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judyvan · 2 months ago

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7 Days - Chris Sturniolo Fanfic ("No Hands" Extension)

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Summary: Over the next 7 days, Chris made sure to use his reward whenever he got the chance. After winning the bet, his hands had seemed to gravitate towards your body. He would caress, kiss, and hold you more than normal, if that were even possible. In the 7 days that he could do whatever he wanted, you felt nothing shy of love, lust, and exhilaration. You were considering making the deal a permanent thing.

Warnings: MDNI/ smut/ chrisxfem!reader/ bf!chris/ sexually suggestive content/ touchy!chris x needy!reader/ slightly obsessive! chris/ fingering/ use of "you"/ PDA/ couldn't tell ya how many words

A/N: This is an extension of my fanfic "No Hands." To understand the context of this fic, check this one out. This has a lot of words, because there are 7 days' worth of blurbs in this fic, given the title. I am still new to writing, so bear with me. Interactions are appreciated! Pls don't steal my shit. Thx! 💋

Shoutout to @twirler2009 for this super sexy suggestion.

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Day 1

Nick, Matt, and Chris had left the house to film a video. Their parents would be coming to visit from Boston the next day. You decide to get a head start on cleaning while no one else was in the house. You do the dishes, wipe off all the surfaces, sweep and mop the floors, and do some laundry. The scent of cleaning supplies, laundry detergent, and a freshly lit candle fill the air. The boys arrive back home and take in the look of the house.

"It looks great in here!" Nick says in awe.

"Wow. Thank you for cleaning. Normally I have to do all the work," Matt says, shooting you a smile.

"Oh, shut up, Matt," Nick and Chris say in unison.

Chris immediately approaches you. He takes you into his arms, lifts you up, and spins you around. Once your feet hit the floor, his hands meet your face, and his lips find yours. He kisses you long and deep, sliding his tongue into your mouth. Chris normally touches you in front of his brothers, but he's never kissed you around them like this. It’s clear he’s going to make the most out of this deal.

"Umm. HELLO, Chris! Me and Matt are still standing here," Nick says waving his hands, trying to capture Chris' attention. Matt looks down at his feet. The two of them don't know how to react to seeing Chris swap spit with you.

Despite Nick's attempt to stop your kiss, Chris doesn't move away from you until he wants to. He prolongs the kiss for a few more moments.

"Thank you so much for cleaning. You didn't have to do that," he says, placing a final peck to your lips.

"We get it Chris! You and your girlfriend kiss. Now can we please stop before I actually throw up. Thanks!" Nick says covering his eyes and walking out of the room.

You, Chris, and Matt giggle as Matt follows Nick out of the room.

"I'm going to go take a shower, then we can watch a movie or something," Chris says leaning in to kiss you again.

"Oh yeah? Just like how we watched a movie yesterday, right?" you say, flicking up an eyebrow and kissing him back. Just remembering his mouth touching you where his hands couldn’t, causes your skin to break out in goosebumps.

"I mean, I'm down for that too," Chris says, winking at you.

He picks you up and you wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you to his bedroom. Chris sits you down gently on his bed. After grabbing some clothes, your boyfriend approaches you. His eyes scan your face. When his gaze lands on your lips, his tongue skims across his own. He just couldn’t get enough. The two of you are never going to be able to get anything done with this constant need for physical contact. He tilts his face towards yours, missing the warmth of your lips and the sweet flavor that accompanies them. You avoid his lips and softly peck the tip of his nose.

"Go take a shower, Chris," you say.

Chris grabs your chin and pulls you towards his face.

"Only after you kiss me," he says, pressing his lips into yours tenderly.

You practically melt into Chris as he draws out the kiss. Every movement that his mouth makes is very thought out, wanting to savor your taste and touch while he leaves you to take a shower.

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Day 2

While Matt and Nick go to the airport to pick up their parents, Jimmy and Mary Lou, you and Chris go to the store to pick up some materials before they close. Mary Lou had sent you a grocery list because she planned on using a family recipe to make dinner the next day.

While walking throughout the aisles at the store, Chris insisted that the both of you push the cart together. Your hands wrapped around the bar of the cart, and Chris' rested on top of yours. Chris stayed behind you, sandwiching you in between the cart and himself. He pressed his body against yours as the two of you searched for the items on the list. Chris lifted one of his hands and moved all of your hair to one side. He put his hand back in its place and began to kiss your neck.

“Chris,” you gasp. “We are in public.”

Chris’ lips move to your ear as he tightens his grip on your hands.

“I won fair and square. Remember?” he whispers. You can tell he has a grin on his face by the tone in his voice. His lips then reconnect with your neck, biting down and sucking gently.

Eventually, Chris moves your hair again and switches sides. Your mouth had fallen open, your heart was pounding, your mind was fuzzy, and your knees were weak. You grip onto the cart tighter, needing stability. The feeling of him devouring your skin made you stop in your track's multiple times. Chris kept pushing forward, forcing you to continue walking. Now that you’re unable to think clearly, Chris has to guide the cart down the correct aisles. He only glances up with his eyes to navigate, his mouth never leaving you. By the time you reach the register, your neck is flushed all over and Chris' lips are swollen.

“Did you guys find everything alright?” the cashier asks as Chris throws the items onto the conveyor belt.

“Yes, we did,” Chris says, slowly looking at you with a smug look on his face. The sight of you all hot and bothered along with the markings on your neck suddenly remind him of something.

“Oh, wait! Do you guys sell condoms?”

You shoot Chris a look, silently telling him to shut his mouth.

“What?” he says, confused by the look on your face. “We used the last one last night…I know you remember,” he smiles at you cockily, clearly proud of his performance after he got out of the shower.

You shove your elbow into his ribs.

“Chris!?”

“Umm… yeah. There should be some like 4 rows to your left,” the cashier replies, his eyes looking between you and your boyfriend.

“Okay. You stay here and I’ll go grab those,” Chris says, placing a kiss on your forehead and shooting finger guns at you before running off.

“I’m sorry about him,” you say to the cashier as he scans your items.

“Don’t worry about it. What’re you guys making?” he replies, changing the conversation topic.

“Lasagna.”

“Is it date night?”

“No, his parents are coming in town. His mom is going to cook a family recipe tomorrow night.”

“Ahh. I gotcha,” the cashier says as he scans the last few items.

You see Chris returning with a bottle of Pepsi and two packs of condoms in his hands. He places the items on the conveyor belt.

“Hey. Thanks man,” Chris says shooting the cashier a smile.

“No problem.”

Chris turns his attention towards you, his expression full of enthusiasm, as he points to the second box of condoms.

“Look what I found! I literally thought flavored condoms were like a figment of my imagination but turns out they’re very much real. We have to try them. Do a little taste test. You know?”

There is simply no other way for you to react to Chris’ excitement than to palm your face and slowly shake your head. The cashier lets out a chuckle as he puts the last few things in a bag. Chris pays the cashier while you load the bags in the cart.

“You guys have a great night,” the cashier says with a smile on his face.

“Oh trust me, we will,” Chris says smirking at him as he places you in between himself and the cart once again.

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Day 3

The smell of lasagna and garlic bread makes your mouth water as Mary Lou finishes cooking. Everyone floods into the kitchen and a line is formed. The food is set up buffet style. Whenever you and Chris get to the front of the line, he fixes your plate of food first and then makes his own once you’re satisfied. The two of you then walk to the dining room to join everyone else. Chris sits both of your plates down on the table. He then pulls his own chair out and immediately sits down. You look at him and furrow your brow. Chris always pulls your chair out for you, and you start to wonder why he didn’t this time. As soon as you begin to reach for the top of your chair, you feel Chris’ arm sneak around your thigh.

“What’re you doing?” he questions, staring up at you with “innocent” eyes.

You look up confused and everyone else seems to do the same. Chris then stretches his legs out.

“I want you to sit with me.”

“Chris there’s a seat right be-fucking-side you,” Nick says clearly confused.

“That seat’s taken,” Chris says nodding his head towards the completely empty chair. “This one isn’t.”

Chris nods his head downward and opens his legs even wider, dusting off his thighs. He moves his arm to your waist and gently pulls you onto his lap. He then picks up his fork and starts to eat nonchalantly. Everyone else has halted, all looking around slightly puzzled.

“Chris, why don’t you just let her sit in her own chair?” Jimmy asks, genuinely wanting to know the reasoning.

“Because she insists on going to her own house tomorrow so me, Matt, and Nick can spend some time with you guys one on one.”

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Mary Lou says, smiling at you.

“I really appreciate it, but I think we can go a day without seeing each other,” you laugh gesturing at Chris with your eyes.

“How much do you want to bet it won’t even last an entire day?” Matt asks giggling.

Chris rubs small circles over your thigh with his thumb while everyone gambles. The stakes get higher and higher. Everyone looks to you, waiting to hear your response.

“I would love to bet all the money that I have; but I’m not very good at winning bets,” you say, shifting in Chris' lap and giving him a smirk. There's a stiffness that begins to form underneath of you. A soft peck is placed on your shoulder as Chris begins to gently squeeze your inner thigh, desperately trying to control himself.

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Day 4

The next morning, Chris wants to stay in bed a little longer than normal, not wanting you to go back to your house. He holds you close hoping to keep you that way forever. As you say your goodbyes to everyone, Chris is right on your heels. While talking to Jimmy, Chris slides in between the two of you, hugging you tightly. You have to look over his shoulder to continue the conversation, as if nothing happened. After a few minutes, he releases his tight grip and lazily slumps his body against yours. You finish your conversation with Jimmy and begin to step towards Nick and Matt. Chris interlocks his fingers with yours, holding your hand as you walk a singular foot. He sits on the arm of the couch and pulls your body against his while you talk. Finally, you chat with Mary Lou. As your conversation continues, Chris hugs you from behind and places gentle kisses to the top of your head.

"Okay, Chris. I get that your upset, but can you please release her from your grasp for 3 fucking seconds?" Nick asks.

"Oh, Nick be nice. I think it's sweet," Mary Lou states, showing Chris a small smile.

"Mom, you may think it's cute now, but you don't realize that this is an every single day occurance," Matt chimes in, backing Nick up.

Chris walks you to the door after you say a final goodbye to everyone. He wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your neck. He gently grabs your chin and places a longing kiss to your lips.

"I love you," he somehow manages to mutter.

"I'll see you, tomorrow. I love you," you say before walking out of the door. Despite your words, you knew that your night would end with you asleep in Chris' bed.

You sat at your house for hours, bored out of your mind. There was no Chris to keep you entertained. You could detect the feeling of your skin being left untouched. His text messages could only do so much.

You willingly take an Uber to Chris' house, not wanting him to see your car there, hoping to prank him. You sit on the edge of his bed, waiting for him to arrive. Eventually, the front door creaks open and Chris calls your name. The sound of 3 pairs of footsteps head towards your direction and you can hear Chris, Nick, and Matt talking.

"Chris she isn't here," Matt says.

"Yes, she is."

"Chris you are fucking insane," Nick replies.

Suddenly the door busts open and the three men enter the room. Matt and Nick's eyes grow wide when they see you.

"I knew it," Chris says, a huge grin taking over his face. "Get your ass over here."

You slowly start to walk towards Chris. He speeds up the process by grabbing your arm and yanking you towards him. His hands slide under your pajama shorts and squeeze your ass roughly as he hungrily kisses your lips. He seems like he's been starved for attention.

"That is disgusting. Let's get the fuck out of here," Nick says pushing Matt out of the room before stepping out himself, slamming the door behind him.

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Day 5

You feel something brush across your collarbone. Then something touches your jaw. Now your cheek. There's pressure on your lips.

You flick your eyes open and see Chris on top of you, peppering you with kisses to wake you up.

"Goodmorning," he says continuing to kiss your body. "Nick and Matt left so we get to spend the morning together."

"Okay," you say, smiling up at Chris.

You softly kiss his lips before he turns over. He pulls you on top of him and you nuzzle up to him quickly.

His hand gently massages your head, and your hand runs up and down his abs.

His hand draws patterns on your back while you twirl his hair around your finger.

Your thumb grazes across his stubble while his fingers slide back and forth in the waistband of your shorts.

The two of you stay in bed for hours, soaking in the presence of each other as you touch one another in any way that you can.

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Day 6

Chris asks if Nick and Matt will have a game night with you two. After lots and lots of convincing, they finally agreed. Chris had his heart set on Twister, for whatever reason. Matt chooses to hold the spinner for the first round while you, Chris, and Nick play.

“Alright guys, left foot on blue,” Matt says.

The game doesn’t go smoothly for very long. After just a few more directions, you, Chris, and Nick are all intertwined with each other.

“Right hand green.”

As you reach for the green dot, you slip, pulling Chris down with you.

“Nick wins,” Matt says laughing at the flailing limbs on the ground.

“Yes! Give me that fucking spinner,” Nick replies, snatching it out of Matt’s grasp.

You, Chris, and Matt prepare to take your turn.

“Right foot red,” Nick says, starting the three of you off.

After a few more rotations, Matt falls on his elbow, leaving just you and Chris. He gives you a competitive sneer.

“Left hand yellow.”

You are now on all fours with you head under Chris’ torso. He is straddling your body with both of his hands on the left side of your hip.

“Right hand red.”

You move your hand and your back arches as you stretch to reach the circle. Your head is now directly between Chris' kneecaps. As Chris moves his hand, his face is placed right at the top of your arch, staring directly at your ass.

“Hey, maybe we should try this position tonight,” Chris jokes.

Matt’s eyes go wide and Nick screams.

“WHATTTTT?! Christopher you are fucking sick. I am not playing this game with you anymore. You need help and now SO DO I,” Nick says, dropping the spinner. Matt starts to make his way out of the room and Nick follows right behind him.

Chris hits the floor as he begins to laugh, rolling onto his back.

“I win,” you say, straddling him before leaning down to meet his lips.

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Day 7

You and Chris had planned to meet your friends at the movies. You were really liking how touchy Chris was being, given his reward. It is for sure that you didn't want him to stop anytime soon, even though this would mark 7 days of you losing the bet. To ensure that Chris would be extra touchy, you decide to wear a more revealing outfit; a low hanging top with the tiniest jean skirt that you own. You meet Chris in the living room. When you enter the room, you find him sitting on the couch, his phone in his hand. The sound of your heeled shoes grabs his attention but doesn't hold it for long. You give him a spin and his jaw hits the ground.

"I am so glad I won this bet. There is no way I would've survived if you decided to dress like that and wouldn't let me touch you."

You can practically see the drool coming out of his mouth.

"Well, what are you waiting for then?" you question, walking over to him, coming to a stop between his legs. He looks up at you from his seated position. You can see the want in his eyes. He slides both of his hands under the back of your skirt. Your thong didn't cover much. Chris gently squeezes your, almost completely bare, ass under your skirt. He throws his head back as he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He brings his head back forward and rests his forehead on your stomach.

"You know what? Maybe we should just stay home," Chris suggests.

You pick his head up by sliding your finger under his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes.

"No. We can't do that. Our friends are waiting on us," you say seductively, gently pulling down his lower lip with your thumb.

You begin to slowly back away from him and walk towards the door, dramatically swaying your hips. You pull out some lip gloss from your bag, purposefully dropping it on the floor.

"Come on, Chris."

You turn to look at him before bending over to retrieve your lip gloss, revealing the thong underneath of your skirt. You stay in that position until Chris makes his way over to you. As he smacks your ass, you stand up, leading him out of the door.

"You just wait until we get back home," he says with trouble written all over his face.

Before heading into the theater, you make sure to grab a blanket from your car, knowing that your legs will get cold. Chris places his hand in your back pocket as the two of you walk to meet up with your friends. You hit up the snack bar, grabbing some popcorn and two Pepsis. As the group files into the theater, Chris makes sure that the two of you go first. He wants you to sit in the end seat. You sit down, draping the blanket over your legs. The two of you chat with your friends while you wait for the movie to start. Eventually the lights dim, and everything goes quiet.

Throughout the entire movie, you are desperately trying to get Chris' attention. You begin to slide your leg up and down Chris'. You can see him trying to keep his composure. You then glide your hand onto his thigh, rubbing it gently. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You remove your hand from Chris' leg and grab some popcorn. You can see Chris turn to you from the corner of your eye. You need him. Bad. You begin to eat the popcorn gradually, piece by piece. You provocatively take the popcorn into your mouth, pulling in each piece carefully with your tongue. You look at Chris, making eye contact. After the last few pieces slide into your mouth, you slowly take your fingers into your mouth, one by one. After licking the mixture of butter and salt off of each finger, painfully slow, you let your tongue graze across your lips and release a soft hum. You place your hand back on Chris' thigh and face the big screen once again. Chris' eyes are still fixated on you. You trail your hand up his leg, getting closer and closer to his dick. You barely graze over it with your pinky. Chris pulls you even further into him.

"What're you doing?" he murmurs.

"Nothing," your eyes never leave the screen.

"You look too good to be doing this right now," he says kissing your temple tenderly.

"You think I look good?" you ask, turning to finally look at him.

"Without a doubt."

You lean into Chris' ear, letting them rest of your fingers meet your pinky.

"And what're you going to do about that?" you question, pulling away from his ear.

"Take the fucking popcorn," Chris mutters lowly, pushing the bucket into your hands.

He slides his hand under your blanket, immediately feeling the wetness pool between your legs. Without hesitation, he moves your thong to the side and dips his fingers into you, curling them right into you G spot. You walls pull him in and you start to squeeze your legs together, searching for more pressure. You grip onto the popcorn bucket, shoving some into your mouth to drown out the sounds of your whimpers. You begin to squirm around in your seat slightly. Chris speeds up his pace, pumping his fingers in and out of you. You start to bounce one of your feet up and down. You take one hand off of the popcorn bucket and grasp onto the arm of your chair, squeezing tightly as you feel your insides tighten. Luckily, a joke was just made in the movie, earning a laugh from the crowd. You were discreetly able to let out a low moan as you came onto Chris' fingers. He pulled them out of you and grabbed some popcorn out of the bucket. He watched you catch your breath as the buzz died down. He then tossed the pieces of popcorn into his mouth, making sure to lick the remnants of you off of his fingers after he was done. He shakes his head as his tongue pokes against his cheek, a scoff falling from his lips.

"Just wait 'til we get fucking home."

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets #nicholas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #smutty fanfiction #smutty smut smut #blurb #chris x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #bf!chris

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snorky · 1 year ago

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Verbatim

Hey y’all! I’m posting another story today as well because I wrote the last story at the same time I wrote this one. I saw a particular image of Swayman with his November mustache, and I must say it suits him well (maybe I just like mustaches). The confidence he exuded at the 11/11 Bruins v. Canadiens game was *chefs kiss* and I loved it. Title inspired by the song "Verbatim" by Mother Mother, mostly the intro guitar part. I hope you all enjoy this fic, and take care of yourself!

Pairing: Jeremy Swayman x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None

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The chilly, familiar, cold Boston air came rolling in, making the apartment seem much more frigid than it had to be. Although it was her favorite time of the year, when alluring holiday lights were hung on street lamp posts, and the scent of baked goods seemed to linger around, the cold air was rather uninviting compared to the other joys of winter.

It reminded her of sweet childhood, full of color and happiness and innocence in a swirl of hot cocoa, dashes of marshmallows and with whipped cream on the top. As she grew into adulthood, that childhood never seemed to go away since she met Jeremy.

She shared an apartment with Jeremy, her friend since university, and it helped cut some costs off of the heart-issue-inducing price of rent in the area, although to compromise, she wanted to help with groceries and chores as much as she could.

“Hey, Jeremy—” She closed the door behind her with her foot, her hands occupied with the task of carrying paper grocery bags. “Let me know if we need any winter supplies.”

He was always a friend, first. He was someone she cared about much more than just someone she lived with and split rent. They both inspired each other to grow better, never putting one or the other down, but always uplifting each other.

Turning around the corner, he stood in the kitchen with his back turned to her, cooking up a simple lunch for the both of them. “I’ll let you know, but I don’t think Boston winter is going to be too rough this year.”

“They say that every year, until one day in the middle of winter, we suddenly get a foot of snow,” she sighed.

He turned around, placing the sandwiches down on the counter, and helped her with some of the groceries. She looked up at him and became startled, “Jeez, Swayman—” Her arms quickly grabbed the groceries that she had almost dropped. “What did you do?”

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. A dopey smile was plastered on his face. “Forgot to tell you that I was keeping the ‘stache for ‘Movember’ and I’m surprised that you just noticed it now.”

She felt slight embarrassment in not noticing, but it wasn’t every day that she stared at his face constantly, at least, she thought. “Well,” she paused before speaking again. “You know what, yeah.”

Grabbing the bags of produce and vegetables, she put them in a colander and began to rinse them in the sink as he put the other foods into the refrigerator. The thought of him having a mustache was new to her, especially since he was either clean-shaven or had a slight scruff. Taking a peek at him, she observed it, settling down on the idea that it wasn’t too bad.

“Do I have something on my face?” He laughed. Noticing her flustered expression, he gave her a slight smirk. “Ohh.” Closing the fridge behind him, he walked slightly closer to her. “It’s the mustache isn’t it?”

She didn’t have any romantic feelings for him on the surface, but it was evident that there was a live wire spitting sparks into the air between them.

The late weeknights when it was Jeremy’s rest days, spent on the couch with her, watching their favorite TV show with a bowl of Chipotle. Or the times when she made post-game dinners for him, seeing the genuine smile in his eyes when he looked at her.

It made her do a double-take when thinking about him, and she tried so hard to not let it get to her. For Pete’s sake, he was her friend and roommate for years. And it’d be so, wrong, in many more ways she could explain, yet it was beyond easy to fall for him.

Looking her up and down, he noticed the heat that seemed to drift to her face and neck. “Definitely the ‘stache,” he laughed as he took a step back from her, grabbing his sandwich from the counter and walking to the stools on the island counter.

Oh, damn him. He knew the effect he had on her and she noticed it, but it felt like a jumble of mixed signals. Did he like her? Was he just teasing her? It was a whirlwind of mixed feelings and unsteady ground.

She brushed her feelings aside and grabbed one of the two sandwiches that he had made for the both of them and started to eat it, enjoying how pleasant it tasted. “This tastes pretty good,” she hummed.

“Thanks,” he responded, continuing to eat. “Tried out a new recipe.”

They both continued to eat in silence together, across the kitchen island from each other, the distance separating them. Awkward tension hung in the air as her feelings about him were slightly revealed, but not enough so that he knew something was definite. He moved his gaze from his sandwich to her, observing her like a hawk.

“I’ll do dishes, go relax after you finish your food.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Why?” she asked. It confused her as to why he wanted her to relax, especially out of the blue. “What’d you do?”

“You got the groceries and I think that you should just rest.” He smiled.

She hummed in response, content with the idea of relaxing on the couch after running some errands. “Thanks,”

Finishing up their sandwiches, Jeremy grabbed both of their plates and placed them in the dishwasher as she went out to the living room. Laying face-down on the couch, she let out a long exhale, relaxing her muscles and body.

“Long day?”

“Your mustache is unbearable,” she groaned.

He laughed at her, “I think you like it.” Crouching down to be at eye-level with her, he paused before he spoke softly, “Tell me what’s wrong,”

She turned her head to look at him, his face drawn with light concern. “What?”

“I can see it, you have something you want to say. And it’s not about my facial hair,”

Time seemed to slow as they remained in silence looking at each other. He searched her eyes for an answer to her silence. Was it in fear? Discomfort? Annoyance?

She held her pinky up to him, a symbol of keeping a promise. “Promise to continue helping me pay the rent?”

Jeremy let out a small laugh, considering how silly the request seemed, but at the same time, an odd feeling sunk within him when she said that. “Promise.” He wrapped his pinky finger around hers tightly.

Releasing a breath she didn’t know that she was holding, she buried her face into the couch, hiding from his gaze that he kept on her. “I think I like you,” she mumbled. Her face was hot with embarrassment, a mixture of fear and shame bubbling inside of her.

“Well I mean,” he paused briefly, “I hope you do, we split rent and live with each other twenty-four-seven if I’m not on road trips.”

“No—”

“Okay, I know what you mean, I was just messing with you.” He smiled. “Please look at me,”

She picked her head up off of the couch slowly, turning to look at him, he remained smiling, and it looked sweeter than before. He had the softest, precious-happy look in his eyes, the one that she’d see after a game win, but better.

His cheeks were dusted with a gentle pink tint, his face soft. “I like you as well. In the way of me wanting us to be more than friends,”

Smiling at him, she gently cupped his face, her thumb running over his cheek. It was the answer that she had preferred to hear from him, but it seemed better than she had initially thought, and it was relieving. Her own cheeks were a rosy shade, flustered and feeling all sorts of fuzziness.

“Let’s go out and grab dinner later this evening, my treat,”

“I’m sleepy though,” she sighed.

“You need a midday nap?” He asked as he stood up. “Cause if so, I’m grabbing some blankets and joining.” He let out an obnoxiously loud yawn, which she laughed at, as he walked away to grab the blankets from the closet.

This was routine for them from time to time since they were close, but it was slightly different now, knowing that they both felt like they were more than friends. When he came back, he gave her a few blankets and then laid on the couch beside her, head in her lap.

“We’re going on a date tonight, so let’s get some rest.” He let out another yawn, which in turn, caused her to yawn.

“What? A date?”

“The best for the best,”

She smiled softly at him, adoring his genuineness. Her hand drifted to his hair, playing with it gently as he drifted off to sleep, and shortly after, she started to fall asleep as well, peacefully in his presence, together.

#nhl #hockey #nhl hockey #boston bruins #nhl fic #nhl writing #hockey fic #hockey imagine #jeremy swayman #jeremy swayman x reader #jeremy swayman imagine #boston bruins imagine

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through-rosey-glasses · 23 days ago

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The Old Ironside: A Recipe and Ramble

In preparation for the first games of the Professional Womens Hockey Leauge (PWHL) I am testing out cocktails for each team that hopefully will make an appearance at my watch party. First up I am making a drink for the Boston Fleet.

The Old Ironside (thank you to everyone who voted) is inspired by nautical history and Boston history as well. The special ingredient here is an earl grey syrup that is basically an infused simple syrup. (Recipe for that can be found here) While I understand that an earl grey tea blend we drink today would not have been what was originally thrown overboard, it is a close match that has orange in it. And that orange pairs nicely with the orange juice used in the recipe. The orange and rum lean more to the nautical history of sailors while the tea is a reference to the Boston tea party.

Technically there are three recipes included here. How to make a single glass, how to batch for a party, and a mocktail option. Even if you are not a Boston Fleet fan, this cocktail is a fun and bright refreshment that can be really fun at a party.

(Unfortunately there has been an ant takeover in the kitchen and there isn’t a clean or pretty surface to take pictures of the cocktails right now. Pictures will come when things are clean and there isn’t ant poison in the background.)

Old Ironside for One

½ ounce earl grey syrup

1 ounce orange juice

2 ounces rum

Tonic water

Ice

Fill a cocktail glass with ice and pour in the syrup, orange juice, and rum. Give it a bit of a stir before topping it off with tonic water. You can add an orange peel to make it feel fancier.

Old Ironside Batched

Keeping a 1/2/4 ratio in mind, fill a pitcher with one part earl grey syrup, two parts orange juice, and four parts rum. I usually use a mason jar when doing this at home, but you can use any measurement that makes sense for you. Invite guests to fill a cup with ice and pour in the cocktail mixture a third of the way in, top off with tonic water, and enjoy!

Old Ironside Mocktail

There are two options here. First is to simply remove the rum from the cocktail. This really lets the earl grey syrup shine. The second would be to replace the rum with a nonalcoholic options, something like the seedlip grove 42 could work well here. (Seedlip is the only nonalcoholic brand I have tried before and why I am sharing it as an option)

Thank you if you read this far! I hope to update with pictures as soon as possible and I am testing out the next drink right now.

#pwhl #natalie posts #boston fleet #recipe #old ironside #a curse upon the ants in my household #how dare they keep me from taking pictures aka the most important part of a recipe #toronto you are next

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year ago

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Since you seem really intrigued by the ceo/mob soft!dark!Ari sending his planned wife a wedding invitation to announce their relationship…

“The man is off the market,” a chipper entertainment news anchor had relayed the news with a falsified voice and a plastered smile, “the bachelor famous for running three successful corporations in Boston and New York City is engaged.”

“Exciting news for the infamous Ari Levinson-”

“That guy is gorgeous. Lucky bitch.” Jessa had scoffed with a roll of her eyes, spite and envy dripping from every word while she hastily wiped at the countertops.

Though the cheap vinyl surface wasn’t dirtied since the last time she had wiped them down, Jessa was trying to waste time until it was quitting time. It was a tactic, nothing more than a chance to stall after she’d finished all her side jobs and tasks.

“That guy is dangerous. He’s a monster,” you drew your eyebrows together and pursed your lips as the anchors continued to speak, “he’s the devil incarnate.”

“Still,” Jessa sighed airily and wantonly, “imagine a man like that, being so fucked out that your back is blown-”

“When speaking about the future Mrs. Levinson, Ari had nothing but praise and affection for his future wife, declaring her quiet, demure and beautiful.”

“Try not to miss me too much!” Jessa threw the cloth down in victory, her shift officially over and you left to finish off the night.

The urge to roll your eyes and curse after her was only prevented by the bell above the door chiming as a man wearing a four piece suit stepped inside. He seemed entirely too out of place in this dump, this hellhole suitable for a class he seemed to be out of.

“Y/N L/N?” The man approached you with a cautious glance at the cleaned counter, and then slowly sank onto the torn leather stool.

“Can I help you?” You questioned him, speculative and unsure of his intentions.

“Yes, Miss L/N.” he withdrew an envelope from his suit and slid it against the surface until the edges grazed your fingertips. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

Confusion abound, you ripped open the envelope to read what was given to you.

On the thick card stock etched in black cursive letters was the invitation to celebrate the nuptials of yourself, your full legal name ensconced, and the devil you’d just been speaking of.

“This is a mistake, some sick joke-” the door chimed again, another three men stepping into the cafe.

“-Mr. Levinson is waiting for you. The bridal suite is nearly finished being decorated.”

#soft!dark!Ari Levinson #soft!dark!mob!Ari Levinson #soft!dark!mob!#mob!Ari Levinson #mob!ari levinson x reader

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cinnamongorll · 11 months ago

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a fragile line - chapter 9

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warnings: threats and allusions to sexual assault + graphic violence

Word count: 5.9k

Chapter 9: 'Carolina'

One Week Later…

A cold pressure spread across the side of Juliet’s head. She shifted, tilting to the side but the solid surface remained, creating an uncomfortable weight against her skull. A groan escaped her chapped lips but her eyes stayed shut, squeezed tight against the light which threatened the darkness behind her eyelids. A soft rumbling sound breathed in Juliet’s ear and she felt her body shake with the vibrations that rattled around her head. What is going on -

“Shit!” Juliet yelped and sat up, her eyes wide open. She was in a car, a dusty road projected across the front of her vision. Juliet released a slow breath of relief at the sight of the familiar horizon, the same horizon they had followed for several hours now. Only now its colour had deepened, the soft pinks transformed into a multitude of blues.

Juliet turned to her left, her neck now incredibly stiff, and found Joel in the driver’s seat. He had one hand on the wheel, exactly where he was before she fell asleep, although now he stared at her with his eyebrows raised. Juliet could have sworn there was a slight curve to the corner of his mouth, but that was impossible.

She sighed and reached a hand up to massage her neck. “Eyes on the road,” she grumbled. Joel’s face was a blank slate again, his head turned upwards before his eyes met the road.

Over a week had passed since their night at Bill and Frank’s. They had left early the next morning, packing the truck with weapons, food and anything else Joel deemed necessary for their journey. He had estimated that it would take about two days of near constant driving to reach Iowa, a task he was very much prepared to complete until they ran into trouble.

About five hours into their roadtrip, Juliet spotted the signs of a group travelling the same road. Fear had gripped her, sudden and fierce, as she pointed towards the man standing in the middle of the road ahead of their truck. He was crouched in a defensive pose, his hands outstretched above his head and he was shouting, a series of “please, please, please,” echoing in the deserted highway. The action struck Juliet with a sense of deja vu, she recognised the performance: a single man, entirely alone, with no belongings in the middle of the day, looking strangely clean and unharmed for a post-apocalyptic vagabond.

“Don’t stop,” Juliet had urged Joel, as every muscle in her body froze.

“I wasn’t fucking planning on it,” Joel growled as he grabbed the wheel and dragged it to the left in one powerful movement, the truck tires squealed and burnt rubber invaded the air as it swung off the road into the trees.

They had to stay off the highways after that.

Instead, Joel drove them through deserted back roads and rough woodland trails which the truck barely survived. They also limited their time on the road, only driving when the sun was high and the wind howled around them to mask the roar of the engine. Joel was the most cautious man Juliet had ever met, his mind always went to the worst case scenario. It was annoying as hell, but an incredibly useful trait in a partner while travelling the battered wasteland of America.

After over a week on the road, Juliet was used to the routine, familiar with the subtle signs of Joel’s weariness at the end of a long day and the soft tapping of his fingers on the leather steering wheel. Which was why, when Juliet woke in the truck to the sunset’s approach on the horizon, she blinked and dared to take another peek at Joel, a question lining her lips. He was usually so careful about staying off the road when the light began to shift. Joel must have felt her confusion because he responded to her silence:

“There’s a town about a mile away. We can find a place to lay low when we get there.”

Juliet let her gaze fall to the forest lining either side of the truck, her brows furrowed. Joel’s decision was final of course, but she wondered what had urged him to risk driving into the evening. Maybe he was sick of moving slowly, maybe he was desperate to get rid of her, get his supplies and get to his brother. Juliet, too, felt the crushing weight of each second they spent on the road and not at her destination. She was sure Ethan felt it too.

Juliet shuddered and wrapped her jacket around her, faking a chill. Her shoulder had begun to heal properly, Joel had rebandaged it again before they left Bill and Frank’s but now that her infection had thankfully cleared up, she could take care of it herself. Joel wasn’t forced to touch her anymore, he didn’t have to flinch every time his calloused fingers met her skin.

Juliet let her head fall against the back of the seat once more and her eyes fell closed, listening to the tap of Joel’s fingers. In the fading light, Juliet allowed herself to fade into another dreamless sleep.

…………………………………………………………………………

“Get up,” Joel’s voice cut through Juliet’s mind, his voice a harsh, warped whisper in her sleep soaked subconscious.

She blinked rapidly, attempting to take in her surroundings. Juliet sat up and turned her head, her eyes still adjusting to the darkness now clouding her vision. It was pitch black, night had fallen.

“What’s happening? Why did we drive for so long?” Juliet croaked, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

Her eyes were still squeezed tight when an arm wrapped around her head and a warm hand closed over her mouth. Juliet reacted immediately and reached her hands up, clawing at her attacker, her broken nails digging into the hard flesh.

“Shhh, it’s me,” Joel’s voice whispered in her ear, his stubbled cheek pressed against the side of her head. He didn’t react to the small scrapes now piercing his skin.

Juliet’s body sagged instantly at the sound of Joel’s voice. Her back pressed against the front of his body despite the odd angle they were positioned in. When he felt the recognition flare through her, Joel’s hand slid from her mouth to rest on her collarbone. Juliet’s eyes were wide, scanning the darkness which stretched in front of the truck window, she tried to turn and look at Joel’s face, desperate to gain some understanding of their situation but Joel’s hold on her was solid and unyielding.

“We’re bein’ followed,” Joel hissed in Juliet’s ear, his voice thick with urgency. “They’ve got us boxed in, we need to get to that store along the street without makin’ a sound.”

Juliet could just make out the faint outline of a shop when she squinted her eyes, the world around her was so dark that only Joel’s soft breaths grounded her in reality.

“When I say go, we’re goin’ to leave the truck and sprint for the store. You run without lookin’ back, I’ll find a way to get us in,” Joel said, breathing the instructions in her ear.

Juliet said nothing, waiting for Joel’s signal.

“You hear me?” he asked, his voice practically a growl in her ear.

Juliet nodded her head, her chin barely able to tilt downwards in Joel’s embrace, she felt his head turn, as though he was scanning their surroundings.

“Now,” he whispered.

In a smooth motion, Joel let go of Juliet and pushed her towards the door on her side of the truck as he reached down to grab the gun placed strategically at his feet. Juliet stumbled out the truck, her own gun locked in her hand, safety off.

Seconds later, they were speeding across the dark street, the sound of their steps ricocheting off the stone buildings lining the road. They had left everything in the truck, their food, their backpacks, their brief pretence of peace. They only had their guns, Juliet’s knife, and the variety of weapons Joel probably had stashed on his body. Juliet could barely see Joel in the pitch black, she followed his footsteps as he rushed in a straight line towards the large store at the end of the street, the moon cast a soft glow on the red circles attached to the top of the building.

Juliet’s breath escaped her mouth in rough gasps, the remaining haze from her sleep dulled her senses as she ran after Joel, not daring to turn back at whatever or whomever had spooked him. When they reached the building, Joel signalled with a quick movement of his hand to follow him around the side of the store, their bodies practically plastered to the crumbling grey stone.

Their brief pause against the wall allowed Juliet to take a deep inhale of the night air, her clarity returning in a flood of panic and disorientation. She reached out and clutched Joel’s arm, he turned towards her immediately, his eyes burned with a hot fury, wide with a sharpened focus; his survival instincts out in full force.

There was a glimmer of fear there too, just a hint of it in the wideness of his eyes, which dampened when he scanned Juliet’s body and found it unharmed.

Joel was a master at silent communication and the look he gave her in that moment, when an unknown threat was creeping around them, was utterly lethal. The words of confusion, a desperate need to understand what was happening, died on her lips.

Joel shrugged off her careful grip, gave her another desperate look and continued their movements along the side of the store. They reached a door only seconds later, Joel stopped in front of it, instantly attempting the handle. Locked, of course.

Joel scanned the area around them as Juliet closed her eyes in an attempt to capture evidence of the anonymous figures Joel was so sure were stalking their every movement, concentrating on any sounds passing in the cold wind. Juliet heard nothing, which did not bring her the relief she craved. The continued stillness was disconcerting.

Joel’s hand grazed her own and Juliet’s eyes flashed open. He stood before her, turmoil raged behind his eyes, the dark brown now entirely invaded by the black of his pupils. Juliet tilted her chin up to meet his cold stare, awaiting whatever instruction lay heavy on his tongue.

“There’s a window, I’m gonna boost you up to unlock the door from the inside,” he murmured, moving closer to Juliet to ensure she heard his rushed, quiet words.

Juliet looked behind him at the small window situated just left of the locked door, the glass was smashed and small shards rounded the edge of the frame. Juliet’s eyes met Joel’s again and she nodded, she could feel the invisible threat closing in every second they were still out in the open.

Joel bent down under the window with a soft groan, his gun now in his back pocket as he cupped his hands for Juliet to step on. Juliet didn’t hesitate, she shifted her own gun into her jacket pocket, quickly stretched her bad shoulder and placed one foot on Joel’s hand, her arms reaching towards the window frame.

Careful to avoid the sharp shards that littered the frame, Juliet used her remaining upper body strength to push herself up, her feet now dangling. Warm hands caught her, Joel stood underneath her, his hands gripped her waist with a tight security she hadn’t realised how desperately she craved. Juliet couldn’t allow herself to think about how good the heat that radiated from his large hands felt against her sore body, she could only use Joel’s offer of strength to push herself the rest of the way.

As she wriggled through the window she felt the glass tear at her jacket and trousers, covering them in small rips. Juliet cringed when her feet landed on the linoleum floor with a loud thud, she stood for a second in the enclosing darkness listening for any sign of company in the small room. Her torch was in her backpack in the truck so she relied on the dull glow of moonlight seeping in from the window to light the room. Silence surrounded her once more and Juliet decided it was safe enough to unlock the door. The sound of the lock turning was like a crack of thunder in the black stillness of the room, she turned the handle with fearful caution and forced open the door. Joel stood on the other side, gun in hand once again, Juliet barely had time to step back before he pushed through and closed the door behind him with fierce urgency.

Joel spared Juliet one unreadable glance before he rushed to the door across the room, prying it open and turning to Juliet once again. He met her eyes and raised his finger to his lips, Juliet answered by reaching into her jacket pocket and slipping her gun out. Joel scanned her face then turned and stepped through the door, certain that Juliet would follow close behind.

The darkness of the store didn’t seem so frightening when Joel was with her, leading the way. Juliet’s trust towards Joel was an odd thing; she trusted his abilities as a survivor, she trusted that he would keep her alive until they reached their destination.

Juliet wondered when that unwavering faith in him had been forged. They worked together for years in the QZ without engaging in any form of conversation, but they were together, always. Each day they clocked in for their shift, each day they both carted bodies to burn in the firepit, each day they watched with gritted teeth as young children were consumed by the flame. Juliet often found herself examining Joel out of the corner of her eye, watching as he rolled the sleeves of his flannel up his smoke covered arms. She felt his eyes on her, too. His gaze was always clinical, analytical, Joel would examine her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. A puzzle he wasn’t sure how he ended up with.

Throughout those couple years, Juliet memorised the sound of every sigh from his lips, the way his jaw would harden when the body of a young girl was next to be burned, and the look in his eyes when a lethal anger spread throughout him. Juliet remembered too, the almost invisible twitch of Joel’s lips when she would complain about her neighbour Kenny to the other people on shift. She remembered the way his hands would clench around his tools when he heard one of the other workers get a bit too familiar with her, Joel’s knuckles would whiten and he would wave her over before the next truck had even rolled in.

Juliet didn’t know Joel well, but she knew enough to trust him. What surprised her over the past couple weeks, though, was the sudden urge to know more about him.

Joel stopped suddenly and Juliet ran into his back, a gasp left her mouth as the air was knocked out of her. Joel reached behind him, his hand now latched onto Juliet’s arm, steadying her as she remained protected at his back. Juliet was practically pressed against his dark jacket, she could smell the smoke and pine which never left his body. Joel turned around and crouched behind the shelves, pulling Juliet down with him, his hand still clenched around her arm.

Juliet took this opportunity, protected by the towering shelves behind them, to question Joel about what was going on.

“Who’s following us?” Juliet whispered.

Joel’s head whipped towards her, a warning glare stark in his eyes. Their faces were so close, Juliet swallowed hard, then tried again.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” Juliet hissed, her words stronger than she felt.

Joel turned away from her, his eyes scanning the aisle they crouched in. There was no one here, Juliet was certain of it. She was used to following Joel’s rules but the pressure of not understanding what was happening was unbearable, Juliet struggled to feel out of control.

Juliet reached out and touched Joel’s cheek, her fingers brushing over the permanent stubble that shadowed his face. Joel froze, his body locked up, his knuckles white as he gripped his gun. Then he turned, facing Juliet as a muscle jumped in his jaw. Juliet dropped her hand, thankful that they sat in near complete darkness which meant that Joel didn’t see the redness staining her cheeks. Juliet held his gaze, waiting for him to give in and answer her questions.

Eventually, after several seconds of tense silence, Joel’s eyes hit the ceiling and he began to talk in a hushed whisper, leaning closer to Juliet.

“Few hours ago, spotted a truck movin’ slow behind us, thought they were bein’ slick hidin’ in between old cars,” Joel began, irritation weaving a rasp through his words.

“Couldn’t stop, I didn’t know how many was in the truck,” he continued. “Not goin’ to risk an ambush.”

“So I kept drivin’, tried to cut them loose but they must know the area well cause they were unshakeable,” Joel explained, then shook his head.

“Then another truck showed up, blocking the road,” he said. “They were fucking herding us.”

Joel wiped a hand over his face, resting it on his jaw, then scanned the aisle again.

“Once they got to this town, they disappeared. Just gone,” Joel said, slower this time as though every word weighed on him.

Juliet stayed silent throughout Joel’s whole explanation, digesting every bit of information until he mentioned their disappearance. White hot horror crept through her body, tightening every muscle and raising the hairs on her arms. She knew that trick.

“It’s a game to them,” Juliet whispered back, her voice cracking.

Joel’s eyes shot to her, surprise rippled across his face, his chin pointed down in agreement.

Something was still bothering Juliet, another question building a pressure inside her.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she asked, surprising herself with the animosity that laced her words.

Joel didn’t answer immediately, just glanced down at his hands, one now resting on his knee, the other still white knuckled around his gun.

“I had it handled,” he reasoned, still not looking at her.

Juliet rolled her eyes, then sighed. Her confusion had bled into anger and now, her anger had transformed into a cold disappointment. Juliet trusted Joel, but it was obvious he didn’t share that sentiment.

“So how are you going to get us out of this?” Juliet replied, then rested her head back against the shelf. If he was so set on handing everything on his own, he could figure this out too.

Joel glanced at her then looked away, the lines on his forehead deepened.

“Because you know that they’re watching our every movement, they know we’re in here,” Juliet whispered, then paused. “They’re just waiting for the right moment to come for us.”

“I know,” Joel grumbled. “I’m thinkin’” he added, with a sharp glance towards Juliet’s unimpressed face. She looked down at her hands, her mind desperately forming a plan to get them back to the truck alive.

Muffled laughter sliced through the silence, accompanied by the sounds of multiple harsh footsteps booming across the floor.

Juliet’s head whipped towards Joel but his eyes were already trained on her, alarm darting across his face. Joel raised his finger to his lips again then pointed to his ear, listen.

Juliet sat frozen against the cold metal of the shelves, Joel’s leg brushing against hers as they remained in complete silence, listening to the movements of the people laughing and joking across the store. The shop was big enough that the sounds were muffled, Juliet thought the voices were male but she couldn’t be sure. She let out a long, slow breath, if they were on the other side of the store that meant they had time to figure this out. She turned to Joel, desperate to signal some sort of plan to escape but her words were cut off when a cry rang out across the room.

“Stop!” a girl cried. “Please, no.”

The voices were clearer now, they were getting closer. Juliet heard a sick laugh in response and a slap echoed across the store. The girl’s cries stopped.

Rage stormed through Juliet’s body. Those men had a hostage, someone who probably already played their little game… and lost. Juliet pulled her gun in front of her and moved to stand up, ready to kill those men and damn the consequences.

A hand reached across her chest, pushing her back down to the floor. Juliet hissed and she locked eyes with Joel, his expression was frigid. “Don’t fucking move,” Joel mouthed, his arm not releasing his tight hold on her. Juliet’s hands shook, the sound of the slap had awoken something in her, something she had so desperately attempted to quell. She closed her eyes and the tears clouding her vision spilled down her face, her breaths were quick, there wasn’t enough air in her lungs, she couldn't breathe.

Joel shifted and pulled Juliet onto his lap as his gentle hand hovered over her chest. “Slow down,” he whispered against her hair. “Deep breaths.”

The shaking had moved throughout her whole body, every part of her trembled. She couldn’t do as Joel asked, she couldn’t do anything. All she heard was that slap echoing through her skull, the girl’s cry ringing in her ears. Terror and rage interlaced in her chest, pumping through her veins.

“Juliet” Joel breathed, his voice soft. “Please.”

Juliet flinched, startled by Joel’s pleading. She never thought she would hear that word leave his lips, the sound of it had shocked her into distraction. Her breaths came slower, deeper, and her dizziness began to recede. A chill covered her skin as the aggressive trembling slowed, and Juliet wriggled on Joel’s lap, desperate to gain a hint of warmth. Her body had shifted into survival mode, embarrassment wasn’t on her radar.

Joel released a shocked groan right into Juliet’s ear as his free hand adjusted her on his lap, moving Juliet further down. The chill on her skin began to ease when a heat flooded her body, her breaths now slow and steady.

When her panic shrank, the voices of the men returned. They were still laughing and spitting disgusting words at the girl who appeared to still be alive. Juliet wasn’t sure that was a blessing. Joel’s grip loosened and Juliet turned to catch his eyes, the voices were getting closer again, they had to do something.

Juliet’s panic might have receded but her rage overpowered her. She plotted the deaths of those men with a cold precision. Joel met her frenzied gaze and nodded.

Juliet slid off of Joel’s lap as quiet as she could, her gun steady in her hand. Joel stood, his hand outstretched, hovering behind Juliet’s back to steady her. Juliet took a second to bathe in the warmth that brought her. Then she opened her eyes, her gaze locked on Joel and waited for his instruction. Juliet wasn’t thinking rationally, she needed Joel’s detached approach to lead the way.

Joel’s jaw shifted, then he signalled to move.

Juliet was Joel’s shadow, she moved when he moved, stopped when he stopped. They rounded the aisles in the opposite direction from the voices, attempting to catch a glimpse of how many there were. Juliet knew there was no getting out of here without alerting them to their presence. In fact, Juliet wouldn’t have been surprised if the men already knew they were there and the choice to ignore them was another part of their sick game. Juliet shuddered, memories threatening to resurface.

Joel stopped at the start of another aisle and met Juliet’s eyes, she shook her head slowly and Joel nodded in response. They were in agreement: the men had to die.

They were in a spot now where they were hidden from the men but could still hear every disgusting word uttered from their mouths. Joel held up four fingers, then one. Juliet closed her eyes to listen better than nodded. There were four men and one hostage.

Juliet’s mind finally slid into a state entirely detached from her feelings, her eyes narrowed to the weapon in her hand and what she would do with them. Confusion, anger, and disappointment all faded, only an icy focus remained. Joel looked Juliet up and down, something shifting in his eyes as he caught the expression painted on her face, then he moved down the aisle towards the men. Juliet rolled her neck and followed.

………………………………………….

“Bryan, fuck, don’t hit her again. She has to still look pretty when I have my fun with her,” whined the tallest man out of the group as the rest of them laughed at his vile words. Juliet watched through the gaps between children’s toys on one of the shelves. The girl lay on the floor between the men, her face splattered in blood and her clothing ripped. Juliet ran her finger over the sharp blade of her knife now gripped tight in one of her hands, not caring when it pierced her skin.

Joel was behind a shelf on the other side of the men, they had split up to coordinate their ambush. Juliet could see him across the aisles as she waited on his signal. She attempted to tune out the vulgar men as the minutes ticked by but the odd word still invaded her mind, forcing her blade to dig deeper into her finger. Blood dribbled down her hand, droplets dripping onto the floor by her feet.

Joel held up his hand, then used his fingers to count down from three. When he reached one, Juliet moved.

They shot out from the aisles they were stationed in, guns raised. Juliet wasted no time firing two bullets into the chest of one of the men as Joel put another in a headlock.

Juliet found the crack from his broken neck incredibly satisfying.

There were two men left, Juliet had her eye on the tall one, she didn’t want his death to be quite so quick.

The girl was on the floor, her body trembling as the tall one grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up into his arms. His gun was against her neck a second later. Juliet froze, her finger hovered over her trigger. Joel had the remaining man in a tight grip before he could retaliate. Joel’s gun was against his head, ready to pull the trigger until the tall one made his move.

The tall one’s sick laugh filled the space around them, his free hand stroking the girl’s face with a disturbing gentleness.

“We were wondering where you guys ended up,” the man continued laughing. Juliet shifted her feet, her eyes darted between the man and Joel, her mind buzzed with possibilities. None of them were particularly good.

“We had our eyes on you two for a while, led you all the way here, but then… well, we found this little one,” he said as he squeezed her cheek, the gun still pressed against her neck with his other hand. The girl had started crying again, silent tears streaming down her blood stained cheeks.

The girl looked a couple years younger than Juliet, and when she looked in her eyes, Juliet saw herself reflected back.

“What do you want?” Juliet demanded. “I mean, it seems you’re all geared up for your big villain speech, so let’s hear it.” Joel’s eyes darted towards her with a slight shake of his head. Juliet was past caring at this point.

The tall one’s laughter ceased. He raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the side as his eyes surveyed Juliet’s body. Joel tightened his hold against the man in his arms.

A slow smile slid over his face but his soulless stare remained. Then his smile transformed into a grimace and he released his hold on the girl, Juliet flinched as the girl hit the floor with a cry. By the time Juliet opened her eyes again, the tall one had the gun trained on her.

“Maybe I made the wrong decision,” he mused.

“Maybe I want you,” he said, tilting his gun up and down Juliet's frozen figure. Then he moved, stalking over to her. “I like my girls with some fight in them.”

Juliet swallowed, her mouth incredibly dry. Her hands started to tremble again as the man moved closer. Juliet’s mind projected another man’s smooth stride over the scene in front of her. Her breaths began to speed up again and her eyes darted to Joel. His gaze was trained on the tall one, murder danced in his eyes.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Joel growled, digging the gun deeper into the neck of the man wriggling in his arms.

Juliet pushed every horror filled thought to the back of her mind, allowing that cool indifference to enter her consciousness again. She gripped her gun tighter in her hands, ignoring the sweat that coated the handle.

“Oh but we were just getting started,” the tall one moaned, turning towards Joel with another grin on his face. “She's a keeper,” he sang, his words slurring slightly as he winked at Joel.

Juliet had witnessed many of Joel's hostile stares but the fury burning within his eyes in that moment was brutal.

“Not interested,” Juliet replied, then pulled the trigger, using the man’s distraction against him.

The tall one didn’t even have time to turn towards her before a bullet shot through the side of his head. In the same second, Joel shot through the neck of the other man. Blood spurted from the wound, pooling beneath him when his body dropped to the floor.

Juliet’s gaze immediately went to the girl on the floor, covered in more blood now from the bodies of the men who had captured her. She trembled so hard, it looked like her entire body was convulsing. Juliet knelt before her, laying her gun on the floor as she reached for the girl’s arm.

“We won’t hurt you,” Juliet reassured her, her voice a whisper. “Are you okay?”

The girl turned towards her, tears flowed down her red cheeks, a sob choked her throat as she reached her hands to grip Juliet’s.

“Please, help me,” she cried. “I’ve lost my brother, I need to get to my brother,” the girl sobbed, her voice breaking.

Juliet nodded. “We can help you, you’re safe, you’re safe,” she consoled the girl, stroking her hands across the girl’s trembling palms. Juliet felt an intense protectiveness towards her, her chest was tight with rage and terror but her mind was focused on the safety of the girl in front of her.

She had the same brown hair as Juliet, the same dark eyes, the same scream.

Juliet would convince Joel to take her with them, she would help her find her brother, she would -

“Juliet,” Joel said urgently, cutting through her racing thoughts. Juliet turned to find Joel towering over her from behind, gun in his hand, locked on the girl.

Juliet froze, her gaze darting from Joel to the girl and then back again. The girl started to sob again, choking on her own tears.

“Joel?” Juliet asked, confusion overwhelming her. “What are you doing?”

Joel’s expression was eerily vacant, as though he had made a conscious effort to rid himself of any emotion. “Her arm,” he replied, his voice as empty as his features.

Juliet followed his gaze to the girl’s arm, the one she had held only seconds ago. Her torn sleeve had pulled back revealing a large bite on the inside of her forearm, already red and blistered with dark veins stretching around the wound.

“No” Juliet breathed, shock paralysing her. Her hands dropped instantly but she couldn’t move her body. The girl sobbed harder as tears, snot, and blood coated her face. Juliet’s mouth dropped open but no words came out.

“Please help me,” the girl wailed. “I need to find my brother.”

She wiped her nose with her injured arm. “Will you help me?” she asked, her voice so childlike.

Juliet glanced up at Joel, his gun was still locked on the girl, ready to pull the trigger at any time but his gaze remained on Juliet’s face, searching her eyes, waiting for her signal.

A silent sob escaped Juliet’s mouth and she reached up to touch her face, her cheeks were wet with tears. She covered her mouth with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. This can’t be happening, she thought. Sorrow filled every inch of her body, Juliet couldn’t make sense of this situation, it was so unfair.

Juliet opened her eyes slowly, desperately hoping that this was all a bad dream and she was really still asleep in the truck, on her way to a more familiar nightmare.

But she wasn’t, she was still in this store, and there was still a girl in front of her who was dying and who needed her. Juliet reached out her hand and felt Joel stiffen behind her as her fingers grazed the girl's cheek. “What’s your brother’s name?” Juliet asked, her voice a gentle whisper.

“Luke,” the girl answered, her voice a quiet rasp. “His name was Luke.”

Juliet choked on another sob, then smiled at the girl through the tears that spilled into her mouth. Juliet wiped her nose. “You’ll see Luke again,” she said.

The girl’s sniffles stopped for a brief second as she looked into Juliet’s eyes. “You promise?” she whispered back.

Juliet dug her broken nails into her own palms, welcoming the pain.

“I promise,” Juliet vowed. Then she nodded, her head tilting down in a sharp movement.

A shot rang out between them.

The girl slumped to the side, blood pouring out from the bullet in her head.

Juliet released a shaky breath and turned towards Joel. Once their eyes met, he reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her up to stand beside him. Juliet’s head was spinning but her gaze eventually fell to the devastation around them. Five bodies littered the ground in their own pools of red. Joel’s grip tightened on Juliet’s arm, holding her close to him. She could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

Juliet met his eyes, his expression had thawed a little and she saw a glimmer of pity shine through.

Juliet paused and squeezed her eyes shut, praying the darkness would swallow her whole. Then she opened them and shrugged off Joel’s hand, reaching down to grab her gun from the floor before more blood flowed its way. She wiped it off on her trousers then turned in the direction she believed the exit to be. Joel hadn’t moved, he just stared at her retreating form.

“Come on,” Juliet called behind her in a cold, lifeless voice. She heard Joel’s footsteps stride forward to catch up with her.

Juliet didn’t need his pity. She didn’t want to witness that knowing stare. She just wanted to forget, move forward with their journey.

Juliet knew, though, deep in the darkest parts of her soul, that she would never forget the ghost of a smile that haunted the girl’s lips as the bullet hit her head.

_________________________________________

@ilovemybrown-eyedbabygirl

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #ao3 fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fic #Spotify #pedro pascal

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avengerscompound · 6 months ago

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The Tower - Unwinding

The Tower: Unwinding - one shot

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2029

Warnings: smut (MF, hand job, thigh riding)

Synopsis: After a long and tiring day, Bucky and El unwind in a warm bath.

Author’s Note: Requested by Anon on Tumblr. You can send in your requests too.

Unwinding

Happens between Family and Happily Ever After

It had been a long day. There had been an attack in Boston by a bunch of people dressed in what seemed to be beekeeper outfits. It had taken the whole day to deal with, and we were already exhausted by the time we returned home. The only problem was, it wasn’t just us anymore. We had children. Children who missed and worried about their parents when they were gone. Especially when they were gone on a mission or into battle. So when we got home, they were particularly needy. We had dinner with them, watched Frozen, gave them a bath, and read stories, and by the time they were all asleep, I was well and truly exhausted.

“Okay,” I said as everyone just collapsed onto the couch. “I think I might take a bath. My back is killing me from being in my armor all day.”

Bucky looked up from where he was half lying on the couch. “You want some company?”

Like me, Bucky was a big fan of taking baths. Particularly when there was someone with him. “Sure,” I said, holding out my hand to him. “Come on.”

He scrambled to his feet and came and slipped his hand into mine, his cool metal fingers linking with my warm flesh ones. “Have a nice time,” Steve said. “We’ll see you in bed.”

We made our way upstairs to the main bathroom and while I ran the water and went about selecting a bath bomb, Bucky dimmed the lights and began lighting candles.

“I can’t decide between the rose petal one, the deep sleep one, or the muscle soak,” I said.

Bucky was bent over some candles in red jars, trying to light them, and he looked up, his hair falling over his eyes. “No sex bomb?” he asked.

“Mm… not tonight. I’m not saying there will be no sex, but sex is not the aim of this particular bath,” I said.

He shrugged and held out his hand. “That’s fair. Let me smell them.”

I handed each of the bath bombs over to him. “This one has peppermint, and that always does that freaky cold thing, which I hate,” he said after sniffing the first one. I took it from him and put it back. “There’s lavender in this one, which I know can set off headaches in you. Not sure if it’s enough.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t want to risk it,” I agreed, taking that one from him too. “I guess the rose one it is.”

He dropped the bomb into the tub and it immediately started fizzing and coloring the water around it pink. I watched it for a moment and then began to strip off my clothes. I had come out of the day fairly clean thanks to being inside my suit of armor, but Bucky was dirty. The difference in color between the parts of his skin that had been exposed to the elements and the parts that had been covered was dramatic. It looked like someone had painted his extremities.

Not wanting the water to get dirty immediately, I took his hand, led him to the sink, and began to carefully wash him down with a warm cloth. Neither of us said anything. Bucky just closed his eyes and let me move him as needed, a relaxed content look on his face.

When he was clean enough, I led him back over to the bath. “You wanna be the little spoon?” I offered.

“Mm, no. I’ll be big. Thank you though,” he said and stepped into the tub.

He let out a deep groan as he sank into the water. The rose petals had begun to be released from the bath bomb and when his knees breached the surface, a few clung to the hairs on his legs.

I climbed in after him and eased down between his legs, leaning back against his chest.

We just lay like that for a while. My head lolled against his chest as he skimmed the back of his fingers up and down my arm. I traced my fingers over the decorative filigree on his prosthetic arm.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Bucky said.

“Mmm…” I hummed. He’d had this particular arm for a little over seven years now. The intricate detail Steve had designed and Tony had brought to life was something that we’d all grown used to, but there were moments like this when I was close to him and everything was quiet, and I could just take in every detail and appreciate it for everything it meant. Not just the art, but what the arm meant to Bucky and our family. “Steve and Tony did good,” I said, running my fingernail over a small leaf that was etched into the metal.

“It’s funny, it’s there every day and I don’t think about it at all unless something happens like I get hair stuck in the parts or something. But there are times that I just sit and look at it and it makes me appreciate so many things. Steve for designing it. It’s so beautiful and so detailed. There are parts of it I can’t even see, but they’re just as detailed. He did that for me, so I had something beautiful that was part of me when I saw myself …” He trailed off and shook his head. “And then Tony made it for me. Tony whose parents I killed. Tony who I couldn’t even look in the eye for so long. Tony built me this arm that is so beautiful, not as a weapon, but so I could hold my children and not worry that I’m doing it with this weapon Nazis built. But mostly I look at it and it makes me think about the kids and all these people who love me. After everything I’ve done, and don’t say it wasn’t me, yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, but after everything I’ve done, I have all of this and I look at this arm and I can’t help but be reminded of that and appreciate that.”

I looked up into his stormy blue eyes and ran my palm up and down his chest. “Bucky…” I said softly.

He didn’t let me finish my thought. Not that I had completed it. He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. My lips parted and my hand went to his cheek, pulling him down into me more. He moved willingly, his tongue teasing into my mouth. I moaned softly, pushing my hand into his hair and tugging on it.

Bucky pulled back and I chased his lips, looking up at him through hooded eyes. “No, no,” he scolded. “We’re taking a bath. You said your back was sore.”

I laughed. “I was just kissing.”

“You were just kissing. I was getting a semi,” he teased. “Go on, sit forward. I’ll rub your back.”

I scooted forward a little and hugged my knees, and he started to rub my back. He started at my shoulders, carefully working out the tension I’d been holding onto. It wasn’t the slightly painful, dig-into-the-muscles kind of massage, more of a gentle manipulation that allowed me to relax. Even the metal fingers of his prosthetic felt gentle rather than hard and unyielding.

He made his way down to my lower back and by the time he was loosening the muscles around my hips, I felt like putty. I was moaning each time he pressed his fingers into my flesh.

He tugged me back against him, his arm wrapping around my chest so my back was pressed against him again. “You can’t make sounds like that,” he teased, bringing his lips to mine. I yielded to him, lips parted, tongue flicking out to meet his, another moan escaping me only to be swallowed by the kiss.

I turned in the tub so we were chest to chest, my legs falling on either side of one of his, so I was straddling his thigh.

We continued to kiss, slowly and languidly, tongues circling, and lips moving together. I ran my hand down his chest and his abs. I let my hand linger, right on his adonis belt for a little while, then slowly slid it down and wrapped my fingers around Bucky’s cock.

He pulled back with a soft gasp. “What are you doing, El?” he asked.

“Let me take care of you,” I whispered, sliding my hand up and down his cock. “Just relax.”

He groaned and his head lolled back over the edge of the bath. With his lips out of reach, I turned my attention to his neck, slowly swirling my tongue over his skin and grazing my teeth down it. My hand continued to move up and down his shaft, the foreskin slipping over the head as I did.

There was no rush to my movements. I wasn’t teasing him, but I wasn’t rushing to the finish line. I not only wanted Bucky to enjoy this, but to relax too. I wanted it to be like making love in the morning, not a quick and dirty fuck.

The soft moans, the way his muscles would tense up and tremble before relaxing again, and the way he was touching me and squeezing my ass, were turning me on. I didn’t want him to worry about getting me off, but I couldn’t help but grind my hips down onto his thigh.

I began to suck on his throat, my teeth pressing into him. He moaned louder and pulled me against his thigh, sending a jolt through me as my clit rubbed against his leg. I gasped, jerking against him and he let out a soft chuckle, lifting his head to look at me. “That feel good, dahlin’?” he asked.

“Yes,” I hummed, rocking against his thigh. “I want you to feel good. I want to do this for you.”

“I do feel good,” he said. “You’re doing real good, El. But keep doing that too. I love that you can get yourself off just like that using my leg.”

He kissed me again, deeply and passionately. There was an urgency there, that hadn’t been there before, and the movement of my hand matched the need in the kiss. I began mixing up what I did more too, fondling his balls, rubbing along his perineum, and squeezing around his shaft as I stroked him. His moans became louder and more frequent and he started to buck into my hand. That just fed my desire more too and I humped his leg more and more desperately, my insides twisting as heat built in my core.

Closer and closer we got to the pinnacle of our release. Bucky’s cock throbbed in my hand and precum leaked from the tip, floating in the water, thick and viscous compared to the scented liquid around it.

Bucky’s orgasm hit first, and he arched his back, making the water splash around us. The muscles in his abs were pulled beautifully tight and as he moaned loudly, he released, coating his stomach.

The sight alone was enough to send me over with him, I moaned and clung to him as my body shuddered with it. “Fuck,” Bucky groaned, relaxing down into the water and wrapping his arms around me. “God, El. That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” I said, as I relaxed and lay curled up against him.

He laughed and shook his head. “Nuh-uh, you are.”

We lay like that for a little while as the water cooled off around us and our breathing and pulses returned to normal. Bucky shifted under me, sitting up a little more. “I guess we should probably take a shower to rinse off,” he said.

I grumbled, not wanting to move. “I suppose,” I said.

He gave my butt a playful swat. “Go on, get moving.”

I reluctantly pushed myself up and climbed out of the tub. While the bath hadn’t exactly cleaned us, we were relaxed, sleepy, and most of all content, and neither of us was going to complain about that, even if we needed to waste a little more water to actually get clean.

~ End ~

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shortpplfedup · 1 year ago

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Only Friends Character Rankings Episode 6

Another outstanding episode as chickens start coming home to roost and Sand sets a ball a-rollin' that is gonna roll right over him in the end. In a surprise upset, Sand's mom won the audience vote last week, with Top and Boston tied for second place. You really never know who the Tumblrinas are going to favour from week to week, keeps us all on our toes! Here are this week's highly scientific rankings.

🔺1. Ray (4)

Let me talk to my friends. It’s his birthday. I’d like to say something.

Ray said NO SURVIVORS and sprayed the entire room at Mew's birthday party, and honestly? Kinda deserved. From calling Sand a whore (OUCH) to reading Cheum for filth for her shitty little backhanded comments, to almost letting the cat out of the Top/Boston bag in front of everybody, our resident mess came for every neck in the building. Boston primed him, Sand aimed him and Cheum lit the match, and it's no coincidence those three got hit with the blowback of his explosion at Top. A seething ball of pain and resentment fueled by alcohol and god-knows-what-else was never gonna fire a clean shot.

🔺2. Sand (5)

Stop thinking about Mew and focus on me for once. Can’t you really see that I care about you?

Well now we know why Sand didn't blink an eye at Nick bugging Boston's car; he's just as fucking unhinged. Sand, a poor, breaking his own phone just to get his hands on Nick's and that recording (which, by the way, calling the file 'That Car' is really too much Nicholas PLEASE 🤣)...WILD. We've all had Nick pegged as the bunny boiler but Sand might be worse and I can't WAIT because I still believe in that baseball bat. But him begging Ray to give a single solitary shit about him even AFTER Ray calls him a whore in front of a bar full of people...I remain embarrassed on his behalf.

🔺3. Mew (6)

Cocky much? I don’t even know if we’re gonna last that long.

Ok, when Mew said 'I love the sound you make when having sex' I literally screamed out OH FUCK HE KNOWS and listen, I have been WAITING for this moment. That was a baller fucking moment. You just KNOW Top's blood ran cold. Of course these two aren't breaking up, because couples like this NEVER break up. Game always recognises game. This is gonna be the first confrontation of many. But I'm pretty sure this is the last time Mew is gonna cry about it. Top might have just picked the wrong one. Mew has two moms, pretty sure he knows how to destroy a man.

🔻4. Nick (2)

I don’t give a shit about what number I am. Screw it. I’m not that into you.

At some point Nick is gonna have to stop threatening to walk and actually fucking walk, but it's clearly continuing to work for him as he and Boston are clearly the boyfriends Boston insists they're not. Dates, couple photos, meeting the dad, tender lovemaking, Boston's deep, dark secrets: Nick's getting it all...except the label he wants so very badly. And now he's shook because he knows Sand stole that recording, and he knows if Boston finds out about it it's all coming crashing down.

🔺5. Cheum (8)

I’m so happy everyone has a lover. Even a heartless slut like Boston has one.

Girl, you absolutely earned that smoke Ray blew at you. Sly Comment Susie got a minor taste of her own medicine and didn't like that shit one bit. It's all fun and games until it's your dirt under the microscope. Maybe Cheum just learned a lesson about minding her own business a little more, or at the very least keeping some of her thoughts to herself.

🔻6. Boston (3)

If I was a nice guy, you wouldn’t like me.

A surprisingly quiet week for Ton as everybody else gets so messy he looks relatively drama-free. But under the surface he's still paddling like mad: screwing Nick like a lover rather than just a fuckbuddy to keep him from leaving, clearly not out to his dad but bringing Nick round to meet him (once again using him for free work), pinning Ray so decisively that he causes a full-on meltdown. Though, 'I don't hate Mew'...well that might actually be true, because he's giving more fear than hatred.

🔻7. Top (1)

I get anyone I want. What about you? Who do you get?

Oh how the mighty have fallen. Top spent the episode feeling totally smug as he finally won the game and is basking in his spoils, swinging his dick around, feeling like King Shit. And then Mew played that recording and LOSER TIME. I have the distinct impression that Top hates to lose...

#only friends the series #bless this mess #only friends weekly character rankings #i support gay wrongs #only friends #only friends series #bl meta series

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beesmygod · 2 years ago

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people on tumblr are only seeing a fraction of the amount of jojoposting ive been doing. who couldnt love the adventures of the joestar family

part 1: the only kind-hearted englishman on earth in the 1800s meets the most evil and most gay bitch in the entirety of human history. dio brando finally defeats jonathon joestar in their slowly escalating, lifelong sibling rivalry by becoming a vampire with an instant kill eyeball laser-beam. with the help of a solar powered italian and a homosexual in the midst of a manic episode, he narrowly defeats dio at the cost of his own life.

part 2: the manic homosexual (mr. robert e. o. speedwagon), dedicates the remainder of his life and oil speculation fortune on supporting the joestar family forever and ever, as well as destroying any remaining stone masks that turn you into vampires with instant kill eyeball laser-beams. his efforts awaken a crew of mysterious, powerful and very homosexual vampire god-men from the depths of the earth and it's up to jonathon's grandson, joseph joestar to use his hamon and wiles to stop them. he'll do whatever it takes, even and especially if he has to climb a big leaking pole while wearing a BDSM mask that controls his breathing.

part 3: dio's back, baby! and this time he's gayer than ever! joseph joestar, now in his 60s, recruits his autistic (positive) grandson jotaro kujo in his newest quest to make sure dio stays dead for good this time. his crack team of anti-dio experts is comprised of a frenchman who just wants to take a shit, joseph's personal buddy from egypt, a boston terrier that transforms into a chihuahua, and a high school teenager with more brains than everyone else combined. in a globe-trotting adventure, joseph joestar and da boyz use their "stands" (powerful dudes) to battle enemies with stands based on whatever horror movie araki watched recently and gather information before dio becomes too powerful and too gay to be stopped. a heartwarming story about a little boy who, after 47 episodes, finally says a badass one-liner.

part 4: jotaro kujo is cleaning up a big mess left by dio and his minions: a bunch of them went around firing magical arrows into people around the town of morioh and giving them stand powers. jotaro recruits the help of his 16 year old uncle (long story) josuke higashikata, at least 3 other teenagers and a gay bitch named kishibe rohan to help him clean up the town. however...a dark secret lurks in morioh...a murderous pervert with four fucking stands (?!) named yoshikage kira!!! can jotaro and da boyz stop this sadistic serial killer from living a peaceful life!? FUN FACT: this is the first piece of media to depict an italian as heroic

part 5: this is the one im on and im not finished yet, but i'm pretty sure it's just about the first ever they/them nonbinary mafia protecting the bosses' daughter. our protagonist, giorno giovanna, is the son of both dio and jonathon (long story) and he does not seem to understand what a mafia is or what it does. however, he tell his future capo that all he wants is to be a "GANG-STAR". he does not elaborate on this.

thats all i know dont tell me anything else. these are the most surface descriptions possible. when you get into details you can really get lost in the weeds.

#jjba #text

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ladyeckland28 · 7 days ago

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Galley of the Damned: A Journal from Below Deck

A cosmic horror/deep sea terror by Lady Eckland and Ms Darkwood

*April 15, 1847*

The gentle sway of the *Peregrine's Fortune* has become as natural to me as breathing. Three years I've served as cook aboard this sturdy merchant vessel, and my little galley feels more like home than any hearth on solid ground ever did. The brass pots gleam in the lantern light, my knives are sharp and true, and the steady rhythm of chopping vegetables meshes perfectly with the creak of timber and splash of waves against the hull.

Today's inventory: thirty-six pounds of salted pork, twenty-eight pounds of hardtack (showing signs of weevils in the lower crates), fifteen pounds of dried beans, and eight precious onions that I've managed to keep from sprouting. Captain Morrison assures me we'll make port in Jamaica within the fortnight to resupply. Until then, I'll have to stretch what we have.

"Another fine stew, Mr. Hayes," First Mate Williams said this evening, scraping his bowl clean with a crust of bread. "You work miracles with what little we have."

I smiled and ladled him another helping. "The secret's in the timing, Mr. Williams. Everything has its proper moment—when to add the salt, when to stir, when to let things simmer."

Little did I know then how prophetic those words would prove.

*April 20, 1847*

The captain altered our course today. Something about favorable winds and a shorter route he'd heard of from a Portuguese trader in Boston. The crew seems uncertain—I heard murmurs of concern during the evening meal—but Morrison's never led us astray before.

Young Tommy Fletcher, our cabin boy, lingered in the galley after helping with the dishes. "Mr. Hayes," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "have you noticed anything... strange about the water lately?"

I hadn't, but the boy's usual cheerful demeanor had given way to something more subdued. "Strange how, lad?"

"Sometimes, when I'm swabbing the deck at dawn, the waves look... wrong. Like they're moving against the wind. And there's colors in the deep I've never seen before." He shuddered. "Colors that shouldn't be there."

I ruffled his hair and gave him an extra biscuit. "That's just the morning light playing tricks, Tommy. The sea's full of mysteries, but they're natural ones."

He nodded, but his eyes remained troubled. As he left, I noticed he'd barely touched his supper.

*April 25, 1847*

The fog rolled in three days ago and hasn't lifted. Thick as pea soup, it clings to the ship like a burial shroud. The crew's growing restless—I can hear it in their voices, see it in the way they huddle together during meals, speaking in hushed tones that fall silent when I approach with the soup pot.

Something's off about the food stores. The salted pork's taking on an odd sheen, and the water in the barrels tastes... different. Not bad, exactly, but wrong somehow. Like drinking tears.

"It's nothing to fret about," I told myself, examining a piece of meat that seemed to twitch under my knife. "Just the rolling of the ship playing tricks on tired eyes."

But when I started preparing tonight's stew, I could have sworn I heard something whispering from inside the pot—a sound like waves lapping at a distant shore, growing louder with each bubble that broke the surface.

"Samuel..." it seemed to say, though surely it was just steam escaping. "Samuel... we hunger..."

I nearly dropped the ladle when Bosun Jenkins burst into the galley, making me jump.

"Christ's sake, man!" I exclaimed, clutching my chest. "Announce yourself next time!"

Jenkins didn't smile or apologize. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken and glazed. "Need meat," he growled. "Raw. Now."

"But dinner's nearly ready—"

"RAW!" he roared, slamming a calloused fist against my cutting board. Then, more quietly: "Please, Samuel. I'm so hungry. So very hungry."

I gave him a slab of salt pork, watching in horror as he tore into it like a wild animal. His teeth seemed sharper than I remembered, and when he looked up at me, blood and brine dripping down his chin, his eyes reflected the lamplight like a cat's.

He left without a word, and I spent the next hour scrubbing the cutting board, trying to convince myself the scratches in the wood weren't arranged in patterns that hurt my eyes to look at.

*April 30, 1847*

The captain's stopped taking meals in his cabin. He stands at the helm day and night, staring into the fog with an unsettling intensity. When First Mate Williams suggested he rest, Morrison struck him across the face and screamed something in a language none of us recognized.

The crew's behavior grows more disturbing by the day. They've taken to pacing the decks at night, muttering to themselves. The food I prepare goes largely untouched, except for the meat—that they fight over like starving wolves, preferring it bloody and barely cured.

Tommy Fletcher came to me in tears this morning. "Mr. Hayes," he sobbed, "I saw something in the water. A face... but not a human face. It was looking at me, and it... it smiled."

I held the trembling boy close, noticing how cold his skin felt. "There, there, lad. Your mind's playing tricks—"

"No!" He pulled away violently. "You don't understand! They're calling us, Mr. Hayes. All of us. Can't you hear them singing?"

I couldn't, but later that night, as I stirred the stew, I began to notice patterns in the way it moved—swirls and eddies that formed and reformed, like dancing figures performing an eternal, underwater waltz. And deep in the pot, something that might have been an eye opened and fixed its gaze upon me.

I slammed the lid down and threw the whole pot overboard.

*May 3, 1847*

Three men went missing today. Jenkins claims they jumped overboard, says he saw them dive into the waves "like they were answering a lover's call." But the screams I heard in the dead of night told a different story.

The fog's grown thicker, if that's possible. It seeps into the galley like a living thing, making the lanterns flicker and dance. The walls weep constantly now, not with normal condensation, but with something that tastes of salt and copper when it drips onto my tongue.

"Your meals grow cold, Samuel Hayes," a voice whispered from the shadows today. It might have been Williams, but the accent was all wrong—too fluid, like words spoken underwater. "We require... fresher fare."

I'm running out of ingredients, but that's the least of my concerns. The remaining food has changed. The vegetables pulse with an inner light when cut, leaking phosphorescent fluid that stains my hands. The meat... the meat writhes and whispers when touched. I've taken to wearing gloves, but I can still feel it trying to grab me through the thick leather.

*May 5, 1847*

I heard singing today—real singing, not just the ever-present whispers. It came from the captain's cabin, where Morrison has finally retreated. The melody was beautiful in a way that made my teeth ache and my vision blur. When I pressed my ear to his door, I could make out words:

"Deep beneath the waves we dwell,

Where no mortal tongue can tell

Of the feasts we there prepare,

Come below and join us there..."

The captain's voice cracked on the high notes in a way that suggested his throat was full of water. I fled back to my galley, but the song followed me, echoing through the ship's bones.

Tommy Fletcher stopped by again, but he's changed. His skin has taken on a greenish cast, and there are things moving beneath it that make me sick to look at. "We're almost there, Mr. Hayes," he said, smiling with too many teeth. "Almost home."

"Where?" I asked, though I dreaded the answer.

"Where the old ones feast," he replied. "In the dancing halls beneath the waves. They've saved you a special place, you know. The cook who'll prepare their final banquet."

He reached for me with webbed fingers, but I pushed him away and barred the galley door. I can hear him scratching at it still, humming that damned song.

*May 7, 1847*

The ship no longer rocks with the waves—it pulses, like a heart about to burst. The brass pots in my galley have started to tarnish in impossible patterns, forming images that shift when I'm not looking directly at them. Scenes of underwater cities, of creatures that have never seen the sun, of feasts where the food screams and the diners have too many mouths.

I tried to make bread today, but the dough kept trying to crawl away. When I finally forced it into the oven, it screamed—actually screamed—and the smell it produced sent me retching into the corner.

The crew doesn't even pretend to be human anymore. They slide across the deck on bellies that have grown scales, leaving trails of slime that glow in the dark. Their eyes have gone huge and black, and their fingers have grown long and boneless. They gather at the railings, pointing and chittering at shapes in the fog that I refuse to acknowledge.

Williams visited me today, crawling across the ceiling like a grotesque spider. "Time to start preparing the feast, Samuel," he gurgled through gills that had split open along his neck. "They're so looking forward to your cooking."

"Who are they?" I demanded, brandishing a knife that seemed to bend and warp in my trembling hand.

He laughed, and seawater spilled from his lips. "The ones who taught us how to hunger. The ones who showed us what real food tastes like. They've been so patient, Samuel. So very patient. But now they want their supper."

*May 8, 1847*

The captain emerged from his cabin at last. God help me, I wish he hadn't. His uniform has fused with his flesh, brass buttons sunk deep into green-tinted skin. Tentacles writhe where his beard should be, and his eyes... his eyes are like windows into an ocean trench, bottomless and full of terrible wisdom.

"We've arrived," he announced in a voice like waves crushing a drowning man. "Time for the final preparation, Mr. Hayes. They're waiting for their cook."

The fog has pulled back at last, revealing what lies beneath us. The sea glows with otherworldly light, illuminating the ruins of a city that should not exist. Massive shapes move through the waters below, casting shadows that drive me mad to look upon.

I'm writing this from inside a barrel in the galley's deepest corner. They're coming for me—I can hear them slithering through the ship, calling my name in voices that sound like dying stars would sound. The ship's tilting, slowly but surely pointing its bow toward the depths.

The knife in my hand promises a quicker end than what awaits below, but my hands shake too much to use it. Or perhaps something else stays my hand—some horrible curiosity about the feast they've promised me I'll prepare.

The barrel's lid is being pried open now. I see faces I once knew, transformed into something ancient and hungry. They're reaching for me with limbs that were never meant to exist above the waves.

"Come, Samuel," they sing in horrible harmony. "Come cook for us. Cook with us. The greatest feast awaits, and you're the guest of honor."

They have me now. Their touch burns cold as the deepest ocean, and I can feel my flesh beginning to change, to adapt to the pressures that await below. The last thing I see as they drag me from my sanctuary is my reflection in a pot's tarnished surface—my eyes are already growing larger, darker, hungrier.

I am the last to bear witness. The sea has taken them, and soon it shall take me, too. And when it does, it will feast on my very soul.

But first, it seems, I have a meal to prepare.

With thanks to @dadrizzle34 for providing the inspiration for this story.

#horror stories #supernatural #cosmic horror #horror #scary horror story

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mad3lyncline · 3 months ago

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𝑩𝑼𝑺𝒀𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 – 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬 . starters from the 2019 ep 'busyhead' by noah kahan . adjust pronouns as necessary !

𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆

don't take yourself so seriously .

look at you all dressed up for someone you never see .

you're here for a reason but you don't know why .

you're split and uneven , your hands to the sky .

surrender yourself .

i wonder why i tear myself down to be built back up again .

i hope somehow i wake up young again .

all that's left of myself . . . holes in my false confidence .

i'll lay myself down and hope i wake up young again .

don't let those demons in again .

i fill the void up with polished doubt and fake sentiment .

why won't you take me seriously ?

look at me all fucked up over someone i'll never meet .

𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔

if i could give this all back , i would be home in the morning .

i'd wake up in a cold sweat and take a flight back to the city i was born in .

i would wipe myself clean of what i knew was unimportant .

i'd try to fit back into all my old clothing .

i'll move back home forever .

i'll put all my pieces back together where they belong .

i'm a mess .

oh god , i'm a mess .

i'll take 89 to boston .

there's still weight on my back ; i just try to ignore it .

i guess the stage is my mask .

life's not what i had hoped .

now i'll find comfort in the cold .

𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚

i'm afraid to be lonely .

nobody told me it's harder than i thought to tell the truth .

it's gonna leave you in pieces all alone with your demons .

i know that we need this , but i've been too afraid to follow through .

hold me close and i won't leave .

it hurts when you hurt somebody .

so much to say but i won't speak .

and i hate that i let you stop me .

don't know where the time went . . . stuck in the wrong mindset .

i let the rules bend when i know that all along they're made to break .

you got me searching for reasons .

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅

oh dear , i'm sorry that you grew up too soon .

i've been drinking alone .

don't fear the warnings ; they're bitterer than most .

keep your time . keep your mind , keep humble .

start your life in the middle of the jungle .

rub your eyes , be surprised , keep hungry .

stay alive , try to lose all of your money .

you're mad for no reason at everything at once .

if you want i can tell the truth .

this life takes a toll on you .

i spend nights stitching up the loose threads of my soul .

in the morning , i'm bulletproof .

𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒚𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅

you're weak on the surface .

you speak when you're nervous .

all the wrong words seem right in your head .

you can't stand the space in your bed .

all your big plans are small the next day .

the truth might be a million miles away .

hide your secrets . disguise your weakness .

burn your bridges and leave no witnesses .

you spend your days in wait for bad news .

give yourself an alibi .

stand upon your peace of mind .

you're bound to fall if you take your time .

you can stare below into the abyss ; find a home on the edge of it .

busyhead , just keep breathing .

#meme.#rp meme #indie rp memes #rp starters #rp sentence starters #indie rp prompts #rp prompts #rp prompt #rp sentence meme #sentence starters #sentence meme #rp ask meme #roleplay memes #noah kahan meme #noah kahan lyric meme #lyric meme #lyric prompts #mine.

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

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𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑺𝑶𝑫𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵

A few things to keep in mind; after the fallout with Tommy instead of heading to Boston Joel heads to the woods to escape it all, and the 20-year time jump doesn't happen. Which means, for now, no Tess, no Ellie. Joel is 32-33 here (since in the prologue he's around that age) and reader is in her mid-twenties

**for full series summary please check masterlist

chapter summary: it's the next day and for the first time you feel that everything might actually turn out alright.

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

word count: 778

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

warnings: piv, oral (receiving), kitchen sex, mild choking, rough sex, mild dirty talk

SERIES MLIST || PREV CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

The teapot whistles in the background, warm steam filling the kitchen. It’s still early, you’ve come downstairs to prepare a little breakfast where you would use your best supplies after a night spent in such delight. Joel was still there when you woke up, snoring with his arms wrapped around your waist. The warmth made you want to stay there forever.

Little did you know, Joel is a light sleeper.

Joel's hand covers your mouth and his weight presses you against the table. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to him with every deep thrust. Your body runs hot when you think of how needy you must look spread open for him, so willing to take and give.

“Best thing to wake up to,” he groans, his teeth clenched.

You hiss at the way the wooden surface of the table rakes your skin, he must’ve heard your discomfort because he pulls you up, fingers that were on your mouth drop to your neck, holding you, feeling your erratic pulse.

“Is this alright?” he grinds his hips against yours. You gasp, keening at how deep he can reach.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “More, Joel, please.”

Every time his hips slap against your ass, you choke out a sound, and your walls spasm around him. His hand on your throat keeps you from moving far. Joel’s forehead drops between your shoulder blades, he licks a thick stripe up the middle to your nape.

You shudder, clenching around him tighter. He looks down to witness how wet you are, a slick ring coating the base of his cock. A groan that can only be described as animalistic rattles his throat, he nuzzles the mustache above his lips into the crook of your neck his teeth nipping at your skin.

His other hand moves between your legs, fingers drawing fast circles around your aching clit. You cry out as you rock your hips to meet the roll of his hips. There’s a live wire runs right under your skin, electrifying you from the inside out. Your legs clench together, your body quivering, breathing uneven as he furiously swipes two fingers over your clit again and again. Your eyes roll back, hands moving up to grab his forearm.

“Harder.”

You feel the mood swiftly changing, his calculated pace faltering and shifting into something more wild. His fingers around your throat tighten, his teeth sink into your skin deeper, the pain makes you smile, the pain makes you feel good. His hand cups your breast, pinching a puckered nipple between his fingers.

You gasp, eyes falling shut as he repeats the sharp movement.

Before you come, much to your disappointment, Joel pulls out. His shaft pressed against the curve of your ass, his breathing heavy, you feel him spilling over your skin, nose buried in the back of your neck, inhaling your scent like a wolf.

“Sorry,” he grunts. “Thought I would last longer,”

“It’s okay,” you say, albeit still unsatisfied.

The promise of your orgasm tickles your skin, sweat chilling your skin. You’re about to straighten up and clean yourself but he stops you, hands kneading your ass.

“Get on the table,” he orders. “Let me taste you.”

Joel helps you flip over to your back and you find comfort in the way his hands tilt you up your hips. The table isn’t the most sturdy, but you trust him. He kisses a trail down your stomach, opening his mouth wide when he reaches your sex. Catching the backs of both knees, he pushes your legs apart and licks into you. Joel’s tongue swirls around the bundle of nerves, he closes his lips over your clit and sucks—hard.

Pulling away, he spits, your back arches when he does.

And he dives back in, tasting you over and over. Tongue twisting itself deep inside, moving up and down languidly, rolling around your clit as his fingers make dents in your skin.

It doesn’t take you long.

Your entire body convulses, both legs pressing down against the frame of his face. You’re scared the table isn’t going to hold but Joel keeps you still—for the most part. He drags his mouth slowly, tasting you, swallowing you. His movements soon grow slower, the heat of your orgasm subsiding.

When you let out a bubble of laughter, you think that this is going to last forever. You and him against the world, living your days drowning in pleasure and each other—lifting two middle fingers at the crumbling world around them.

The next day he’s gone. You don’t see him until three months later.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #the last of us #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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armpirate · 2 years ago

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UNDER YOUR SKIN || JJK || Ch. 3

Pairings: tattoist!jk x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, friends to lovers, tattoo au, virgin reader.

Summary: You were awful on anything related to flirting, guys and sex. He was the perfect ladies man. You wanted to get rid of your virginity. And he was there to help you with everything you needed. You didn't have the best start, but that didn't mean you wouldn't have the best of the endings.

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

I drag the humid rag over the counter, cleaning the stains that -at some point in the evening- started being part of the decoration of the wooden surface along with the few empty glasses Tammy, my co-worker, kept gathering next to the beer tap.

I hate being behind the bar right after Tammy because of this.

She throws the empty metallic tray before both of her elbows rest on the counter. It doesn't take her long to move them back up, just as soon as she realizes I've been cleaning up what she didn't.

—I swear if one more asshole touches my ass...

—Kick him —I shrug—. Isn't that why you've been boxing?

—That's why I started —she corrects me—. The reason why I'm still going though...

—Oh, your boxing crush —I nod—. Gotcha.

Tammy is still standing there. Probably waiting for me to go on and ask her a thousand questions about that crush she has talked about non-stop.

—And that's it? You aren't going to ask if there's something new?

—No —I answer, moving to the beer tap so I can start picking the empty glasses up—. It's not like you need me to ask anyway.

—You're right —she laughs—. He might come with his friends tonight —I nod, she already told me this earlier today.

And just like she told me, her group of friends show up half an hour later, when we are about to close. It's not a big group, and they don't look like the people I'm used to seeing Tammy surrounded by. They look... normal. Don't get me wrong, Tammy is great, but her friends have always been the type of people you would love to kick for being too loud next to you. Yes. Definitely that type.

She's laughing and talking to two girls, while the other guy is just looking at his phone. And, right at the same time I'm eyeing them, Tammy spots me and waves at me to join them. I don't really want to, but she insists.

"Take any change you can to meet new people. Get out of your comfort zone" I roll my eyes when that phrase pops up in my mind. I'm annoyed, but at the same time, that dude wasn't wrong. How am I supposed to meet new people if I keep closing doors?

And since the pub flirting didn't work two days ago, I should stick to meeting people that are friends with my friends -or coworkers in this case.

I look around, and confirm there aren't a lot of customers left before I start walking to the table where Tammy is more than comfortable now. She just sat right next to the blonde girl like she isn't on her shift at this exact moment. I'm about to turn around and go back to the counter, but Tammy's warning gaze just tells me she'll be a pain in the ass if I end up doing that.

—Guys, this is y/n —she introduces me to her friends as soon as I reach the table.

Everyone there greets me and assures me Tammy has talked a lot about me. And that makes me feel bad instantly, for the thought I had earlier of her not being totally my friend -at least, I don't think we've been around enough to be considered as such. They all introduce themselves: Melanie is the blonde girl with a white charming smile -and by her accent, I'd assume she isn't from here, maybe Boston-, Lucas is the blond guy who only lifts his gaze from his phone to look at Tammy every once in a while, and Jungsoo is the asian girl, brunette short shoulder length hair, that welcomes me to the conversation, although it's the first time she's ever seen me.

They tell me both Soo and Lucas met Tammy in one of those kickboxing classes, and Tammy met Soo's boyfriend when she got that butterfly tattoo she got on her shoulder, while Melanie was already friends with Soo because they both went to the same college. And just that way, the conversation swifts to a topic I don't like and that reminds me why I'm working in a shitty bar this late into the night.

—Fine Arts —I try to suppress the usual annoyed tone that comes with it.

—Really? —Soo asks surprised— My brother also studied that degree, but he wasn't lucky finding a job he liked.

Well, at least he was lucky enough to find a job and quit only because he didn't like it.

—He started working with my boyfriend on a business he opened, and just stayed there —she mentions—. Have you ever considered doing something on your own?

I know the question is genuine, I know she's just being curious since she found someone who was just as unlucky as her brother. But unlike him, I don't have the resources of opening anything on my own. Imagine thinking I had them, but I'm still working here by choice? I'd kick myself to death if I ever did something like that.

—No —I shake my head—. I'm sure there will be something out there for me sooner or later. I have the gift of patience, so...

And that's probably why I still haven't found a proper job as a designer. Fuck, even a simple job in an art gallery would make it for me. At the end of the day, it's what I studied for.

Soo moves her hand up, moving her locks away from her face, and I can't help but notice a familiar tattoo on her wrist. But before I can think too much about it, I see her pointing at me before asking:

—Are you working next weekend?

—Hmm no.

Which always translated to me as: waking up at three in the afternoon, doing the laundry, maybe grocery shopping... Adult things, basically.

—We rented a cabin —she sips her beer before looking at me again—. It's Melanie's birthday, and we usually go to Lake Seneca to celebrate it.

What does that have to do with me?

—Tammy is coming, too. And a few other friends —she continues—. My brother's ex-girlfriend was supposed to come, so now we have space left. If you want to join us...

—I don't know —I doubt—. We just met and it's your birthday —I point to Melanie—. Having a stranger around...

—That's how we all started —she shrugs—. Also you're Tammy's friend, so you're fine. The more we are, the better. We all were strangers at some point.

—If it's fine for you.

Melanie nods right away, assuring everything is fine and I shouldn't be worrying. Soo talks again, trying to comfort me when she realizes I'm still not totally convinced.

—My brother is in a similar situation. He started going out with us not that long ago.

The difference is he is your brother. While I've just learnt today I'm close friends with Tammy.

In one of those trips my eyes make all over the bar, I spot one customer waiting in the counter, resting both of his arms on the surface while he's looking around for either of us. Warning everyone that I'm going back to work, I start heading there.

While I'm busy with the customer, I hear the door opening and closing almost instantly. And that only causes me to beg people stop coming.

It's late. They all should be going to sleep. I want to go back home and let the mattress absorb me. But doesn't seem like that's what Tammy wants me to do, when she waves at me again once the customer leaves.

#fanfic #ff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkookxreader #jk #bts #wattpad #kookie #smut #jungkook smut #tattoistjk #tattooau #armpirate

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