As the only surviving female victor, you were going back in that arena. You took a day to mourn and rage and let the numbness overtake you. 

Nothing to be done about it. 

So, while you wait, you live. You swim each day until your skin is stretched dry from the salt and let your waterlogged legs drag you home. Sometimes you sleep there, near the water. You know you’ll never see it again. 

It does occur to you to give in to the call you’ve heard since you returned the first time. The lapping waves whisper a song: come home, come home. The crinkle of the water under the heavy belly of the setting sun reminds you of your mama’s old quilt, and a tug in your navel urges you to paddle out and let it tuck you in. 

Instead, you let the sun hold you, warm and safe. On the last day, you bring what’s left of your food and have a feast upon a rocky ledge jutting out over the water. You spread butter thick on soft bread, nibble at rich cheese, and sink your teeth into melon so juicy it bathes you in red. Practice for the arena, you think, and your raw laughter gets carried away on the breeze.

As the only living female victor, you have a man for a mentor. It all feels stupid, anyway. You didn’t need someone to tell you how to do this dance. You barely listen as he droned reassurances about securing sponsors. When he starts suggesting you encourage them on your knees, you stop listening entirely.

That is, until you hear the other mentor tell Nick, your male tribute counterpart, to “steer clear of Miller at all costs.” 

You sit up. “Miller? As in Joel Miller?” 

“Yeah, didn’t you hear? He volunteered,” Nick says.

You hadn’t heard. “Huh,” is all you say, leaning back against the window. 

Joel Miller won his games only to lose his daughter, Sarah, to them at 14.

You won yours not so long after Joel. Close enough that you remember his viciousness. Close enough that you remember watching him mentor his daughter in the arena. Close enough that you remember the crack and the blood and the ensuing screaming after he tried to join her. 

“Back off,” he growls when you approach him in the training rooms. 

“I want to make an alliance,” you offer instead. 

“Nope.” He turns to walk away.

You grab him by the shoulder, and he flings you, but you anticipate that, curling your body when you hit the ground so you can roll right out of it. 

There’s a buzz, and a speaker crackles to life. “Save it for the arena,” the voice reminds you.

He’s glaring at you, and you step closer anyway. “Let me help you,” you say quietly.

“I don’t need your help.”

“No. But she does. You’re only here to save her, right?”

He’s scowling, but he nods. 

“I don’t plan on walking away from this. Not if she can,” you say. 

You remember Ellie’s games. There was something broken inside of her before it even started, you think, something with the potential to be wicked. She could have let it fester and grow, and no one would have blamed her.

She was feral and violent, but wicked she was not. 

On cue, she popped up at Joel’s elbow. She clearly didn’t trust him, but she trusted you even less, eyes narrowed. “The fuck do you want?” she snapped. 

But Joel puts a hand up to quiet her, watching as you hold steady under his scrutiny. 

He remembered your games. He’d already been mentoring by then. You didn’t win by brute force, but that didn’t mean you didn’t kill. No, in fact, the final shot of your games was you soaked in blood, having slit your last competitor open from below. 

He had done whatever was necessary in his. Tommy was alone back home, and if Joel didn’t make it back, the chances Tommy would meet the same fate were monumental. 

But he remembered enough to know you had skills he didn’t. He was a brute; you were a survivalist. Ellie would need both.

They don’t want to interview him. There are a lot of attempts at coaching that he ignores. 

But it’s not just him. The general sense of injustice has settled in on the stage tonight. 

He goes along with minimal fuss; it doesn’t matter what he looks like or says. He’s already a ghost. They dress him in a grotesque facsimile of his real work clothes—inappropriately tight jeans, a silk guayabera with too many buttons undone, an ornate belt buckle, and unbroken leather boots. They even put a stupid hat on him, so he looks like he stepped out of a textbook about cowboys. 

At least it’s better than the dress they forced Ellie into. One look at her, and you’d know it wasn’t right, wasn’t her. Two years ago, they had shoved her on stage in a plaid frock and pink riding boots. Now, they’ve clearly decided the cutesy, innocent look is over. They dolled her up like a goddamn southern belle, complete with a very padded corset. 

It didn’t bode well for their plans for her if she won, but Joel knows there’s nothin’ he can do when he’s dead and gone. All he can do is get her out of there and hope.

You’re already on stage when they go up. He watched from the sides as your droll counterpart tried to make himself seem charming and handsome. They’d put him in skin-tight leggings covered in glittering scales, and a billowy white blouse left open to his navel. 

You were dressed like a fucking mermaid. It was a gown, still, but your midriff was only covered by thin netting. The bottom clung tight to your curves before flaring out at the train. It was also covered in scales. 

“You’re prettier than a picture,” the host oozes. “You could sing us a siren song, and all the men’d follow you into the sea. And some of the women!” 

“Don’t you know what happens to those sailors?” you scold. Your voice is playful, but your eyes are cold.

The host, Flipper-something or some other absurd name Joel can’t remember, leans in conspiratorially. “They win the fishing tournament?”

You laugh. “They get their heads bashed against the rocks, silly.” You aren’t smiling anymore. 

Joel found he was, though. Grinning with sharp teeth, a look Ellie returned. Yeah, you just might have a chance for her, he thinks.

You sneak into his room the night before. It’s against the rules and probably a bad idea in general. Might have been smarter to seek your satisfaction with a future enemy rather than risking this.

But you don’t want any of them. You want Joel, who, for all his brutality and intimidation, is going to die for a kid he doesn’t know. 

You don’t want him to walk into it alone. Nor do you want to be alone. So you’ll follow him there, maybe stand beside him at the end of your time, so long as you fulfill your mission. 

It’s funny, you think, in the way of things that aren’t funny but leave you nothing to do but laugh, that you had sex for the first time just like this. At the end of the world, the noose all but wrapped around your neck, just to say you had. 

The other tribute from your district had also been a fumbling virgin, so it had gone about as well as it could. But you had done it, and no one could take that from you.

So tonight, you’ll offer, you’ll feed that desperate ache to feel something of your own volition, with another dead man. The irony that you might have to kill this one, too, doesn’t escape you. 

He knows, when he answers the door. He’s in low-slung gray sweatpants and nothing more. But he takes your arm and pulls you inside without a word, locking the door behind him. 

You appreciate that there’s no need for words. It’s on your faces, behind your eyes. His hand around your wrist draws you close before slipping to your waist, the other already wrapped around the nape of your neck as you meet. The first kiss is gentle, sorrowful. It’s all of your “what could have beens” until it turns sharp and hungry.

He peels your t-shirt and shorts from your body, hands gliding over every inch of you. You sink to your knees on the plush carpet and mouth at the line of him before tugging his pants to his ankles. He steps out of the loose trap, and you toss them to the side before taking him as far into your mouth as you can.

Together, you and Joel sink into the finality of your lives like gelatin. The last cock you’ll taste, the last mouth he’ll fuck. The last cunt he’ll devour, the last god you’ll cry out to. 

Except the god you cry out to isn’t there. There is only Joel. Broad and hardened, marred by the cruel lick of the world and his own misfire. You offer yourself at his altar, and he drinks of you until he’s satiated, knowing the last of his days will be spent starving. 

For all the clashing teeth and hurried hands, he’s slow when he climbs up over you. You think he might be frightening in any other moment, the intensity and sheer dominance imposed by his physical form and his soul. 

He’s beautiful like this, though. He’s got you caged in, sweat dripping from his brow, and as he sinks into your cunt, he imparts the apologies he cannot say. They’re in his kisses and in his slow, torturous thrusts. They’re in the way he keeps closing his eyes, as if it’s too much to see his reflection in yours. 

His mouth makes its way to your neck, and he leaves his assurances there. That it’ll be okay, when you come to the end. That no forgiveness is needed when you kill him. He’s sure that will be the way of things, that his cowardice that shook his hand so long ago will crest, and you’ll have to be the brave one. 

He bites and sucks as blood bursts under your skin; each blossom left to tell you this was real, this happened, for one last moment, we were alive. That for one last moment, you each mattered to someone as more than a meat shield. As more than a martyr. 

His rough fingers pluck at your clit and nipples. His mouth works its way down to your breasts as you writhe before he pulls his cock out completely.

“No,” you gasp, breaking the bargain. 

He says nothing, eyes shining, as he bows to your core and drinks again. It’ll all be over soon, and he needs one last taste, needs to feel you shake under his tongue one more time.

When he’s taken you apart, he climbs back up into the welcoming heat of your cunt. The gentleness is gone; you’re too wrecked for it now. Each of you aches to hurt and be hurt, and so he takes, bruising hands on your hips as he pounds into you.

He gives you a look, the unspoken question plain as his tongue dips out to wet his lips. You nod, and he brings a hand up to tangle in your hair, searing your lips together as he fills you. 

In the end, there’s one last moment. The last tenderness you’ll feel. He presses your sweaty foreheads together, cradling your head, and you take turns pulling kisses from one another, chaste but aching, swollen lips trying desperately not to part. 

For a moment, he cups your face in his hand, a finger brushing over your cheek. The hurt is too raw, and you turn away from his pretty brown eyes that hang heavy with grief. 

He rolls off you, and you sit up, legs swinging off the edge of the bed. His hand lingers on your back for a moment, and when you stand up, you feel the brand of it there for hours. Silently, you slip back into your clothes and pad out of the room. Though his gaze falls heavy on your back, you don’t look over your shoulder. 

II. 

You don’t like it, but it’s not up for negotiation. When the chime sounds, you bolt to Ellie and Joel to the cornucopia. You can’t watch, not without losing ground, so you beeline to Ellie and grab her by the arm, dragging the both of you off to the woods. 

Right before the bell tolled, you had shared one dart of the eyes with Joel, looking to each other and then to the copse on the cliffside at the northeast corner. 

It’s nightfall before he finds you. The two of you have tucked away behind an outcropping. There’s solid rock behind you, scaling higher than you can see. The rocks near the cliff’s edge are tall enough to hide you, and there are paths on either side. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do for the first night.

Almost everyone will still be getting their bearings, but you’ll need something better in the morning. 

Ellie is wide-eyed, eyes darting at every whisper of a snow drift or creaking of a spindly branch. She’s tucked up against your side, failing to comply with your order to sleep. 

When there’s a sudden crack, she full-body flinches, and you’re up in a flash, crouched and ready. 

Then you hear it. The tell-tale tick, like a film reel kicking on.

A Clicker.

It’s enough to choke you up, fear colder than the tundra around you holding you in place. Long-forgotten instincts. 

When you hear it again, wandering further, your brain kicks back into action, and you copy the sound. 

“Shh, what the fuck are you doing?” Ellie hisses. 

Joel comes around the corner. “S’that your idea of being quiet?” he whispers to her. 

She jumps again, clutching a hand to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

Joel shoots you a glare, and you grimace.

“I forgot to warn her,” you say. “Sorry, El. That’s our signal.”

And impossibly, somehow, he’s holding a backpack. It has a sleeping bag hooked to the bottom. He sees your stare and hands you the bag; no need for even a glance between you before you immediately give the bedding to Ellie. 

“Dunno what else is in there,” Joel murmurs. “Didn’t have time to check.” 

But he has a bow. And arrows. And a sleek little knife that he hands to Ellie. 

Holy shit. You might just be able to do this. 

You don’t think about it; you just throw your arms around Joel. You realize your mistake right away and take several steps back, out of the range of his fists. But he’s frozen in place, eyebrows raised. 

“This is amazing. Thank you.” Your gratitude doubles when you finally realize he’s covered in blood. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not mine,” he says, shaking his head. 

“How many?”

“Three. Plus eight from others.” 

Later, the guilt will eat at you, but for now, the relief is euphoric. Every body now is a body you don’t have to fight later. Eleven down is amazing. Minus the three of you, that means there are ten tributes between Ellie and freedom. 

You don’t count yourself or Joel as bodies in her way. When the time comes, you know you’ll each make sure the other doesn’t chicken out, doesn’t make her bear that burden. 

It works, until it can't anymore. Until both of you are on borrowed time. Four bodies stand between Ellie and life. 

Two tributes, and the two of you. 

“Let go,” you hiss as you thrash in his grasp. 

He can’t make his fingers straighten. Can’t stop the way they dig into your arm, slippery as it is. 

You’re not even trying to scrabble for solid purchase. The roar of the river below must seem menacing to him, you think. 

“Not like this,” he pleads. 

You fall still. “Joel,” you say, shaking your head. “It’ll take me home. I want this.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” He snaps. “Drownin’ ain’t the way to go, darlin’.”

“It’ll take me home,” you repeat. 

You watch him understand. The clarity doesn’t help, not really. But he closes his eyes and nods. You’re starting to slip, now, and he’s starting to let you. 

It’s not a long fall, but the water is deep. It’s cold, colder than you’ve ever been, and when you gasp in shock, you suck in water. 

Just like you knew you would. If it doesn’t fill your lungs, then the cold will steal you. If that’s not quick enough, the powerful current will strike your body against the stone. 

You always thought it’d be peaceful, when the water took you. But this is okay, too. 

“What are you doing?” Ellie yells.

He looks away from where you’ve been lost. She doesn’t know he let go, he realizes. All he can do is stare at her. 

“We’ve gotta help her, we have to—“

“Ellie.” It’s soft but horrible. Maybe the worst sound she’s ever heard. Joel shouldn’t sound like that, shouldn’t sound sad. 

“You have to do something,” she says, but it’s devoid of all hope. 

“She’s gone, baby girl. It was always gonna be this way, you know that. We said we’d get you out alive.”

As soon as the words leave his chapped lips, the world around them bursts.

When Joel wakes up, he sits straight up on the gurney. One wrist is bound to the rail in a velcro strap, IV piped into the back of his hand. He peels the tape away and removes it, pressing down on the puncture to ebb the flow. He yanks the sticky monitor pads from his chest and swings his legs over the side, only to find himself wobbling when he tries to stand.

He ends up grabbing at the gurney to stay vertical, releasing the wound and letting blood drip down his arm.

A strangely familiar blurry shape comes through the doors, and Joel panics, rearing back and balling a fist.

“Joel! It’s me, stop, please. It’s me. It’s Tommy.”

Joel faints.

When he wakes up the second time, he has the sense to stay down. He blinks up at the now solid shape of his brother.

“Y’know,” he says, reaching up a hand to see if it connects or if he’s hallucinating. “I never really thought hell would be a hospital. Makes sense, though.” 

“What’re you talking about?” Tommy asks, swatting Joel’s hand away. It’s still bleeding, after all.

“Said it makes sense. Wakin’ up to the time I lost ya.” He closes his eyes, the sting already bringing tears. At least, he thinks, it’s not the most painful memory he could’ve been forced to re-live. 

Tommy makes a wounded sound. “Joel, you’re not dead.” 

“S’that part of the trick?” 

“Look at me,” Tommy says, sitting down on the sliver of unoccupied padding. “This is real. That was ten years ago. I'm not leaving you here, not this time, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

Joel blinks. He tries to sit up on his elbows, but Tommy pushes him back down.

“Where’s Ellie? Did she—” he chokes on the thought.

“We got her. She’s okay. She’s gonna be just fine.” 

“What do you mean you got her?”

“Ah shit, this ain’t really the time or place to tell you everything. You’re just gonna have to trust me. We got y’all out of the arena, and we’re safe.” 

“No,” he croaks. “I wasn’t supposed to make it out.”

“But you did. We got you,” Tommy says reassuringly.

Joel closes his eyes, brows pinching. “I let go. You’re tellin’ me I let go, and if I’d have just held on for one more minute…”

"I'm sorry," Tommy croaks. "There was nothing we could do." 

[joocomics]

1k followers celebration event — ⌞⌗ xdh drabble⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 jiseok x fem!reader x jooyeon

genre: smut ( 18+ ) ── 0.7 words

request: “we both really like you” + dry humping

✎… threesome, sub!reader, dry humping, pet names, light choking (f!rec), implied overstimulation

( event masterlist | xdh masterlist )

Jiseok’s hands are beneath your skirt, grasping your ass. His strong appetite for you grows every time your hips respond to his domineering touch by swaying forward.

“You know…” He sighs, staring back down at where you’re straddling his lap, gaining friction from his bulge that’s twitching inside his gray sweatpants. His brows knit together as if he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. “We both really like you.”

The weight of his words make the air around you feel heavier, but then he looks up at you again and his face lights up. His boyish laugh, an alluring familiar tune, breaks the tension, and you can’t help but smile back.

He doesn’t see this as a problem, but rather as an opportunity that promises to make the night much more interesting, unforgettable; for everyone involved.

You hold your curious gaze on his face for a moment before shifting it to Jooyeon who’s sitting relaxed beside him. He's been watching you and Jiseok with an unreadable expression - unreadable to you, because you've only known him for a few weeks.

“I like both of you too,” you say, and your mouth remains open in awe from the greedy grip of Jiseok’s bold palms. His fingertips sink deeper in your flesh as he guides you back and forth simultaneously lifting his hips up for even better friction.

Or maybe he’s just trying to get a better idea of what it would be like to thrust his cock inside you.

“Well then,” Jooyeon murmurs with voice laced in amusement that sends a shiver down your spine. “We should figure out what to do about that. Have you ever had two guys play with you before?” He cocks his head to the side, keeping one hand over his crotch. “At the same time?”

His gaze on you is intense, but inviting; the longer you maintain eye contact with him, the stronger the warmth in your core becomes.

You wish he would’ve touched you by now. You wonder why he hasn’t made a move yet when he’s clearly interested just as much as you and Jiseok are. Is he waiting for something?

You catch Jiseok biting his lip with anticipation.

“No, never.” You admit quietly, moaning softly right after. Every next move you do against his boner pleases you undeniably more than all the previous ones, tempting you to rub your sweet spot through your panties even harder.

The two boys glance at each other; there’s excitement glimmering in their eyes, a sense of understanding and agreement too. They’re already plotting what to do to you without needing words; the mischievous smiles forming on their lips expose the dirty intentions they’ve had for you all along.

“She's a good girl, she'll tell us what she wants,” Jiseok grins; his gaze flickering between you and his friend who's finally moving closer, kneeling behind your back.

Jooyeon doesn’t do anything to interrupt the unrestful grinding between you and Jiseok. What he does is invite his hands beneath your shirt and attach his tongue to your neck.

Your head falls to the side, giving him perfect exposure to explore you through his salivating mouth. As his slim fingertips sneak into your bra, catching your nipples, Jiseok focuses on supporting your rhythm that makes his cock throb.

“Fuck, baby—“ He groans loudly, smacking your cheeks before squeezing them again as the stimulation overpowers his senses. He would've never imagined that the view of you melting in Jooyeon’s arms would turn him on so much. “Got me so fuckin’ hard for you. You feel it, doll?”

“Mhmm…” A single small sound is all you manage to give as an answer. You can feel the rush that's resulting from the mutual euphoria distracting you by pulsing low in your tummy.

A firm hand crawls up your chest and wraps around your throat. The next second, you feel Jooyeon’s hot breath escape his lips.

“I want you soaked, do you understand? I’m not gonna do anything for this pussy if it’s not dripping for me.”

You can sense the devilish smirk without having to look at him; its impact is lingering in the air, arousing and demanding as he speaks, just like the light pressure around your neck.

“Go on,” he signals you to keep up with Jiseok’s hips pushing against you. “Don't make me wait.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors with Benefits: Part 5 (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Part of the #hotdilfsummerchallenge @hellishjoel

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: About 5000

"Your, uh, your parents left a few minutes ago," Joel informed you as you finished drying off and getting dressed. "Two separate cars. You should be safe to sneak back over unnoticed." A smile formed on his face.

"Thanks." You scrunched your nose, "I feel like I’m on, like, James Bond or something... sneaking around."

He snickered again and tossed on a t-shirt over a pair of jeans. "Well... thanks for keeping me fuckin' company."

"Yeah." You nodded, feeling that sinking feeling again from the uncertainty of the whole situation. It was a weight that was already beginning to weigh on you. Now that you'd spent a night sleeping next to him the feeling was magnified.

"You okay?"

You forced a smile, trying to focus on the amazing aspects of the night together rather than the depressing what-ifs that plagued your mind. "Yeah. I'm good."

Joel looked you up for a second and then waved you down the hall. You followed him into the kitchen where he began rummaging through a drawer filled with miscellaneous coupons, writing utensils, and post-it notes. He ripped a yellow post-it from the top of a short stack of them and then scribbled seven digits with a black sharpie and handed it to you.

"I know this is kind of the old- fashioned way to give someone your phone number," he went on, handing it over, "But, shit, I'm old."

You felt the butterflies again - a surge of positive vibes that overtook your worries as you accepted his number. "You're not that old."

Joel smiled. "Send me a text or something so I have your number too.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t contain a wide grin.

“Just maybe… make sure your parents don’t see that someone named Joel is sending you messages.”

You nodded. “Got it.” You pointed over your shoulder toward the back door with your thumb. "I'll, um... I'll see you later."

He nodded and followed you to the door as you began to head that way. When you turned the knob and pulled it open, Joel pressed his hand against it and closed it again.

You turned, staring up at him and Joel opened his mouth to speak, though nothing came out.

"I, uh..." He cleared his throat and paused for another several seconds. "I get out of work around three."

You wanted to smile, and inside your heart was doing backflips; but you were too overwhelmed by the look on his face and his unwillingness to let you leave to show it.

"Okay," you said simply. When he didn't speak you continued. "My parents usually aren't out of work until about five, so..." you snickered, "I could probably easily get back over here.”

"You could always sleep over at your friend's house again." Joel tipped the corner of his mouth up in a smile, making you grin wider.

"They may send a search party." You took it upon yourself to bring your lips back to his, watching for a second as Joel's eyes closed firmly before closing yours.

He pulled you tightly against him, leaving the other hand against the door and kissed you harder before reluctantly letting you go. "I gotta go to work." Joel brought his lips back to yours once more, and you found yourself craving him again. When your hands tightened around the fabric of his shirt he cursed against your mouth. "Fuck."

"Do you think..." you breathed, "Do you think Holly would care if I slept over a second night?"

Joel finally managed a full grin, continuing to alternate between playfully making out with you and having a conversation. "I don't think she'll mind."

You kissed him again, playing into the raw aggression he attempted to control. You could see it in his strained jaw and closed eyes.

"I hadn't fucked in a while before I met you the other day." He reached down, adjusting himself and moved away to regain some control. Joel kept his eyes closed again and tried to think of anything else.

You knew you had been indulging in your own pleasures far too much and decided to take a moment to be fair to him. As bad as you wanted to cross back into his personal space and take control of the situation, you refrained, noting he was trying to contain himself.

"I'll call you," you told him.

Joel opened his eyes and looked you up and down before nodding. A smile finally crossed his face again and he laughed at himself. "I should have just taken a damn sick day."

You giggled and shrugged, this time opening the back door fully. "I'll go home before you change your mind."

He let out a deep breath and watched you for a moment. "Keep that bag packed."

"I will." You smiled at him and looked around the house once more before opening the screen door. "See ya later."

Joel swallowed hard and nodded, watching as you exited his home.

The feelings and the energy that had swept over Joel made him feel like a new man each time he saw you. He wasn't used to any of it - the attraction, the sex and, perhaps most importantly, the way you looked at him like he was the only man in the world. All of that had been just a speck in his marriage, even early on. Joel recognized how intense the connection was and it had begun to leave him fantasizing about you long after you’d parted.

He crossed the kitchen and glanced out a window, watching as you pulled open the back door to your home. You gave a final look in his direction before heading inside and Joel turned away from the window, bracing himself against the kitchen table.

What the fuck is wrong with me? He couldn't deny that there was a touch of ‘wrong’ in fucking his neighbor’s twenty-three year old daughter; but also acknowledged that he hadn’t felt this alive and wanted in years - maybe all of his life. Joel closed his eyes and drew a hand across his beard. For a moment he just stood there in the empty house, letting his thoughts wander in rapid-fire fashion.

"Shit." He said the word quietly to himself and glanced at the clock. With fifteen minutes to spare he decided to try to make the feeling go away temporarily and walked down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Steam still lingered on the mirror and when he saw his lone reflection he immediately missed having you there looking back at him in the mirror.

I need a cold shower.

With that, he stripped his closed back off and turned the shower on. He shivered as he stepped in, purposely leaving the water cold and closed his eyes, teeth chattering, as he stood directly under the icy flow of water. Joel wrapped his arms around himself and was able to focus on the uncomfortable sting from the shower rather than the one that burned inside of him. He stood there enduring it until the top of his head felt nearly numb. Joel turned the handle hard, creating a loud thump as it clicked back into place and the faucet turned off.

Again, he took a deep breath and still shivered there alone for a moment before ripping back the curtain so he came face to face with himself again in the mirror. Joel took in his shivering body, his desperate eyes and chattering teeth. In that moment he felt he looked more like a scared child than the strong man he viewed himself as.

He shook his head again. What the fuck am I letting this woman do to me?

The rest of the morning was long, and Joel had a difficult time focusing at work. The clock felt like it was stuck on the same number for hours on end and multiple times his co-workers had called him out on spacing out as they worked together to re-wire the electrical system in a building that was being restored.

"Joel, what in the hell do you keep looking at that damn phone for?" Tommy, Joel’s brother, approached him, prompting Joel to immediately shove the phone back into his jeans pocket. He took off his hard hat and wiped sweat from his forehead.

Joel searched his mind for a lie but he had nothing, "I’m just waiting to hear back from someone… about something."

"You ain’t dying, brother, are you?" He laughed and Joel managed a chuckle.

"Nah. It’s nothing." Joel's smile faded a bit and he placed the hand on his pocket where the phone sat.

"Seems like something to me," Tommy went on, "I've never seen you so glued to that thing."

Before he could answer, the boss on their job site called out to everyone from a megaphone. “Today’s meeting is mandatory. We’re going over the blueprints for a big job that’s starting August 1st. Unless I watch you throw up, you’ll be there.”

“He’s a ray of fuckin’ sunshine,” Tommy remarked.

"Meeting." Joel nodded to himself and removed his own hard hat, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Shit.”

"Yeah," Tommy said matter-of-factly, "You know, the shit the boss has been talking about for two weeks.”

"Yeah." He nodded, “I forgot about it.”

"Everything alright?" Tommy asked again, "Are you fuckin' hungover or something? You haven’t been overdoing it with the drinking since you and your wife split up, have you?”

"I'm fucking fine Tommy." Joel stopped abruptly and stared at his brother sternly. He thought he felt his phone go off and so he reached into the pocket of his pants again. When he found the screen viewing nothing but the time he almost cursed aloud and jammed the phone back into his pocket. When he glanced back up Tommy was staring at him. "Yeah, I know. I checked my fucking phone."

A few of the other guys glanced over and Tommy grabbed Joel by the arm, towing him to the side.

"I got you this job," Tommy scolded him, "It makes me look bad if you fuck up.”

"Stop giving me shit." He began to walk away but Tommy put a hand on his chest and Joel glared at him.

“Look, Joel. You’ve taken care of me my whole life and this is the one thing I helped you out with.”

“I’m having an off day,” Joel began but Tommy cut him off again.

“No, you haven’t been yourself in months since your lady left you.”

“You really want to go there right now?”

“I’m sorry.” He backed off. “I shouldn’t have said that, but… for me. Please. I like working with you and-”

“Fine.” Joel grumbled.

"Okay.” Tommy nodded and sensed Joel was itching to check his phone again. “But brother to brother, whatever the hell this is." He pointed toward his pocket and then directly at Joel, "Fix it.”

...

You finally decided you would text Joel when eleven o'clock rolled around. You didn't want to seem overly desperate by texting him too soon, nor did you want to interfere with the beginning of his day. Lunch time, you suspected, would be a good time to contact him.

You read the message in your mind as you typed, plopping down in the center of your bed as you did. Hey, it's me... I hope your day isn't going as hard as your morning. You squinted your eyes, not knowing if the message was too corny or forward. You hesitated a moment before finally hitting the send button. Talking dirty and using innuendos wasn't exactly your strong suit.

A loud sigh left your mouth and you rolled onto your back. Having the house to yourself and no work to do was something that very rarely happened - and something you would have typically welcomed. Now, it provided you with far too much time to daydream about Joel and all of the possibilities that went along with his abrupt, dramatic entrance into your life.

You glanced down at your phone, noting the minute hadn't rolled over yet. Still, you already felt self-conscious in the fact that he didn't immediately text your back.

It's been twenty seconds, you reminded herself.

The television played mindlessly across the room and You attempted to put your focus into a rerun of Law & Order with little success. Your eyes dropped to the phone again, this time at the exact second that the time switched from 11:00 to 11:01. It was almost like the device was taunting you; sticking out its tongue and willing you to believe that he, for some reason, ignored the message.

That was when the downward spiral of thoughts occurred in a perfect, timely fashion: Maybe he's annoyed at me for waiting so long. Maybe he's playing hard to get. Maybe he's in the middle of something important. Maybe a co-worker saw the message and now he has to explain it. Maybe he's losing interest. Maybe-

The phone sounded off providing the instant remedy to every worrisome question, and you snatched the phone up into your hands. A smile decorated your face as you read his reply. Warm relief spread into your body from his prompt response.

Jesus honey... I was starting to think my phone was broken.

Your thumbs pounded furiously at the screen as you typed out another message, smirking to yourself as you did. Didn't mean to keep you waiting!

You were completely smitten with the brewing affair and glanced out the window toward his house. You found herself counting down the minutes until three o'clock, or a little after, when you would see his truck roll back into the driveway. Your phone chimed again almost immediately this time and you glanced down to read it.

I forgot I had mandatory meeting until about 5:30 tonight... so I may be the one to keep you waiting... you have my mind clouded. I almost forgot about it.

You felt the simultaneous pull of emotions now that Joel wouldn't be home until later. Still, you felt satisfaction in the idea that you could distract him. It made the butterflies return to your stomach.

Sorry! :) Hope the meeting goes well... I have to find a way to sneak over now that my parents will be home... hmm...

The predicament was real. You weren’t sure how you would manage getting over to Joel's house without them realizing where you were going. You couldn't drive your car - they would see it in his driveway. You couldn't claim that someone was picking you up - they would see that no one was there to get you. Including Holly in the plan would let one more person in on the little secret you and Joel shared - even though you were absolutely dying to.

"Shit..." You thought about it, distracted momentarily by nothing but bad ideas that you knew wouldn't work. A part of you wished you had a key to his house so you could get over there early and greet him in your best bra and panties at the door.

Yeah, right. You knew you didn’t have the balls to do that, anyway.

When the phone sounded off again you felt instantly intrigued. I'll take care of it... don't even fuckin' sweat it.

You closed your eyes and envisioned Joel in his entirety - the feel of his trim beard against your face as you kissed; his breaths as they landed against your neck; the sounds he made at the height of his arousal in the midst of your embrace.

The collection of thoughts made you feel hot and cold; anxious and excited; and nervous but ready all at once. Joel had completely clouded your mind to the extent that you had no room for anything else.

I wonder what he has in mind.

After a long day and some on-and-off texting, Joel’s messages went cold around three o'clock, and you knew it was because of his meeting. However, when eight o'clock you felt anxiety creeping in. As crazy as it felt, you knew you couldn't be stuck in your bedroom staring at Joel's house all night.You had to see him.

The last message on your phone had come nearly a half an hour before. He informed you he was about to shower and of course that felt like a tease. It was enough for you to feel just a bit secure, though with each passing minute you wondered when he would jumpstart the evening.

Your attention was drawn for a moment to the television when a reporter came on about an incident somewhere across the country. A short video clip showed some type of creature in pursuit of two police officers defending civilians. When they all disappeared out of the range of the camera, the sound of gunshots sounded off before the news cut back to the reporter.

"We were informed earlier that the attacker was said to be high on the drug PCP, which would explain the loss of motor skills and aggressive behavior."

Your interest piqued for a moment and you tried to rewind the television to see what the thing looked like. It was dark and brief but you still couldn’t tell what exactly was happening. When your phone chimed your eyes urgently left the television and you smiled to see Joel's name on your phone screen. All he typed was: Ready?

You giggled and nodded as you typed, saying the word out loud, "Always."

A sigh left your mouth and you glanced in the mirror, fluffing out your hair a bit. You looked down at your attire - a pair of girlie boxer shorts from Victoria's Secret and sports bra.

Time to change, you thought with a grin.

The phone went off again and this time when you glanced down you continued to smile but now your curiosity piqued even more. you imagined Joel saying the words aloud that he typed: Go down into the living room. Make sure your parents are there. Text me when you get there.

All of it was so cryptic, and made the uncertainties all the more fun. It was like a big game of cat and mouse. You felt like a kid ready to go to your favorite amusement park, though you didn't know how you would get there - or which ride would be first.

Without another thought you flung open your door and rushed down the stairs, immediately catching the attention of your mom who was already there with the television on. Your father was fully reclined in what he referred to as his 'comfy chair' and was snoring away.

"Hey honey." Your mother greeted you with a smile.

"Hi." You smiled and fiddled with your phone nonchalantly, responding to Joel with a simple, I'm down here. What now?

"Holly?"

Your head snapped up and your face grew a shade darker. "Yeah," you lied.

"Your dad kind of conked out on me," your mother motioned to him in the chair, "We're supposed to be watching Survivor."

"That's still on?"

"Oh, yeah. Of course. It's one of the best shows on television."

"If you say so." You chuckled and looked down when your phone went off again.

Stay there.

"You kids and your phones."

"Hey, you're getting hooked now that you have a smartphone, too." You eyed your mother, who managed a chuckle and yawned. When a commercial came on she rose to her feet, prompting you to head in her direction. "Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen,” she said, staring at you as if you were crazy.

You glanced at your phone again and you bit down on your bottom lip. You weren't sure what Joel was up to but you wanted to obey his requests to stay put in the living room. "Well... why?"

Your mother laughed this time, "To get a bottle of water. Is that okay with you?"

"I'll get it," you offered.

"Are you hiding booze in there or something?"

You laughed, "Hiding? Mom, I'll be twenty-four in a few months. I'm going to be a big-time detective soon." You raised your eyebrows, "I don't need permission to have a drink anymore."

"You do in this house." Your father joked, seemingly springing to life. He grinned well before he opened his eyes as he teamed up with your mother in an effort to tease you.

“I'm not hiding “booze”. I was just coming down to say goodnight.” You crossed the room and kissed your mother on the cheek and then did the same to your father, who already looked like he was about to fall back asleep.

Your mother shrugged, "Well, alright." she glanced at her husband, "You must take after your father because I could stay up until midnight sometimes."

She laughed and you exchanged a hug, pleased that your phone had gone off again as you did. "Good night Mom."

"Good night." You exchanged a smile before glancing back at your phone for what felt like the fiftieth time.

All set honey. You can go back upstairs.

You didn't understand but you were already on your way to the second floor.

So... what's the plan? How will this work tonight?

You sighed, hurrying back to your room with all the intentions of changing into something you felt was more appropriate and much sexier than your typical bedtime attire. When you pushed the door open you screamed and immediately put your hand over your mouth, muffling a laugh just after.

Joel stood in between your open window and your bed. His face twisted into a smirk though he raised his eyebrows when he heard your mother shout up the stairs.

"What happened?" The television muted, "(Y/N)!”

Your mouth hung open and you quickly exited your room when you heard your mother's footsteps approaching the stairs. "I'm fine!" you shouted.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Why did you scream?" Your mother's footsteps were thudding up the stairs now and panic set in in your chest.

"Mom, I'm fine," you insisted, meeting her a step out of the partially open bedroom door. Your heart was thudding in your chest as your mother looked at you skeptically, waiting for your question to be answered. "I... there was a spider. It was... on my door handle and I touched it when I opened my door."

"Yikes. Where did it go?"

"I don't know."

You prayed your mother wouldn't try to enter your bedroom as your eyes began to scan the hardwood floors of the hallway.

"Mom, it's fine," you insisted, "I think I squished it when I opened the door.

"I hate knowing there's a spider in here."

"It was tiny," you insisted, strategically placing your body in between your mother and your room. The only way you could have kept your mother out would have been to push her away, and you didn't have the heart to do something like that. With a deep breath the two of you entered the room.

Joel was nowhere to be seen and your eyes frantically scanned the area while your mother's scanned the floor.

"Mom, I'm fine... really." You were panicking now as you had no idea where Joel had gone. "Please. It's dead. It was smaller than a dime." You took a deep breath, "They're going to vote someone off the island and you're going to miss it."

Finally, your mom let up a bit in her pursuit and stood with her hands on her hips as if she'd just completed some grand mission. "Well... kill it if you see it. You know I hate those things."

"I will." You were practically stiff-arming her out of the room, though you softened up your tone. "I love you, Mom. Thanks for spider hunting for me."

She smiled, "Good night honey."

You watched for a moment, making sure your mother had retreated back to the first floor before closing the door to your bedroom and locking it. For several seconds you stood in silence, glancing around and only able to hear the sound of your thudding heart. When Joel slowly crept up from the floor in between the bed and the wall where the window was, you put your hand on your chest and let out a deep breath.

"Well, I didn’t expect you to scream like that." Joel grinned wide, speaking quietly.

"How did you get in here?" You laughed, whispering the question to him. You were so infatuated by every little thing he did.

Joel nodded toward the window before kicking off his shoes and making himself at home in the center of your bed. "It's been awhile since I've scaled a house to sneak into a girl's bedroom."

"Is that a habit of yours?"

He chuckled, "Sounded a little fuckin' creepy now that I think of it. But, no... not since I was in high school."

You bit down on your bottom lip and crossed the room, leaning a knee on the bed next to him. "You scaled the house?"

Joel smiled wider, "Being a little bad feels pretty good, doesn't it?"

You responded by swinging one leg across his body and straddling him on the bed before bringing your lips down to meet his.

He kissed you for a few seconds before latching his fingers beneath the band of your shorts. "Do you sleep in these?"

A day ago you would have felt self-conscious, though now you could tell he was being flirtatious. "Sometimes..." you kissed him a little harder, "And sometimes nothing at all."

"Mmm..." Joel smiled as you kissed again.

"So... are we going to your place?"

He smiled, "How the hell are we going to do that, honey?"

You shrugged your shoulders.

Joel drew a hand up to your face and twirled a strand of hair in his fingers, unable to keep himself from grinning. "We're staying right here." He laughed, "What’d you think when your mom burst in here?”

"I felt like I was going to be sick."

"How do you feel now?" He reached for your hand and held it in his own, smirking when he saw you were shaking from all the nerves. "You're used to doing the right thing all the time, aren't you?"

"No, I-"

"I like that." Joel smiled wider and kissed you again. "But you are certainly pushing your limits with me." His hand snaked up your back and he began to urge you out of the sports bra you had on until you laid topless on top of him.

"It feels good to push the limits," you told him, closing your eyes as he began kissing your neck and cupping your breast with one of his hands.

"Only one way we're going to get caught messing around in here tonight," he whispered against your neck.

"What's that?" You arched your head back and moaned lightly.

Joel laughed and laid his head back down flat on the pillow. "If you can't be quiet."

"No promises," you teased, purposely pushing back so he could view your upper body in its entirety.

"Mmm..." he hummed. "Well, if I'm too much for you," Joel reached for a second pillow next to where he laid, "Just moan into this."

CLICK HERE FOR PART 6

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