#and Samuel is way to tense | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theegoldenchild · 20 days ago

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Chapter Five: The Devils Tongue (Part 1)

Warnings: Smoke is horny | Stack is horny | Sera is horny | I am horny

Whispers through Mississippi started slow, the way southern rumors always did. Nothing more than a tilt of the head and a hushed breath passed between hands full of laundry or mouths full of honey butter cornbread.

“They say they bringin’ music out to the north field…”

“One of them juke joints… with dancers and shine and God knows what else…”

“Right behind the preacher’s house, Lord have mercy…”

Sera heard them all. At church. At the water pump. Through the walls when her father met with the deacons. The same words repeated like scripture passed down the wrong way.

The SmokeStack twins were opening a juke joint, and not just anywhere. Not thirty miles up the road like they said they would. Not on neutral ground with enough distance to keep peace in the state. But right there. On the north field. A heartbeat away from her father’s back porch. Like a slap in the face to Pastor Samuel.

And legally? There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Because that land… the north field… was no longer his. Smoke and Stack had drawn up papers before the battle and slipped them in the mouth of war like a knife beneath a blessing. Pastor Samuel had signed off on it, too proud or too desperate to read the fine print. It was theirs now. All of it.

Sera stood in front of the open window of her upstairs bedroom, watching the transformation unfold in the distance. She hadn’t been outside in weeks due her restricted freedom and the schedule of a housewife with no husband. She scrubbed. She stitched. She read. She prayed. She was finally being seen as good again.

She didn’t allow her hands to touch herself anymore. It was a one time occurrence even though the protective shadow stood outside her door every night waiting for more. Instead of giving in she would sit on her hands until they went numb. The only true form of relief she received was when she went to sleep. It was the only time she felt free enough to let the twins cloud her mind without judgment.

But now… the world was moving again, just beyond the edge of the tree line. Where once there was wild grass and silence, there were now men. Men building a frame out of reclaimed wood and intention. Men hammering under the sun, smoking cigarettes and singing in low voices while Stack strutted across the foundation like a carnival ringleader. His suspenders hung loose at his hips, white button-down open at the collar, gold tooth flashing every time he tossed his head back and laughed.

Sera watched as he pulled a flask from his pocket and toasted a man twice his size. He wasn’t helping, just directing. Giving out orders with a grin that suggested he was halfway drunk and still the smartest man on the field.

Smoke, on the other hand, worked in silence. Jacket off, sleeves rolled, his undershirt clinging to the hard shape of his back as he dragged barrels of supplies from their truck. No smiles. No jokes. Just labor.

Downstairs, Pastor Samuel paced the parlor like a man waiting for fire to walk through the door. “They mean to shame me,” he murmured under his breath, hands clenched behind his back. “To tempt God right on holy land!” He stopped in front of the window and scowled out toward the north field. “Liquor. Dancing. Woman’s legs flashing under red lights. Music that stirs sin up from the bones.”

“Then why sell them the land?” one of the deacons asked.

Samuel’s jaw tensed. “They didn’t say nothin’ about this when they signed. Said it was temporary. Said they just needed it for defense.”

“They defendin’ something now,” another deacon sighed. “Their right to party, I reckon.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Samuel broke it with a slam of his fist on the window frame. “They’ll burn in hell for what they’re doing!”

That night, when Sera crept out of bed and pulled back the curtain again, the bones of the juke joint had been raised. The walls stood. The dance floor was built. And a glowing sign leaned against the steps, freshly painted in blue and red:

The Devil’s Tongue

The name itself felt like a dare. A joke that clung to her skin like cigarette smoke she wished to smell again. She touched the window glass, fingers lingering. She couldn’t hear the music yet. Couldn’t smell the liquor or see the women in low-cut dresses. But she felt it somehow. A slow, wild heartbeat starting to stir beneath the soil. One that matched her own.

The heat never left Mississippi, not even when the sun gave up and the stars pulled their blanket across the sky. It clung to the ground like sweat to skin, curling into the roots and pressing against windows like a watchful ghost.

Sera stood barefoot on her back porch, fingers clutching an empty pail, her eyes fixed on the silent well pump. It had coughed and sputtered all morning and now it was nothing but a rusted hunk of metal. Dry, breathless, useless. Just like yesterday. And the day before that… And the day before that…

She shifted, looking out past the trees toward the north field. The juke joint was almost finished with lanterns that glowed in the distance like a row of watchful eyes, flickering against the frame of the new structure. She could hear hammers still ringing out in the distance and the low thrum of voices too far away to decipher.

Her stomach turned in knots. She shouldn’t go. She knew she shouldn’t. But her skin itched with the stick of the day. Sweat clung beneath her arms, behind her knees, at the curve of her back where the cotton of her dress stuck like sin. Her hair, pinned tight beneath her scarf, felt heavy with dust and oil. She needed a bath. But she needed forgiveness more. And so she made herself pure the only way she knew how before walking into the lion's den.

She layered her body in silence. First, a slip, plain and soft, yellowed with age. Then, the second dress, brown, thick muslin with sleeves that reached past her wrists and a collar that scratched against her throat. Then, a third, black, starched and long, hanging loose down to her ankles. It swallowed her whole.

She took a black scarf and wrapped her curly hair tightly, then draped another across the lower half of her face. All that was left were her eyes. A pair of tired honey orbs that flicked to the heavens one last time. “Lord, please don’t let no one see me.”

The pail creaked in her hand as she stepped off the porch and began the slow walk toward the north field. The woods whispered around her as she moved, branches brushed her shoulders while grass crunched underfoot. The trees thinned the closer she got, replaced by an open field and smoke curling upward from the juke joint chimney. She stayed to the edge where the shadows were thickest. Somehow the pail felt heavier the closer she came.

Laughter drifted across the breeze and boots scraped against wood. She saw them now, men sitting on crates and barrels, some smoking, some drinking, some talking low with the slack confidence of those who knew they owned the night. Sera kept her head bowed, steps slow and cautious, skirts rustling as they brushed her ankles.

“Now what’s this?” one man called out, voice slurred with liquor. “Ain’t that the damn preacher’s girl?”

She stopped dead in her tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

Another man leaned forward, squinting at her. “Lord have mercy, she look like she tryin’ to scare the devil himself in all that black.”

A low ripple of laughter erupted amongst the men and her eyes stayed on the ground. She moved again, feet whispering across the dirt with embarrassment latching onto her like a second skin.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouths or I’ll slit your throats and use them vocal cords for catfish bait.” That voice didn’t laugh. And it didn’t have to. Smoke was tucked off in a corner sitting on a crate and watched Sera’s every step. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t even stand from the crate he was resting on. All he had to do was turn his head towards his men, give them a look, and silence followed.

Sera reached the water pump, hands shaking like a leaf as she tried to make the water come out. Her eyes darted once towards the porch just long enough to see the slant of Smoke’s jaw under the red lantern glow and the way he watched her.

Stack appeared from inside the juke and leaned against a post, arms crossed with the glint of his gold tooth flashing beneath his smirk. “Pretty girl… my little dove… we missed you,” he drawled. “You goin’ to a funeral, or tryin’ not to tempt a soul on God’s green earth dressed in all that black?”

Like always the sound of Stacks voice caught Sera off guard and her hands jerked the handle too hard. Water splashed everywhere, soaking through all three of her dresses and the cold water clung to her now wet stomach. Her cheeks flamed. “I’m just gettin’ water Mr. Stack,” she mumbled, voice muffled by fabric.

Stack said nothing as he stepped off the porch with an unhurried and deliberate movement. He closed the distance between himself and Sera, merging their shadows together under the moonlight. His fingers came up slow, the way a wolf would approach a skittish rabbit. No rush. No threat. Just intent.

And for some reason Sera didn’t flinch when his hand touched her scarf. But she did stop breathing for a moment. Delicately, he slid his fingers beneath the scarf that covered her face and loosened the knot at the back. The cotton slipped under his touch and the damp air kissed her skin as he drew the scarf away and dropped it into her trembling hands.

“There,” he whispered, voice deep and soft. “That’s better.”

Soon as the scarf came off she diverted her eyes away from him. Everything about this was too intimate and Sera wrestled with the idea of touching herself again tonight. Her lips were red and full from biting them too much. And Stack couldn’t help himself. He lifted her chin and guided his thumb over her swollen bottom lip… just once. Her shoulders twitched at the contact, and she gasped so quietly it almost sounded like a moan.

“Too pretty to stay hidden, little dove,” he said. “It’s a sin, really. Coverin’ all this up like God didn’t take His time makin’ you.”

Behind them, Smoke stilled completely. Not a muscle moved. His eyes were locked on Stack’s hand on Sera's lips. And the way her body stiffened before quivering under the weight of attention she’d never been taught how to carry.

“I—my daddy says…” she stammered, eyes flicking toward the pump like it might save her.

“That nigga says a lotta things,” Stack chuckled, stepping just slightly to the side still holding her chin and forcing her to face him. “And I bet you ain’t ever questioned a single one.”

Sera made eye contact then, just for a second. Enough for Stack to see her eyes, all stormy and lost. Like he was driving a ship filled with her emotions and could guide her back to shore.

“You don’t gotta answer to no man out here,” he rasped. “’Cept’ maybe us.”

“Stack,” Smoke finally warned before walking near the two of them.

Stack didn’t take his eyes off Sera. His voice dropped to a murmur, almost sweet. “I’m just admirin’ her, Elijah. A man can’t enjoy lookin’ at his woman?”

Sera blinked as her mind started racing a million miles a minute. His woman? Stack was claiming her as HIS woman? And that name…. Elijah. It tangled in her thoughts like a loose thread. It felt sacred and forbidden.

“…Elijah,” she whispered, tasting it like something sweet she wasn’t supposed to have. “Is that really your name?”

Behind her, the pump creaked once in the wind. The lantern’s glow flickered on the porch and casted both twins in molten amber. Stack turned his head just slightly, watching the chaos he created unfold. He knew better than to say Smoke's real name, but seeing his older brother lose his composure around Sera was becoming entertaining.

Smoke moved without speaking before standing beside his brother—broad shoulders brushing Stack’s, both of them now a wall of muscle and firelight.

They weren’t in their suits tonight. Just white undershirts clinging to sweat-slick coca butter skin. Broad chests rising steady and deep. The cotton stretched tight across every sharp line… hard work and violence carved into the shape of two men who didn’t belong to God or the law.

And Sera… she couldn’t help it. Her eyes wandered. First to Stack’s chest… then to Smoke’s stomach. The way his shirt clung to the lines carved just above his hips. The faint dusting of dark hair there. She quickly looked away and mentally prayed to the high heavens.

“You don’t say my name like that,” Smoke said suddenly, voice sharp enough to snap her attention back to his eyes.

He stepped closer, just enough to greedily capture her full attention. And then his hand came up. The same hand that has been infiltrating her dreams for weeks. He took her chin from Stack like passing a torch, holding her face now between his own fingers. And gently his thumb dragged across her bottom lip.

A shiver rolled down her spine and Smoke’s eyes didn’t move. “That name’s dangerous in your mouth,” he warned, thumb still teasing the seam of her lips. “You say it again and I might forget I’m tryin’ to be good.”

Sera’s chest rose in a shaky breath. Her lips quaked under his thumb.

“I—I didn’t mean to tempt you,” she whispered, her voice catching like a prayer half-swallowed. “I just never heard it before. It’s a real nice name…”

“Don’t matter if it’s nice,” Stack cut in, his voice smooth and wicked like all this wasn’t his fault. “It belongs in the mouth of a woman who’s ready to own it. You ready to own our names, little dove?”

Sera didn’t answer. The air between them was heavy, like moments before a hurricane when the sky forgets how to breathe.

Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the wet fabric on her stomach. The water had splashed more than she realized drenching the front of her dresses. Now the fabric uncomfortably clung to her skin as she kept trying to pull it away.

Smoke’s eyes dropped to her twitching fingers and lingered as unholy thoughts and flashbacks filled his mind. Tonight would be another night of self-control he isn’t sure he has anymore. He exhaled through his nose before letting Sera’s face go and pinched his bridge.

“Come on,” he said roughly, voice edged with something he didn’t bother hiding. “You can’t go home like that.”

Sera blinked up at him. “What?”

“I said, come on.” His jaw worked like he was fighting with his own teeth. “You’re soaked. Ain’t decent. Come inside the barn. Dry off fore’ your daddy sees you like this.”

Stack’s grin grew. “Or don’t,” he teased, cocking his head. “Let the preacher get a good look at my woman… wet, breathin’ heavy, and wearin’ all these damn dresses like modesty might save her.”

Sera’s mocha freckled face flushed scarlet. “I didn’t… I wasn’t tryin’ to—” She stuttered over her words, eyes flicking between the twins, too flustered to run but also too nervous to stay.

“My daddy’s comin’ home soon,” she said quickly, breath tight. “He’ll notice I’m not at the house.”

Smoke leaned forward, his face unreadable in the lantern light. “Then move fast.” He turned without waiting and started toward the barn, his broad back cutting through the dark like a blade. Stack gave her a playful smile and followed behind, whistling low.

Sera hesitated while looking at the twins and the road back to her home. The walk back would be uncomfortable with a wet dress, but then it would be difficult to explain to her father how she accidentally got three dresses wet tonight.

The water sloshed in her bucket. The wet fabric clung to her skin. And every inch of her burned with bubbling rebellion. Just for tonight, she would willingly follow the lions into their den.

The barn loomed ahead, once quiet and forgotten, now pulsing with music and light. Opening night was tomorrow and the twins had turned it into something else entirely. The thrum of a distant record played on the phonograph. Dim lanterns glowed from the rafters. Tables lined the edges. The scent of tobacco, moonshine, and heat hung in the air like a warning.

Smoke held the door open. “Inside,” he ordered, voice firm and cracking with irritation. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch you. We just don’t want nobody seein’ you like this.”

Stack leaned in close to Sera's ear and whispered before glancing down at her clinging skirts. “Though if you ask me, they should see you. You might convert half the sinners in town just by walkin’ past.”

Sera ducked her head and stepped in. Heat rolled through her as the door shut behind her and trapped her inside with two men who didn’t know how to pray… but sure as hell knew how to sin.

The barn’s music was a low hum in the distance now, muffled by the walls that separated the front room from the back. Smoke didn’t speak as he led her deeper into the converted juke joint, past crates of bootleg whiskey and mystery crates that smell of gunpowder and metal. Stack followed behind, quiet but not silent, his presence was felt more than heard.

Sera’s eyes adjusted slowly to the shadows until they reached the rear of the barn, an unmarked door tucked between a record shelf and an old upright piano. Smoke opened it with a worn key he kept on a chain around his neck.

The space inside was nothing like she expected.

A faint drop light flickered in the middle of the room revealing a simple iron-frame bed in the corner covered in dark sheets, thick quilts, and pillows. Lots of pillows. Too many for one man.

A steam iron hissed faintly from the far table, a white mist rising above a freshly cleaned pair of slacks. Before Stack joined his brother outside, he was back here ironing their clothes for tomorrow. Unlike the rest of the converted barn, this wasn’t a room for entertaining. This was Smoke’s room, where he would privately wind down after fighting the world.

“Sit,” Smoke ordered gently, nodding toward the edge of his bed.

Sera looked between the welcoming bed and Smoke before slightly shaking her head no. “My clothes are wet. I’ll mess ya bed up,” she whispered.

“Won’t be wet for long… or maybe you will,” Stack answered from behind, already walking towards the steam iron. “I’ll take care of the dresses. You just sit tight, little dove.”

Sera gripped onto the wet fabric of her top dress and hesitated. Her arms folded tight over her chest, and her eyes landed on the oak floor, to the bed, to the iron… to anything besides the twins. “I… I don’t know if I should.”

Stack turned halfway, glancing over his shoulder. “Ain’t no one askin’ you to strip down bare, darlin’. But sittin’ in soaked fabric don’t do nobody no good. Go on, take the top one off. I know you got fiddy’ more under it.”

She still didn’t move. Her spine was rigid with uncertainty, like a deer in a snare, not sure whether to flee or surrender.

“That dress stickin’ to your stomach like that?” Stack murmured. “You’re gonna catch cold before you get home. You want to go home to ya daddy snifflin’?”

Sera scrunched her face and quickly fixed it, “I’m fine… can’t nobody catch colds bein’ wet in the summer,” she said quickly and defensively.

“You’re not,” Smoke cut in quietly, his voice an authoritative thread of reason in the thick air. “You ain’t fine. You’re cold, and wet, and tremblin’ even though it’s a hunnid’ degrees tonight. Let us help.”

Nibbling on the inside of her cheek Sera looked over at Smoke who was sitting in a chair across his bed and taking his boots off. Like he didn’t just give her the final push she needed to comply. Hesitantly, her fingers rose slowly to the ties at the back of her neck. Her movements were stiff and nervous, but also determined… determined to show Smoke she knew how to follow directions. Why? Well, she wasn’t quite sure about that yet but it felt natural to do so. The first dress came loose with a reluctant sigh, and she peeled it off, water dripping from the hem as she folded it in her arms.

Stack moved forward to take it, but not before letting his eyes travel over the second dress now revealed. This one clung closer to the skin but not enough for his liking. He took the garment from her hands, his fingers brushing hers for a split second longer than they should’ve. No smile. No teasing. Just a pause before he turned back to the iron.

Sera swallowed and turned her back to them as she shyly lifted the second dress at the hem. Her hands shook with trepidation. The wet cotton stuck to her thighs, refusing to come off easily. The sound of it peeling from her skin was deafening in the silence. Keeping her eyes glued to the wooden floor she avoided handing Stack the second dress and instead placed it next to his work station.

“You wearin’ another under that one too?” Stack asked, quieter now.

Her voice was tight and she nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She didn’t respond. The third dress came off slower. For some reason she didn’t feel as shy giving him her final gown of armor. But she still wasn’t able to make eye contact as she placed this dress next to the other one. She stood there in her plain white chemise and form fitting bloomers, the thin cotton clinging to her every curve. Modest by any standard. But not to them.

Stack turned his back under the pretense of adjusting the iron’s dial, but his hands clenched tighter than they needed to. Smoke stared a moment longer before letting his eyes drift up to her frazzled face.

“You don’t gotta be nervous,” Smoke said quietly while pushing his desires down. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch you unless you ask us to. You safe here.”

Sera’s eyes lifted and she bit down hard on her bottom lip almost drawing blood to conceal her shock. “I’m not askin’ for that,” she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not askin’ for nothin’,” Stack replied, in a hushed tone. “That’s the part we don’t like.”

She blinked and turned her head. “What?”

Stack sighed and shook his head, “You don’t ask for what you want. You wait for someone to give you permission. That ain’t livin’, dove. That’s just breathin’ quiet.”

The tension settled between them again. Smoke crossed to the dresser and pulled out a white button-up shirt… his. It looked soft and worn, sleeves rolled just above the elbow and a faint scent of sandalwood still clinging to it. “Put this on,” he said, offering it without looking directly at her. “Till your things dry.”

Sera reached for it carefully, fingers brushing his as she took it. The shirt hung heavy in her hands, and when she slipped it on, it swallowed her tall curvaceous frame falling to mid-thigh, the collar open, and sleeves trailing past her fingertips.

Stack watched her move from the corner of his eye while working the steam iron over her first dress. “Don’t get too comfortable in that shirt, pretty girl. You’re liable to turn a man religious walkin’ ‘round like that.”

Smoke ignored him and sat back in his assigned seat for the night and continued rolling a cigarette. Sera watched him curiously before sitting on the edge of his bed. “Why… why do you have so many pillows?” she asked softly, her voice colored with innocent confusion. “Ain’t just you in here, is it?”

Sera didn’t mean to ask an intrusive question but she genuinely was curious about the pillows. Stack burst into a laugh behind her, not cruel but full of wicked delight. “Ain’t no woman in here, if that’s what you mean,” he chuckled, pressing down on the fabric. “But them pillows sure seen their share of sins.”

Sera blinked, face heating. “I— I don’t understand—”

Smoke ran a hand down his jaw and finally looked up, his cold gaze cutting through her to glare at his twin. “I use ’em when I can’t sleep,” he said evenly, ignoring his brother’s grin. “That’s all.”

But Sera didn’t miss the tick of his jaw… or the way he refused to look at the bed when he said it.

Stack gave a low hum and chuckled to himself. “He sleep just fine when he’s got the right thing in his hands.”

Sera turned her face away, but not before the brothers saw the flush rush up her cheeks, blooming high across her cheekbones. She tucked her knees in tighter beneath the oversized white shirt, trying to disappear into the fabric but the effect only made her look more precious and touchable. Like some delicate secret wrapped in cotton and candlelight.

Smoke said nothing at first. He sat with one ankle resting on his knee, elbows on his thighs, a tin of tobacco in one hand and paper in the other. His gaze flicked toward her, completely indecipherable. “You ever rolled a cigarette before?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Sera blinked. The question seemed ridiculous considering her background but she let her sarcastic answer die on her tongue. “No, sir.”

He gave a short nod and tapped the tin open with his thumb. “C’mere,” he said, in a detached yet seductive tone. “I’ll show you.” Stack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. Instead he focused on his task and continued this best to dry Sera’s dresses.

She didn’t move at first. Her amber eyes searched Smoke’s face for mischief or cruelty, but found only that mysterious calm, shadowed by the golden glow of a nearby oil lamp. Her fingers clutched the shirt tighter. “I—I’m fine over here…”

“Like I said sweetheart… You’re safe,” Smoke reassured, still focused on the paper in his hands. “If you gon’ be sneaking around here with us sinners, you might as well learn new skills.”

The room went quiet and Stack stopped what he was doing to turn and glare at his brother. Smoke and Stack haven’t fought for the attention of the same woman since they were little. And right now it seemed like he was three steps behind as his brother effortlessly took all of Sera's attention. His signature grin dropped and twisted into something quieter… almost possessive.

Sera’s breath came a little quicker, heart thumping like it wanted to jump out of her chest. She shifted again, then slowly climbed off the bed. So many sins had been committed in one night and she tried to keep a mental list of everything she’d have to repent for.

1.) Being alone in a room with TWO dangerous men.

2.) Stripping down to her undergarments in front of these men.

3.) Sitting on a man’s LAP…

4.) LEARNING TO ROLL A CIGARETTE!!

The list seemed never ending, and she didn’t even include how the forbidden wetness had returned between her thighs. Her bare feet padded across the floor, the oversized shirt falling around her knees like a curtain. She stood in front of Smoke for a moment, unsure what to do next.

Smoke looked up at Sera and lowered his leg back down before spreading his thighs wide, “Sit,” he said gently, patting his thigh. “I don’t bite, sweetheart.”

She obeyed, carefully lowering herself into his lap. Even though Sera wasn’t a petite woman, her thick thighs draped over one of his and she felt so small… and protected. Her back stayed stiff as a board as she tried not to let any part of her touch more than necessary. But he was so warm and solid, and her juices were flowing through her underwear leaving little droplets on his slacks. Smoke made no mention of it but let one of his hands drape across her waist and maneuver her on his lap so she couldn’t feel his growing secret.

“Relax,” Smoke muttered near her ear, speaking more to himself than her. “Ain’t no sin in sittin’. Now watch.”

Sera nodded and leaned forward slightly, her side brushing against his chest. The scent of smoke, iron, and something faintly woodsy wrapped around her as he guided her hand gently to the tin.

“This here’s the tobacco. You pinch it like this…” His fingers brushed hers rough, but patient like he wanted to cherish this moment. “And you roll it gentle. Real slow. Gotta feel it. Not just use your hands—use your senses.”

Sera nodded, her breath catching every time his fingers touched hers again, every time the soft rasp of his voice fell too close to her ear. Her whole body was trembling and she subconsciously clenched her thighs together. Smoke noticed, just like how he noticed everything but he didn’t comment on it.

Stack watched them from across the room, no longer focused on ironing and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re doin’ fine,” Smoke murmured again. “Just like that, baby.” The cigarette was shaped, ready to light. But Sera didn’t move. Her fingers still lingered over his, eyes still focused on what they’d made. “You’re a fast learner,” Smoke added, voice rougher now.

The sound of her soft voice, the way she shifted shyly in Smoke’s lap, the trembling curve of her thigh under the hem of that white shirt, all of it twisted something hot and mean in Stack’s gut. “Didn’t know we was givin’ private lessons tonight,” he chimed as his jealousy blatantly radiated off of him. “Tell me, ‘Lijah… how many other little doves you taught that trick to?”

Smoke’s hand stilled where it had been guiding Sera’s fingers. His jaw flexed as he looked up, not moving her and definitely not letting go. “I ain’t gotta teach anyone but her,” he said low. “Ain’t my fault you too busy flirtin’ to make things stick.”

Stack sucked his teeth and without another word, he walked to the edge of Smoke’s bed, and made himself at home. He sat down with his legs wide and posture relaxed like he wasn’t deliberately intruding. From his back pocket, he pulled a worn silver tin and cracked the lid open with a flick of his thumb.

“You know,” Stack said as he packed tobacco into his palm, “I ain’t never had trouble teachin’ a lesson when it mattered. Some folks just learn different.”

Sera looked between them, her fingers twisting shyly in her lap. She was still perched on Smoke’s knee, now with less certainty like she could foresee the chaos waiting to erupt.

Stack didn’t look at his brother when he spoke, and focused his eyes on his redhead angel. “Maybe she wanna learn from me next,” he said, voice quiet and teasing. “See how different the teacher makes the lesson.”

Smoke let out a slow breath through his nose and leaned back in the chair as he tightened his grip on Sera’s hip. He didn’t move Sera, didn’t rise to meet the provocation. Instead, he set the cigarette they made aside and looked up, his posture calm but his eyes told how he was tired of the game. “There ain’t no need to start trouble,” he said evenly. “Not in front of her.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back as Stack and Smoke began bickering like children that didn’t know how to share their new shiny toy. Smoke was losing his patience with his brother.

“Nigga, you got some nerve sittin’ here runnin’ ya mouth like I won’t whoop your ass from here back to Chicago.”

“Ain’t nobody fuckin’ scared of you, Elijah!”

While Smoke and Stack continued to bicker and exchanged biting words between them like flint to steel, Sera sat silently in the middle, unsure where to place her hands, her thoughts and her shame. In the heat of the moment, Smoke unintentionally shifted Sera directly onto his growing erection before picking up a nearby ashtray and chucking it in the direction of Stacks head.

“THROW SUM ELSE I DARE YOU!”

“WATCH YA MOUTH YOU LYIN’ SUMMA’ BITCH!”

It was subtle at first, just a small movement, his hands still steady at her waist. He realigned her to keep her out of the crossfire and placed her soft covered heat directly over the firm ridge of his arousal. The contrast made her breath leave her body and she almost arrived at heaven’s gate. It felt good. Too good. Her thighs tightened instinctively and a dangerous warmth flooded to her lower belly. This was a level of sin she wasn’t sure a night of repentance would fix.

She hadn’t touched herself since that night. That night when Smoke’s voice had stirred something buried deep. Since then, she’d refused to look inward, way too frightened to explore what waited behind her curiosity. Too afraid of what she might become if she gave in.

But tonight… the air hung thick with desire. Like a storm rolling slow and low across the fields. It whispered to her, beckoned her. Promised that if she dared to dip a toe into darkness, she wouldn’t fall alone. Smoke would catch her and Stack would comfort her.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Their arguing faded, reduced to static on the edge of her mind as she gave in to the devilish sensation. Smoke’s arms, strong and unmoving, bracketed her body like pillars. His chest rose and fell behind her back, steady and unbothered. Too consumed with arguing with his twin. She exhaled slowly and began to move. Barely. Just a cautious shift of her hips back and forth to test the friction. The thick line of him nudged through his slacks up against her blooming flower that pulsed with each movement.

It was maddening. Up and down… an inexperienced grind… back and forth. Each motion of her hips was gentle and full of exploration. She inhaled sharply as Smoke's shirt rustled over her succulent thighs, letting both men see the wet spot forming on her panties. Her hands found Smoke’s thighs, and she gripped them lightly as she sought the pressure her body craved.

The pleasure was delicate at first, like the flutter of a moth’s wings. But it built slowly and steadily. This was different from when she touched herself. Back and forth… up and down… A warm flush crept up her chest and neck. She no longer heard their voices. She closed her eyes and just focused on her breathing and the wet heat gathering between her legs.

Back and forth… left to right… right to left… up and down… Sera gasped again, her breathing ragged and shallow. Her hips moved with more purpose now testing limits she’d never dared explore. The heat expanding between her legs was damn near unbearable, soaking through her cotton underthings and making her acutely aware of every sensitive inch pressed to the twitching hardness beneath her.

She didn’t hear the creak of the chair when Smoke leaned in closer and didn’t sense the room shifting. Not until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Whatcha doin’ sweet girl?” he whispered, voice husky. “It feel good don’t it? Keep goin’ for me… don’t stop this time… I’ll be here to guide you.”

Her body gave a soft shiver at his words. Her thighs tensed around his trying to close but he slid his hands down to them and held each one open. She didn’t speak, she couldn’t. She just moved, driven by the need curling tighter and tighter low in her belly.

Smoke’s grip on her thighs flexed, then eased, guiding her rhythm ever so slightly, like he was tuning a song only he could hear. “Don’t rush it,” he whispered again, “Just like that… Take your time…”

Then she felt another presence approach. Stack had gone quiet for too long and that was never a good sign. Sera’s eyes opened slowly and the haze of desire clouded her vision as she saw his boots come into view. She tilted her head upwards just slightly and that was all he needed.

Stack crouched down in front of her, his towering frame folding like a wolf preparing to pounce. His eyes were dark and for a split second Sera had to question if she was looking at Smoke or Stack. His firm fingers lightly gripped her chin, tilting her face toward his.

“You don’t stop now, darlin’,” he ordered in a rough tone with something more dangerous than lust. “You keep goin’.” Sera opened her mouth hoping to respond but no words came out, just another whimper and silent moan.

“You hear me?” he growled, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Ain’t no shame in takin’ what you want. Not here. Not with us.”

Smoke’s lips still lingered near her ear. “You’re doin’ so good,” he purred, his tone a complete contrast to Stack’s rough edge. “Look at you… our little church angel learnin’ how to move.”

Stack’s hand slid down her throat until it rested just above the curve of her chest. “You keep rocking’ on him ‘til we say stop.”

Sera’s heart thundered behind her ribs. Their voices tangled around her like tobacco in the lungs, addictive and dangerous. Both men were hard enough to cut diamonds. Their bodies coiled tight and strained beneath their clothes. Yet neither gave in… they just watched.

Every subtle twitch of Sera’s hips, every stuttered breath and delicate shift, each pass of friction seemed more delicious than the last. This was a show. One she wasn’t even aware she was performing. Smoke’s jaw clenched, his hands steady where they gripped her, guiding just enough, allowing her to find her pace on her own. Stack watched like a hawk pretending to be unaffected but the pulse on his neck betrayed him. He was barely breathing. And Sera? She was unraveling by the second. If this addicting sensation and dizzying pleasure was possible with her undergarments still clinging damp between them, what would happen if her bare skin touched his? Would it break her? Would she survive it?

She whined quietly. “E-Elijah… I… I ca—”

But she didn’t finish. Smoke growled, like the sound scraped up from the pit of his stomach. His hands slid to her inner thighs, thumbs spreading her open just enough to stop her motion cold. She whimpered at the loss of pressure. Then, slowly, he leaned her back against his chest, angling her hips forward and exposing the damp fabric stretched over her pulsing center. Her head lolled back on his shoulder with her eyes glossed over with lust.

Smoke’s grip was firm and controlled. His mouth brushed the crown of her head with a tenderness that didn’t match the fire in his eyes. “You made such a mess, my love,” he teased, tone deceptively soft. “Bet he’s wonderin’ how you taste now.”

Stack’s eyes darkened then and Smoke’s voice dropped lower and colder. He didn’t look at Sera as he spoke, he looked at his brother, a smirk curling his lips. This was payback. “If you need help to finish,” he said, slow and condescending, “ask Elias real nice and he might help.”

The tension snapped taut like a drawn bowstring. Sera shivered hard, the sound of Stack’s real name crackling through the room like a match being struck. Her body ached, her thighs quivered and she was now wide open in Smoke’s lap with her sanctified pussy soaked and pressed forward, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Like a turkey laid bare for carving on Thanksgiving day.

And Stack—no, Elias—was starving. That cool, collected mask cracked, if only slightly. His nostrils flared. His tongue darted across his bottom lip. His fists flexed at his sides like he was fighting himself not to take. The silence grew thick between them, as if the very walls were waiting.

Sera looked between the two of them with her breath ragged, skin flushed, and her innocence in tatters. And then she turned her attention to Stack. Her voice though soft carried a weight that made the room hold still. “…Elias,” she whispered, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Please… help?”

His name, sweet and unsure on her tongue, shattered whatever restraint he had left.

And the devil in him stirred.

Tag List:

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wannaeatramyeon · 6 months ago

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Lookism Boys - Meeting Your Parents

G/N. Headcanons on what your parents would think. Goo, Jake, Gun, Samuel, Ryuhei. Masterlists

Both are absolutely two sides of the same coin. Either way, your parents will be so charmed by Goo or Jake that they wish they were the ones dating him instead.

Goo is hilarious. In a mean bitchy way, that even though he is laughing at other people rather than with - he's laughing with your parents at other people so this slips pass their radar.

They are caught up with his quips and sharp tongue and honeyed words that they happily go along with this ride, trading numerous inside jokes by the end of the meeting, giggling together like a bunch of school children.

It helps that he's also dressed head to toe in hard to miss designer labels, and brings lavish gifts for them too. No, their affection and approval can't be bought but well, it doesn't hurt to try.

Jake is the son your parents wish they had, insult to their actual sons be damned. Or the person they wish they had met if they were twenty years younger, sexuality be damned.

And yes, Jake would pull out the cheesy lines like (gesturing to your mother) "Y/N, you didn't tell me you had a sister!" and dad jokes to your own dad. He would be so insufferably charming about it that it would inevitably work and win them over in no time at all.

Unlike Goo, so what if Jake's finances are tight right now? And his prospects are a little questionable? He clearly loves you and is a Good Guy. You two are young, he can work that out in due course.

There's a powerful aura emitting from Gun and your parents don't know what to make of it. Is it ok that you're seemingly with this dangerous man? With the unusual eyes and scar between his eyes?

This would have put their backs up more but Gun, to your surprise, is capable of showing exceptional manners. He is super respectful in their presence. Deep bows, good etiquette, and formal honorifics. They can't help but be reassured that if he is this respectful of them, then surely he will be of you.

Gun's demeanour is generally stiff and serious. He's quiet and doesn't talk much, though they don't miss the way he softens when he looks at you. Nor his patience when you revert back to being a sulky child when you're in your parent's presence too long.

They approve, mostly. But will always be a little uneasy around Gun.

At first glance, or first meeting, Samuel is clearly a guy that thinks a lot about himself. Unfortunately it shows to your parents too.

To his credit, his ego and confidence is inflated but the way he treats you is surprisingly tender. And despite the pedestal he sometimes likes to put himself on, he puts you on an even higher pedestal. Which can be both positive and negative. To your parents though, it's good that he obviously treats you well.

Sammy does turn on the charm a little, walking the thin line between flattering and smarmy - a bit like how he is with Eugene. Most of all, your parents are impressed with his prospects (something Jake, unfortunately, lacks).

Excellent career prospects, property, assets, finance. Even if he is a bit up his own ass, at least he can look after you.

Ryuhei has never ever met a partner's parent, and it shows with how tense he is. A complete surprise for you to see your happy-go-lucky puppy so anxious.

He relaxes each time you give him a small smile or squeeze his hand in a comforting gesture.

Your parents, to be honest, don't think much of him. Not to say they think he's bad for you, they just don't form much of an opinion of him during the first meeting.

The second meeting, however: 'Poor guy,' your parents think. He is wrapped around your finger and he's too head over heels to even kick up a fuss whenever you're being unreasonable or bratty.

He tries to charm them, which is a bit hit and miss but it's so so obvious how much he adores you and hangs on to your every word that even they become a bit worried about his well being and you taking advantage of him.

Not that you would... maybe.

#lookism #lookism x reader #goo kim x reader #jake kim x reader #gun park x reader #samuel seo x reader #ryuhei kuroda x reader #ryuhei x reader #goo kim #jake kim #gun park #samuel seo #ryuhei kuroda #wannaeatramyeon

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hysteria-things · 11 months ago

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KISS THE GIRL

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: because of his biggest fear, chris has some trouble getting the courage to kiss the girl he’s been connecting with for months.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FLUFF, swearing

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 662

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: okay i know i said a matt fluff but i finished watching the little mermaid an hour ago and thought about this…

commitment is chris’ worst nightmare. he’d rather step on hot coals than do anything with a girl, especially being a boyfriend for crying out loud. he’s getting ahead of himself here, but these are the exact thoughts pacing through his mind at this very moment. why is he acting like this? it’s all because of you.

the two of you met through a mutual friend and hit it off quickly, gaining a relationship to the point where you guys have been talking for months. old chris would say run for the hills and never turn back, but there’s something about you. it’s like you reeled him in without trying.

currently, you’re walking next to each other — not hand in hand but insanely close — on a path that separates the beach from the sidewalk. chris paid for dinner, although you insisted on splitting the check.

this isn’t the first time you guys are hanging out, but this time around feels different. he so badly wants to kiss you; feel his lips in sync with yours. he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it. on the other hand, he’s terrified to do so. what if he’s been getting mixed signals this whole time? what if you only see him as a brother?

“are you alright?” your voice startles him as he shakes his head to get out of his trance. “you seem to be thinking about something.”

“i’m fine.” he smiles. “want to walk on the pier? we can get a good view of the sunset from there.”

you nod as he leads the way, the sun making the ripples of the water an orangey-pink haze. you lean your back against the railing, your elbows propped on the metal beside you.

inhaling sharply, he then exhales. he’s surprisingly much calmer now, the moment beautiful along with the girl of his dreams. maybe he can kiss you after all—

PING.

groaning, chris reaches his hand into his pocket where the noise is coming from.

DA BOYZ

nick

did you smooch yet?

matt

what are you waiting for?

idk

nick

chris you can’t hear me but i just sighed really loudly i thought you’d like to know

we’re watching you by the way

you’re what

matt

[attachment: 1 image]

bro

nick

KISS HER ALREADY

COME ON

matt

i’ll do it

fuck off matt

nick

i wish i brought my binoculars i can’t really see from here

matt

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

this is going to be me and y/n in like five minutes

stop that

matt

i’m getting out of the car as we speak

go home

nick

not until you 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋🥰

sighing, this was his reminder to turn his ringer off. he placed the phone back in its place and sighs. “sorry about that.” he mumbles, moving closer to you to place his hands where your elbows are, leaning down to rest his head on your shoulder. you snake your arms around his neck and play with his hair. “are you sure you’re okay? you’re tense.”

“i want to lay here for a bit, that’s all.”

it’s now quiet, except for the waves hitting the shore. you both are comfortable, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. feeling a peck on your shoulder, it travels to your collarbone… and then to your neck… and then… finally!

it’s hard to tell who pulled in who first, being that you pulled him in by the neck while chris pulled you in by the waist. god, your lips feel good. your mouths dance at a rhythm better than he’s ever imagined. unfortunately, it has to come to an end.

he pulls away to catch a breath, your cheeks and the tip of your ears flushed pink like crazy. alas, you’re grinning like a fool before you say a sentence chris wasn’t expecting at all. “you can tell them to stop staring at us now.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @etershine @tpvmz @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @fratbrochrisgf

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fluff #Spotify

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gh0stlightss · 3 months ago

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⋆.˚ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 : mdni — This fic contains erotic depictions involving religious themes. ♱ ── ̟ !!

If this is a sensitive topic for you, please proceed with caution or skip this work. †

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

Father Samuel-Sam-was the fresh face in town, a soft-spoken man with gentle hands and a voice like warm honey. The church had welcomed him with open arms, charmed by his humility, his quiet devotion. But you? You saw the way his fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the chalice during Mass, the way his throat bobbed when his gaze lingered on you a second too long..or the way he'd look at your exposed collarbone.

You noticed him. And more importantly-you knew he noticed you.

It was the way his breath hitched when you knelt in the confessional, lips parted just so, your lashes fluttering as you murmured, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned...” the way his knuckles whitened around his rosary beads when your skirt rode up your thighs as you adjusted your position. The way his tongue darted out to wet his lips when you met his eyes-those deep, hungry eyes- before lowering your gaze demurely.

You had him the moment he first faltered.

ྀ ི ✦

The church was empty tonight, the only sound the distant hum of the old radiator and the whisper of your stockinged thighs as you shifted on your knees. The door to the sacristy was locked. The candles flickered, casting long shadows across the room, painting the saintly icons in something far more sinful.

Father Sam stood before you, his back pressed against the edge of the heavy oak desk, his cassock already pushed up over his hips. His breath came in shallow gasps, his fingers tangled in your hair-not guiding not forcing, but clinging, as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Your name-soft and trembling-left his lips, His cock was heavy on your tongue, thick and leaking as you took him deep, your eyes fluttering shut at the taste of him — salt and sin.

“W-Wait-”he stammered, but his hips jerked forward when you took him deeper, your tongue tracing the length of his cock as if it were something holy.

“You-” His voice cracked as your tongue traced him, swallowed him whole, hot and wet. “Oh, God-”

Yes, you thought. Let him see God.

His thighs trembled, his breath coming in ragged bursts as you worked him, your fingers digging into his hips to keep him still. You wanted him to feel this, to know that even men of the cloth could fall to their knees—or be brought to them.

You hummed around him, savoring the way his hips jerked, the way his thighs tensed. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you could feel the war inside him-the way his body arched into your mouth even as his mind screamed sin, sin, sin.

But you didn't stop.

You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, your lashes fluttering up to watch his face-the way his lips parted in a silent gasp, the way his brow furrowed in desperate want. His hips stuttered, his cock twitching against your tongue, and you knew he was close.

“Please-” he choked out, his voice ragged. "I-I can't-"

He tasted like wine and sin, like desperation and prayer.

“Please,” he choked out, trembling..“Please, I-”

You looked up at him through your lashes, doe-eyed and innocent, even as you hollowed your cheeks around him.

“Do you see God yet, Father?” you whispered.

that's all it took.

A broken groan tore from his throat as he spilled into your mouth, his entire body shuddering, his knees buckling. You swallowed every last drop, your lips lingering as he trembled above you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

When you finally pulled away, his face was flushed, his eyes softening with something between shame and hunger.

“You,” he whispered, voice wrecked, “are going to kill me..”

You smiled, slow and sweet, and pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh.

“Then let me be your last prayer.”

—

@regretdean

#priest sam winchester brr #spn #supernatural #gh0stlightsswrites ★#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester fanfiction #priestsam #© gh0stlightss

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tinytownn · 17 days ago

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the weight on my shoulders –

pt. v - wife number five pt.2 series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 8.5k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and descriptions of death, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), mentions of religion and cults??, i mention child death for like four sentences idk, tw youre from indiana sorryy, age gap (27 and 49), slow burn??, no use of y/n

a/n: this story keeps running away from me i swearrr like every chapter ends up differently than how i drafted it, but i hope you guys enjoyyyy (i think i like this version better :)) there was originally going to be a lot more cult involved stuff this chapter but i ditched it for cows lol, i feel like i've made u guys go thru enough trauma

September 18th 2025 -

“If you’re up for somethin’ a little risky.”

Joel’s words replayed in your mind as you sat on the bed, huddled in the darkness. The quilt beneath you stayed twisted beneath your fingers, the iron bedframe creaking as you nervously tapped your foot.

Something in the air was seeping into your skin, telling you that these two couldn’t be trusted. If you hadn’t been watching their every move, you wouldn’t have been so inclined to eat the dinner they prepared. Joel hadn’t been that convinced though, his stomach audibly growling now and his untouched dinner plate long discarded into the trash.

The subtle noises of discomfort were the only signal to each other that you were even there. You would gently rock the headboard, swaying to ease your anxiety until Joel would let out a soft grunt in annoyance. You could hear his stomach churning and the way he would shuffle or fake a cough in hopes you didn’t hear.

There was definitely a lantern somewhere in the room, but the light wouldn’t tell you anything you couldn’t already feel. The room had been tense since the moment you walked in. Hand splayed across your back, Joel ushered you in with some newfound urgency. You could feel his fingers tremble slightly through your dress and his anxiety began to seep into you.

“We wait here until they go to bed,” he had whispered.

Although you were in the room now, his head was still on a swivel and you could hear his clothes rustling as he looked around. You nodded along, unsure if he could even see you through the darkness. Either way, he continued.

“When I went downstairs with Samuel,” his voice was even lower now, like just saying their name would attract their attention. “There was a keypad that locked most of their supplies behind a gate. Pretty sure I can find the keys and some gas cans.”

Dipping to one side, you felt Joel push himself off the mattress. His footsteps echoed softly in the room, the soles of his boots heavy against the hardwood. Each step and each moment of silence filled you with even more anxiety. Was he still trying to figure out the plan?

“How do we get the code?”

Although your voice was barely above a whisper, Joel stopped dead in his tracks at the hint of your voice. You couldn’t see his face and even if you could, you were sure it wasn’t one you wanted to see.

Usually Joel oozed with a seamless confidence, one that was just effortless in nature. He was a strong man, gruff, the type of person people didn’t mess with. And if they did? He made sure they regretted it.

You didn’t know what he was like before the outbreak–probably never would–but whatever secrets Joel Miller buried so far down, turned him into a man ready for conflict, bloodshed, and violence. Whatever came his way.

Now, he stood in front of you, thankful to be shielded by the dark. He knew you could probably feel it in the way he moved, hear it in his tone, but he couldn’t stand the thought of looking this weak in front of you. He was always good at hiding how he truly felt, no matter how tense things got.

So what was so different now?

He had foolishly let his guard down. Like everything he had instilled within himself had gone out the door the second Samuel started his smooth talk. Something about the way the man spoke so casually, as if nothing had ever happened, Joel didn’t even notice that his gun had gone missing–at least not at first. One moment he was helping with the generator, begrudgingly following the stranger he couldn’t quite get a grasp on, and then he was happily chatting about his brother.

Reality had only struck him when his eyes met yours, that piercing and unforgiving stare. It was only then that he realized how swept away he had been, that he had forgotten everything he had told you and that silent promise as you two split up. It was only then, when he shoved his hands into his pockets that he realized how light they suddenly were. It was only then that he patted down his empty pockets, his earlier suspicions coming to life, and a wave of nausea and defenselessness swallowing him whole.

It had been so long since Joel had a proper conversation with another man. One with meaning and no underlying favors. So when the whole facade of that friendly conversation came to light, Joel had felt like a fool for even believing him for a second.

He didn’t realize it then, but over the course of dinner while Joel did nothing but berate himself for his mistakes, he had realized the effect you had on him. That hope you carried that he had endlessly scolded you for, whether he knew it or not, began to slowly seep into his way of life–an unfamiliar optimism clouding his view. He saw that you were more than just dead weight slowing him down–a poor decision made in a lapse of clarity–but rather a glimmer of hope he hadn’t seen for decades.

That toothy grin you’d give him even after hours of arguing, the way you told him to keep the bag of candy as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, and how every time you would pull something from the backpack that same bag was balanced on your legs so it didn’t get scuffed. He had never told you the full meaning behind the candy, that it was actually Sarah’s favorite, but you still kept the bag as clean as when he found it–not even a tear in the plastic.

Despite all that, he had done nothing but push you away, but something in his gut kept him tethered to you. An invisible string ravelling around the coils of time until it ran out of thread, tying you two at the hip. Months of being so close had definitely taken its toll, arguments and petty bickering almost a daily occurrence, but none of that would stop how you looked out for each other.

Underneath that string, tied so tight around your wrists the flesh tore wide open for each other to see, there lay a promise–a type of promise only created in the bonds formed within this wasteland of a world. It wasn’t something spoken about or written down in some sort of contract, but rather something hidden in small glances and sighs. The way that even now, within the darkness you could both read each other's motions, each slight sound a signal to an entire language only you two could understand.

That’s why, when those words left your lips, as simple as they may have been, something in Joel’s heart crushed a little bit.

For the first time since you had met, you were lacking confidence in him.

He could hear it in the way your voice shook, that slight tremble in your words and the discomfort that hung in the air. How normally you’d be anxious, fiddling with the hem of your clothes, desperately trying to cling to his words. Now, you sat rigid, almost as if his lack of words took over your entire brain, ceasing any motor output.

Feet planted in place, almost as if quicksand was pulling him under, Joel stood frozen–contemplative. “The code is the easy part,” he huffed out a sigh, jamming his hands into his jean pockets. “I saw it over his shoulder when we went to the basement. What’s gonna be a problem is flippin’ the right switch to power the damn thing.”

Uncertain, you leaned forward on your palms, the bed creaking beneath your weight.

“That breaker box ain’t got any of the switches labeled so it’s just goin’ to be a guessin’ game. I’ve worked around plenty of these to know there’s some sort of order to ‘em. He flipped the switch for the kitchen on the top right, so I can work from there…” He paused for a moment, like once he said these last words things would be set in stone. “If…if I flip the wrong switch, I need you to keep them distracted.”

With the risky part of Joel’s plan now splayed out in front of you, you couldn’t help the way you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat. It’s not like you had ever needed to use a breaker box before, but it wasn’t like you had never seen one. You knew the mass amount of switches on one of those things, let alone a building this big.

Although you knew it was useless, you looked towards where you could sense Joel was standing, hoping for some sort of comfort–grounding–within his presence. But as usual, he was a wall. An impenetrable force, especially when it came to you, void of anything other and a carnal need to hunt and protect. Sure, he gave you those glimpses of nostalgic wonder, something softer deep within that icy gaze.

But none of that was there now.

He stood there just as still as you. You could hear it from the silence in the room. No nervous shuffling of fabric, no creaky floors under pacing feet, and no scratching of hair through anxious fingers. Just the absence of noise simmering deep into every corner of the room, itching at your skin, deep within, tugging at your vocal chords.

“Distracted?” you squeaked.

“If they stay in their room, it should be fine.” You could hear him shift his weight, the floor boards creaking beneath him. For a split second, you were unsure if he was breaking or widening the distance, and you think he was unsure himself. “If I flip the wrong switch, or they hear me downstairs, you get their attention any way you can…Do whatever you have to. You understand?”

His words were stern again, an ounce of that confidence regained in his tone. Then, a sliver of the moonlight cast on his face through the window, and your perception of him in that moment shattered.

His lips, cracked and dry, were drawn into a sullen pout and trembling ever so slightly. Head dipped low, his shoulders were hunched over in a reclusive, almost regretful stance. You hadn’t seen this look on him since that day in the bodega, that prized bag of Swedish Fish clutched in his hands. His eyes reflected this distant longing, dull and bleak, like he was impending a fate he was dreadfully succumbing to.

The look took you aback–confused you. Since the moment you stepped into this town, that bubbling anxiety had only grown and grown into a full blown panic that you had to hide beneath the layers of this dress–its pristine fabric and untattered edges a mocking reminder of your situation. Still, while the plan had its risks, you had the upper hand of strength and strategy. Confusion racked your brain, that solemn, lost of hope look on Joel’s face not adding up, until…

“Do you have the knife?”

You quickly got on your feet, nodding your head instinctively although he couldn’t see.

“Yeah it’s right…” Your heart dropped. Slithering your hand into your boot, sinking your fingers into your sock, you were only met with a damp washcloth–the sliver of soap you had saved for Joel still safely packed away.

Replaying your memories, you tried to retrace your steps, figure out where you could have possibly left your only weapon. Joel had pressed it into your palm while bandaging you earlier between hushed warnings and stern whispers. You had clipped it to your waistband, still attached and folded on the bathroom counter.

So focused on wrapping up the remainder of your soap, you had forgotten to take it with you.

“Fuck, it’s in the bathroom. I’ll go get it-”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted. “It’s already gone. Looks like they did some plannin’ before we even thought about it.”

You shook your head, stepping closer to Joel, almost face to face. “ What do you mean? Don’t you have your gun? My bow?”

Standing so close, you felt his arm brush yours as he shuffled uneasily. “Don’t have it.”

You opened your mouth to question him, ask how he could have lost track of them, but the sounds of distant chatter and creaking floorboards echoed down the hallway. Joel reached out, grabbing your wrist painfully tight, sucking in a quick breath. He could probably feel your heartbeat thrumming, both of you held painfully still, not even moving to breathe.

Then, the soft click of a door, its heavy groan humming through the walls.

Step one of the plan had begun and there was no time for questions–only action.

“Are we doing this?” you finally asked when Joel’s fingers eased up, your skin pulsing where he was once holding.

He was already walking towards the door, taking slow and deliberate steps so as to not make any noise. “Do we have any choice?”

You didn’t answer–not like he gave you any time to–and he slipped through the doorway. Shutting your eyes, you held your breath once again, trying to listen for Joel’s footsteps. It was subtle, but you could hear the creak of that grand, white door and the way it hinges squeaked open.

Not having seen the basement, you didn’t know how long all of this would take, but you knew sitting in this room waiting for something to happen would only make you restless. Slow, careful steps carried you to the door, slipping through the crack and into the moonlit hallway.

The small window at the end gave way to some light making the room not as intimidating as before. You could see a couple doors down another cracked door, the warm glow of a lantern spilling across the floorboards and painting the walls.

Assuming they were still awake, you decided to make your way to the bathroom, hoping Joel's suspicions were wrong. Tiptoeing onto the tile, the bucket you had used lay untouched in the corner, the water foggy and soapy. The pile of things you had left neatly folded on the counter though, were nowhere to be seen, only a stray sock misplaced on the ground.

“Fuck…” you whispered, a shot of anxiety like a bullet to the chest.

Still cautious, you peered down the hallways, the door still cracked, pouring light along the baseboards. Breath held, like the air had a tightening grip on your throat, kept the room silent and only when you slipped through the doorway, that cool checkered tile underneath your feet, did you exhale.

There was a window above the sink and two on the opposite wall, the room not as dark as the bathroom–moonlight spilled in from the two windows, the light bleeding onto your skin, exposing you to anyone who entered the room, but you didn’t care–there was a small ounce of comfort in that moonlight. A wave of detachment washed over you, ridding you of your senses, anxieties, fears–the reason you were even standing in this room completely beyond you–oblivious to your own intentions.

Then, a soft humming resonated through the floorboards, something so soft, so quiet that typically you wouldn’t have heard it. That rhythmic vibration sparked some sort of signal back to your brain, a chill running up your spine, and fear took its grip again.

Rushing to the counter where you had helped cook just hours before, you could have sworn the knife block was next to the stove–Liz had handed you one to help cut vegetables from that very spot. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if this was some sort of a lapse in your vision, that if you opened your eyes it would reappear, but it never did. No matter how many times you reached to pinch your arm, you were still standing in that kitchen, still in that stupid dress, and still defenseless.

If they had predicted your moves this far, how long would it take before they caught onto Joel?

What if they already knew?

Fear churned waves through your stomach, a fiery heat creeping up your neck, and your hands clammy–you felt entirely nauseous. Without your bow or even a hunting knife, what were you supposed to do if you had to distract Samuel and Liz?

With shaking hands, you rummaged through the drawers–some wooden ladles and spoons, an entire drawer dedicated to junk and old tea packets, and mostly just empty moldy drawers–not even bothering to close them, the handles one good tug away from falling off. The cutlery was limited, but taken care of, all polished silver delicately placed and organized in their trays–you grabbed the only butter knife.

Time couldn’t be wasted. Rushing back into the hallway, the first floorboard let out a groaning creak–a subtle reminder that things were still real and you weren’t just floating in some sort of dreamlike state. Carefully creeping down, just as you had before, you could see the bedroom door with that light still warmly glowing.

You cursed every part of your body for being so loud–your heartbeat thrumming, breaths coming out in deep huffs, and those echoing footsteps the adrenaline couldn’t help but slam to the ground with each step. You were stupid for even getting this close so unprotected and you felt stupid for even letting yourself get this unprotected–only a butter knife clutched tightly in your fist to save you.

“Everythin’ will be fine.” That familiar voice rang through the doorway, smoothed over like honey–something sinister catching in a crack in his voice at the end. “You just make sure that man eats breakfast. Even without his gun I’d like him knocked out ‘fore I kill ‘im–he ain’t goin’ down without a fight.”

“I don't think she’s goin’ to want to come back to Utah…not after somethin’ like that.” Liz’s voice was more firm now, less submissive than before. “You really think she won’t suspect anythin’?”

“Well, it’s too late to turn back now. We’ve been here for three months, Liz. If we don’t come back with another wife soon, Graves ain’t gonna be happy with me.”

“Who cares about Graves? Ever since his father died he hasn’t been actin’ right…and you know it. He’s sendin’ us out here to kill people–and what he’s doing with these ‘wives’? This is the fifth one, Samuel. This isn’t what they started the community for, he’s taken it all too far. We can just take the truck and ru-”

“That’s enough, Elizabeth.” If you couldn’t hear every breath, every slight movement and footstep, you would have thought Samuel was right next to you with how loud he spoke–cold and icy, freezing the blood in your veins. “We can’t just leave the community–our family–after everything they’ve done for us. Do you remember how they found us? Do you need me to remind you?”

You could hear quick, heavy footsteps and Liz suddenly gasped. “I can throw you outside with those things if you think you can make it out there by yourself. Is that what you want?”

Before you could even think or back away, the door was being pried open, the warm light turning into a blinding spotlight, and you stood there awaiting your fate like a deer in headlights.

“Samuel, please! No, no, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean–”

Tears were streaming down her face, pleads choked out between her sobs. Samuel had her arm in a tight grip, a bruise probably forming under his hold. This lovers quarrel, domestic dispute, or whatever the hell you had walked in on suddenly froze in time.

Like a switch flipped, Samuel’s eyes turned dark, his shoulders slumping down, like he no longer had the weight of the facade on his shoulders. He let go of his wife and she stumbled back into the doorframe, a sob escaping her lips as she lunged back towards her husband.

Fear held you in its deadly grip, fingernails slashing at your skin, digging deep and pinning your feet to where you stood. Thoughts raced through your mind, millions a second, screaming a cacophony of noise so loud that you couldn’t even think.

Then, almost as if time had skipped, jumping forward before you could fully process your next actions, you were on the ground, knees on either side of Samuel’s waist, covered in a pool of blood. You sat frozen, hands shakily gripped to the butter knife that sat plunged into the center of his neck, blood spurting all over your face and dress.

His hands desperately tore at your skin, clawing beneath the surface, breaking the skin at your wrists. He tried to reach your neck, wriggle around and push you off of him, but he was too weak. You could see Liz in your peripheral, she was on the ground, her mouth opened like she was screaming, but all you could hear was a deafening ringing as time replayed excruciatingly slow: Samuel charging at you, his heavy hands on your shoulders as he pushed you to the ground, the body numbing pain that seared through you as your body hit the floor, and how, almost like it had a mind of its own, your hand plunged the knife anywhere you could hit.

It was only now, that your vision cleared and that weightless feeling of flowing adrenaline had fled–gravity taking its hold on you and the knife sinking so deep your knuckles met skin–you could see the sporadic slashes all throughout his body.

Samuel had made the mistake of rendering you completely defenseless, with only your hands to protect you. His rage left him blind and careless–what would soon be a fatal mistake.

Though your mind felt blank, numb, you could still hear the familiar voice that guided you through the noise:

“Swing fast and don’t stop.”

Joel had muttered those words to you one night while going through what was supposed to be a ‘shortcut’ through a thick and dense forest. The night had crept faster than expected and as the groaning of infected grew near, he handed you his knife, gun clasped tightly in his hand with a wavering brow.

You were terrified that night, you were still injured, the bandaging on your leg soaked with puss and sweat. As uncomfortable and in pain as you were, all you wanted to do was sleep, not thinking you had the strength to run even if your life depended on it, but Joel looked right through you and said those words so confidently as if he knew that even in the tensest of moments you would be able to do exactly as he asked.

You never did end up using the knife that night–or at all. Joel whispered for you to stay back while he surveyed the scene and you anxiously picked at your fingers behind a tree until he came back, fresh blood staining his shirt and a careless nod.

“Let’s go. It’s all clear.”

And it was always like that.

Despite never needing to use your weapon or get into any real conflict, Joel was always hinting and preparing you for it. Each target practice, every hushed warning, and all those ‘what if’ plans were getting you ready for this very moment.

He saw that innocence the very first moment he saw you, that determination to live despite the terrified look in your eyes. He knew–he hoped that if he repeated himself enough, despite how tough or unpleasant he had to be, that his voice would carry your body to fight even when your mind resisted.

And your mind was resisting.

That fateful moment, that fatal swing, the way Liz cried and screamed for her husband, reaching in the air towards him, but cowered in fear in the doorway as something outside of you, outside of your control, slashed her husband in the very room they slept.

Your eyes were glued shut, unable to open if you even tried, like your mind was censoring a sight it knew you didn’t want to see. Maybe it was the promise you made to Joel, a completion of the plan that had driven you to strike, maybe it was his words that subconsciously trained you to be a merciless killer just like him–a skill you had seen him effortlessly perfect and shamelessly rely on–or maybe it was all you in blind anger and fear that acted in taking this man's life.

Even though this was the world you lived in now–one where killing was frequent and necessary, death always looming around each corner–it wasn’t the one you grew up in.

It was a world that went still when your classmate in the first grade, Daniel Rodruiguez, went missing and was found dead the next morning. A world that honored Daniel each year over the school’s loudspeakers and with a memorial in town that was always covered with photos, toys, and flowers. You had seen glimpses of that world sometimes–graves with the remnants of flowers and some sort of makeshift headstone or cross–it always made you think of Daniel and sometimes the twisted thought that you were glad he was dead and didn’t have to be here in this awful new world, body covered in blood like a scene from Carrie. Sometimes you were even a little envious of Daniel.

Especially in times like this.

Because Daniel didn’t have to make choices like the one coming at you, full speed like you were standing on railroad tracks and the train was inches away from your face. In your shock, the faded memory of Daniel and of that night in the woods played like one of those movies of your life that people say they see before they die–and honestly, it felt like you were the one dying.

Liz had collected herself–or completely shattered in front of you–and grabbed Joel’s gun that was hidden in the nightstand. Her eyes were wide, puffy, and red, her hands shaking around the handle, weighed down uncomfortably as if she had never held a gun before–she probably never had–your actions being the fuse to her lapse in character.

“What have you done?” she shrieked, gun aimed directly at you.

You looked up at her, mind blank. Because what had you done? Sure, it was self defense and that conversation you overheard couldn’t have been any clearer on their intentions, but the guilt that hung heavy in your chest told you otherwise. It told you that you were a killer, a ruthless being that murdered a husband in front of his wife without a second's thought.

There was a clomping sound down the hallway, that grand door making its familiar echoing creak, and for a second you forgot Joel was actually here and not just a voice guiding you in your mind. His footsteps were unusually rushed as he made his way down the hall, abandoning his usual stealthy technique in a frenzy.

He was downstairs, successfully through the gate and rummaging around for keys, picking any lock he could find when he heard a thumping. His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t stop his search–with two gas cans and a duffle bag of emergency supplies, he was so close to being out of here. You would be able to handle it.

It was uncomfortably quiet for a moment and he almost decided once again to abandon ship and rush upstairs, but the thudding continued again and for some reason that comforted him–to know that there was some sort of fight happening, one that he was confident you could win or at least scuffle through for the time being.

Then there was a scream.

A scream so loud that every instinct in Joel’s body was telling him to turn and run, that nothing but trouble could be around that noise and attracted to that noise. But he knew that you were also up there and possibly the one screaming.

Joel had automatically assumed that it was Liz screaming, but as he rushed up the stairs, he realized he had never heard a true, body chilling scream from you. He had vowed to keep you safe and that he did. So could have things gone so wrong the one time he left you?

His feet weren’t taking him upstairs fast enough and his mind raced with guilt as he thought through the night. He had never found his gun downstairs where he expected it to be and your weapon being gone as well showed that these two were more prepared than he had expected. He felt sick, rage bubbling in his stomach for even thinking this plan was a good idea, for even putting you at risk like this.

A blinding light illuminated his destination at the end of the hallway, a looming lump of something hidden in the blurs of his vision laying out into the hall. Using the wall to guide him, his calloused fingers gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white as he gasped at the scene.

That lump of something was Samuel’s legs and the blood that pooled around it and the rest of his limp body. On top of him, legs straddled around his waist, was you, hair soaked and matted, shielding his view of your face. He could see you were shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind, hunched over his body with your arms outstretched over his face. He fought to keep himself grounded, using everything within him not to pull you from the scene, drive off in the truck, and forget about the whole thing, but the barrel of a gun–his gun–was staring him dead in the eyes.

Liz stood only a few feet away, hands not even on the trigger, the lack of confidence in her stance giving way to her distress.

Joel warily lifted his hands to his head, palms splayed wide for her to see. “Woah there, I ain’t got a weapon, okay? But I’m sure you already know that.”

She didn’t waver, whether it was from some sort of confidence, anger, or pure shock, she stood her ground, gun still pointed right between his eyes.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” She screamed to no one in particular, her words crying loud enough to maybe reach the God she muttered to under her breath while clutching that cross necklace–the same one tangled around your fingers, coated with blood on Samuel’s neck. “Samuel was supposed to leave with me and none of this would have happened! I never wanted to leave Utah, I knew nothing good would come out of this! What have you done, what have you done, whathaveyoudone?”

Her whole body was trembling, the sounds of her shifting her weight audible against the floorboards, and the gun unsteadily swayed in front of Joel’s face. She kept blabbering on, her screams growing incoherent, her eyes glazing over with an unbridled fury. You had watched the scene unfold from the very moment Joel walked in, but something–maybe that subconscious Joel you always seemed to have crawling in the back of your mind–told you to keep still and wait. You weren’t quite sure what you were waiting for, your mind was still mostly blank while simultaneously being busier than a highway at rush hour, but for a split second, something flicked in Liz’s mind, like a moment of realization shared between the both of you, and you found what you were waiting for.

You hopped to your feet, the body that had just felt so heavy you couldn’t even lift your head, now weightless as you sprung towards her. Bloodied butter knife still clutched in your hands, you charged towards her, rushing to beat the clock, as her fingers scrambled for the trigger. Joel, almost as if he could read your every thought, ducked down the second you moved, and a bullet went flying through the wall behind him.

Before she could fire off another shot, you had her tackled to the ground, more clear minded than the last time. At first, you took this levelheadedness as an advantage, but as soon as that gun slipped from her hands, clacking against the hardwood as you pushed it away, her face turned back to that helpless, distress gaze.

The knife you once held so confidently felt slightly slack between your fingers, and for just a moment you both looked at each other human-to-human in a moment of pure survival. Stripped down to nothing but the situation in front of you–the story of how you got here, who this woman was, who you even were all void and irrelevant in your mind in this moment–only pure guilt and fear hung in the air between you two now, sloshing together in one big jumble of mixed emotions and decisions.

Knife shakily held to her throat, just where it met her husband’s moments ago, blood dripped down to meet her necklace, pooling in the hollow of her neck. The movement didn’t come as swiftly to you as they did earlier, the jarring dullness of the knife making you sick as you barely applied pressure.

Before you could even continue, there was a thick hand on the back of your neck, pulling you backwards and off of Liz. In the scurry, Joel had grabbed his gun that you had slid out into the hall, now back in its rightful place–confidently gripped between Joel’s fingers, steadily aimed with precision.

His eyes–and gun–were focused on the woman on the floor, for a second you thought he was going to shoot her, and for a moment, he thought the same. You couldn’t decide if you wanted him to or not, but eventually after a long moment of collectively held breaths, he sighed and lowered his gun without a word. His eyes glazed over for a second, like his mind was replaying some distant memory, all three of you somewhere far off in your minds.

Then, he draped an arm over your shoulders, heavy with the weight of the room. He ushered you out into the hallway, stepping over Liz and shielding you from peering back at the sight. You leaned into his chest and were internally amused when he shifted his shoulders, blocking your view of the doorway like you would want to see that again, like it wasn’t already burned into your memory and playing on loop.

The descent downstairs was silent, not even the house daring to creak as you two walked into the basement. Joel kept his gun in the hand that was draped over your shoulder, the other grabbing a duffel bag and slinging it over his arm so he could carry the two gas canisters. Everything was set up on a table, so he could grab it without letting go of you–his silent way of reassuring you.

A light buzzed above, flickering from time to time, filling the silence that hung between you two. It wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable or awkward silence, no lingering tension needing to be filled, but rather a mutual understanding that the events of today were ones to be unspoken.

Eventually, Joel found the keys to the truck hanging on a small hook in the garage, the light even dimmer than in the basement. The truck was old and dusty, once a bright shade of red that caved to time and was now a sun faded orange tinted with rust. The silver handles were chipped and cracked, barely hanging on as Joel hauled the door open and lifted you inside, it wasn’t a necessarily tall truck, but with the way you leaned against him–the weight of your thoughts and body too much to bear–he figured you could use the support.

When he slid into the driver’s seat after piling items into the back, he clicked the keys into the ignition, the engine roaring to life. It had been years since you had heard or seen a functioning vehicle that wasn’t chasing after to kill you and you had forgotten how comforting the low hum of the engine was, the gravel crackling beneath the tires.

It took some effort, but the garage door creaked and hauled itself into a partially open position, the sound attracting loads of infected to the area. Typically you would have been terrified at the sight of that many infected, but it was all soon behind you as Joel pressed the gas, leaving the town in a cloud of dust.

Tilting your head to the side mirror, there was still a small view of the old building–those pillars standing proud and unassuming of the horrors inside. The thin road ahead of you merged off onto a bumpy exit, one lined by trees and unattended signs that had vines creeping along the posts and grime coating the edges, leading to a more open highway that Joel had to weave through abandoned cars and random debris along the four lanes that led to the city.

The truck ran smoothly, the excessively rumbly engine to be expected with a car this old and it was good noise to accompany the silence of the out of commission radio. The both of you drove for a while, mostly in silence other than basic comments about your surroundings.

“Look, there’s some horses.” The comment had surprised you at first, but as Joel slowed down the truck, there were a group of horses running around, playing amongst each other in the overgrown roads beneath the bridge you drove on.

There was one horse, more distant than the rest, that sat beneath one of the trees that lined the road–a large oak tree whose branches hung over the powerlines and tangled between them–finding comfort in the shade it was resting, watching the rest of its group frolic about, not worrying about joining–knowing this wouldn’t be the last time they would all get to do this.

You envied that horse.

Shaking that feeling from deep within your bones–that feeling of existential dread–you turned to Joel, his eyes waiting on yours while the truck stilled on the road. He let the moment linger, your eyes on his, his eyes on yours, while the clomping of hooves and whinnying and neighing of horses in delight rang through the windows you had just now realized were open.

Your breath stilled, for in that moment–for the first time since you stepped in that alleyway in that godforsaken town–you felt some sort of comfort, a feeling that everything was going to be okay.

When your eyes finally flickered away, his unyielding gaze too much to bear, he shifted back into drive and slowly took off again. He didn’t want to break whatever serenity that moment had caused, so he kept silent, not wanting to ruin the moment with his lack of way with words.

“Cows,” you had mumbled out next under your breath when you had caught a glimpse of a group of cows grazing in a field a little while later, the words had just slipped out, the only thing that made its way into your mind besides the couple, and that light down the hallway, and that stupid dress, and that godawful look on Liz’s face that just wouldn’t leave your mind.

Once again, the truck slowed to a halt, shifting into park as you admired the view. This time, you were merging onto an exit, some town you didn’t know the name of, but didn’t question how Joel knew just where to go, the means of your destination still uncomfortably vague. The roads were surrounded by a grass patch and some foliage, a group of spotted cows stood and lay alongside–one just a few feet from the truck.

There was some rummaging on Joel’s side of the car, but you didn’t care to look over your shoulder, the weight of the night unbearably heavy. The sunrise was rolling in, the peak of the morning coming to a start, and the early morning birds began to chirp their peaceful melody.

Given the view, you should have felt at ease, some sort of peace, but the blood dried to every inch of your skin, itching, peeling, flaking, was not only uncomfortable, but a constant reminder of what you were running from in this truck. You felt like you hadn’t moved in ages, like the very thought of how to move was even too much for your body and so it had been permanently cemented to this seat, like you had been there forever and knew nothing but.

Noises of opening doors and rummaging through boxes blurred in the background, not even knowing if Joel was trying to talk to you, get you go somewhere–like you’d be much help anyway–you just focused on the cows and the yellows and blues and oranges that all melded together to create the sunrise.

“C’mon, turn over here.”

His voice shocked you, but your body sat rigid, like it was aware of his presence before your mind. You weren’t sure when he had opened the door, or if he really did–maybe this was all some sort of daydream and he was still in the driver’s seat chugging along. You felt numb, nothing felt real, and that figure that might be Real Joel kept talking to you, but you couldn’t hear him anymore–his voice a distant echo.

He must have noticed that absent look on your face, the glaze over your eyes, because he gave up any attempt at words, knowing he wasn't getting through to you. Instead, he placed a warm hand on your thigh, centering you, grounding you, and bringing you back to reality from whatever far off place you had been in.

The guilt and horror was eating you alive from the inside out, nipping away at each nerve, each fiber of your being until you sat there, a lifeless shell. It was brief, that quick electric shock that shot through your body and tingled in his absence, a feeling you hadn’t felt for a long time, one that brought you back to a time before all of this. He didn’t give you much time to think though, with a damp cloth in hand, he began (not so gently) scrubbing at your face.

One hand was placed firmly on the back of your head, his finger entangled with your hair as he supported your head. You leaned into his palm, putting most of the work on him, but he didn’t seem to mind, just kept that same rhythmic pace as he washed the blood from your skin. He worked quickly, not aiming for perfection, but his eyes diligently scanned your face, ears, neck, trying to get as much off as possible.

The warmth from his hand radiated through your body, that tingling sensation coming back each time he adjusted his grip. When he got to your ears, he clamped his fingers down harder, applying some more pressure as he grabbed you to tilt your head. His fingers, brushing the underside of your jaw surprised you and with a small huff of air you slightly jumped back.

He didn’t stop scrubbing, his eyes still focused on the side of your head. “You tell me if I’m hurtin’ you, okay?"

You hummed in response and kept your gaze low, more towards Joel’s shoes, so he couldn’t see the light tinge of pink on your cheeks. You didn’t like how you felt under his touch, the comfort it brought you before turning uncomfortable, making you squirm in your seat. It was like he was staring right through you without having to even look in your eyes and with each scrub of the cloth he was peeling back the layers of your skin until you sat beneath him, raw and real.

He had seen you at your lowest, hunched over a man, blood pooled along your skin and matting your hair, the breath taken from your lungs with deep heaving breaths, and not even the slightest look of remorse in your eyes. Sure, the guilt was eating you alive now, but in that moment you jumped without thinking, only to try and do it again–the conflict of your morals and survival instincts waging war in your mind.

When the blood was mostly gone from your skin, only a reddish hue staining some crevices, the dried flakes still under your nails and clinging to your hair, you finally felt clean again. The dress you were wearing was completely dried now and there was so much blood on it that it seemed as if the dress was always that color, always that deepened brown, until you looked at the back and saw remnants of that emerald green peeking through.

Joel must have noticed you looking down at it because without skipping a beat he said, “I got some clothes for you in the back.” He paused for a moment, maybe hoping you would say something–give him some sort of approval. “I can drive somewhere better for you to change, but I thought you’d like to get out of that dress.”

You had never heard Joel talk so much at once, let alone fumble for words, but here he was, in front of you grasping at every word like if he said the wrong one it’d spit bullets through your skin. You felt bad, you truly did, the look on his face was something unreadable–a mix between guilt, regret, and grievance as if he had lost something or someone back in that house alongside Liz–his eyes screamed for a response, something to tell him you were alright, but your body physically couldn’t muster another word.

“Y’know you did the right thing,” he whispered, eyes shifting between somewhere on your face and the dashboard behind you. “Listen I…I don’t know what happened back there, but we had a plan and you went through with it. All I’m tryin’ to say is that if I were in your place I would have done the same thing…probably worse things.”

That last part came out so hushed that if you weren’t inches from his face, you wouldn’t have heard it. His muscles tensed and the arm that rested above you, leaning on the doorway, slapped the top of the truck with a loud bang. Backing away with a nod, you thought he was just going to round the truck and continue down the road, but instead, he warily outstretched his hand towards you.

Confused, you tilted your head, but gently placed your hand in his, at least giving him the comfort of your company rather than your words. His much larger hand clasped yours gently, like you would shatter if he held any harder, and he led you towards one of the cows that lingered alongside the road.

With a loud huff through his nose, the cow seemed apprehensive at your presence, but despite your hesitation, Joel pulled you closer.

“He ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he chuckled softly, moving his hand further up to encase your wrist, gently tugging your hand towards the cow’s nose. “They like bein’ scratched on their heads where they can’t reach.”

When your palm met the soft fur, your fingers instantly curled around his snout, scratching his nose as he nuzzled into your hand. The cow closed his eyes contently as your fingertips grazed along his fur, soon bringing both your hands up to cup his face. When you were done petting him, your hands now coated in oils and fur–a much more pleasant feeling compared to the blood–he let out another loud huff, this time followed by a moo as if he was saying “Thank you!”

The corners of your mouth twitched until they fully curled into a full smile, your hands eagerly going to pet the cow again.

“You ever pet a cow before?” Joel’s voice sounded hesitant to be asking a question, not wanting to make you feel compelled to speak.

Without thinking though, you shook your head. “You’d think being from Indiana that I’d have more run-ins with ‘em, but I lived more in the city.”

Surprised you had answered beyond a nod, Joel cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets as he racked his brain for what to say next. He didn’t know why he had felt so pressed to speak, but something in the back of his mind kept telling him that this was his fault, the way you had broken into a million pieces right before him, and he was going to put you back together.

He wondered for a moment why you hadn’t mentioned you lived so close, and that conversation with Samuel earlier had him convinced you had ties to Missouri, but he knew better than to dig up the past–especially at a time like this. So, he stuck to what he knew, to keep to the present and what was currently keeping you more grounded than he knew how to get you.

“Had lotsa buddies with farms back in the day, they had some really beautiful animals. Knew a guy with one of ‘em big ol’ long-haired cows, she was real pretty.”

Joel had his hand trailing along the back of the cow, focusing intently on her while he dug back deep to that memory. You kept your eyes on him, picturing the animal alongside him, weaving your fingers deeper into the cow's coat to try and imagine such long fur.

It was then that you realized how grounded you were in the present, both your body and mind working for one cause while you actually focused on something currently happening instead of your mind buzzing back and forth through different events of the night.

The sun was fully over the horizon now, sun spilling onto Joel’s face as he faced your direction, looking at the field. The morning light cast something softer across Joel’s face, maybe it was that early breeze or the peaceful twittering of birds that made him look so relaxed–his shoulders finally not held in that tensed hold, the wrinkles on his face slight and natural instead of being so creased and forced by his worried brow, and the corners of his lips twitched into that same carefree grin, but this time he didn’t wipe it away or try to hide it. The sight was a pleasant one and it made you want to imitate it as if just replicating his posture would make you feel the same comfort he displayed.

You didn’t know what in the field had him so enraptured–maybe a couple of cows playing, some birds flying high in the sky, or just the picturesque sunrise–so turning around to see a plain grassy field with the sun too bright to see much of anything, you turned back in confusion. It was only then that you realized Joel hadn’t been looking back out at the field, but rather at you, finding comfort in the ease you both had in this moment–able to push back the events from that house for just a moment and relish in the present.

“Thank you,” you mumbled for nothing in particular.

You felt grateful for him in that moment, each electrifying touch, hushed word, and shared laugh brought you back to a comfort that was hard to find in this world. Joel didn’t question your words, only humming in response as he flicked his eyes away and back towards the truck, a silent question of if you were ready to go back.

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy @lanadelray1989 @worlds-we-write @princess76179 (message me to be added or removed)

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tlou fic

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aggieharkness · 6 months ago

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Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 5

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: working at the studio was a hard affair for you, but for Avis who had no idea how to run it it was even harder. Coming to find out she has been staying late almost every day you decide to whisk her away so she can take a break.

Warnings: smut (+18), affair, swearing, oral (Avis receiving), fingering (Avis receiving), slight praise kink, pet names, tit play, lingerie, outdoors sex.

Authors note: First of all, I'm very sorry about what's going on in Los Angeles right now. It's truly devastating to see so many families lost over the rubble of what used to be their lives; my heart goes out to all of them. This chapter is for them, so we will never forget its beauty even if the flames consume it all. Hope will sprout from in between the ashes. On another note, I'm sorry that this chapter has taken so long, but I've had to slow down a bit, I couldn't keep up with the way I've been dropping fanfics. I'm not sure if the last part is any good, it's like two o'clock in the morning and I need to sleep but I hope that you like it and as always, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking on something. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. I also accept ideas that you might have or things that you might want to see Avis and reader do. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Shoutout to @bravewithacapitalb for being my beta reader for part of the story.

Chp. 1 Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.6 Chp.7

Word count: 20K (I have nothing to say. I have tried and failed.)

Kiss me in a field of lavender

The tension had been palpable in the air all day, people whispering and gossiping about the newest production that Avis had green-lighted, quiet conversations happening in the canteen away from Miss Kincaid’s or Mr Samuel’s ears. Meg was in everyone’s mouths, and by what they were saying it could be a total disaster for the studio if things carried on like this, but you knew that Avis would not have taken such a leap if she wasn’t perfectly sure, but you had not had the chance to talk about it with her yet. Since that night at the hotel, you two had decided to spend more time together, one way or another. She needed you, not only because you were a magician and always knew how to relax her and make her forget with your skilled fingers and mouth, but because you would sit with her and simply listen. She vented to you all her frustrations, from how she felt about Ace and their life together to how the studio was running her ragged, the productions that they were doing feeling like they were utter shit. They didn’t make her feel anything but disgust and boredom, like they were wastes of time and money, missing out on all those wonderful opportunities to make the people see how the world truly was, to give the spotlight to all those minorities that deserved to be heard. Meg was a breath of fresh air for everyone, you knew she knew, and she was willing to take this risk for the betterment of the country, if it helped somehow.

Sitting in your tiny little office, eyes reading some documents Miss Kincaid had handed you perhaps half an hour ago, you could feel the exhaustion of the day catching up. Your sight was becoming blurry, the words dancing on the paper as you tried to follow the paragraph, your shoulders tense and your back beginning to hurt, muscles stiff and throbbing under your skin. It was a rewarding job, most of the time, but the extra hours you put in almost every day weren’t really necessary, in your opinion, though the mountain of reports and files that never seemed to get any smaller begged to differ. The clock on the wall chimed eight, and after one more try you just couldn’t focus on the document anymore, so you decided to call it a day, putting the pages inside a brown folder and leaving it for tomorrow, on top of the rest of files, the chair scraping slightly over the tiles as you stood. You hadn’t realised just how dark it was getting until you walked past your window, the sky blending the last strokes of purples and pink into a deep navy blue sprinkled with millions of tiny bright specks that glinted high above your head. On one side light still lingered, bathing palm trees and houses with the last few yellowy beams of the day, on the other side a blanket of night enfolding the world.

In the few years you had lived here it still amazed you how different it all was and how it felt the same each time you looked up at the sky. In the distance the streetlamps were beginning to turn on, the stars above dulled by the world down on the ground. Hollywood at night was always so full of life but you had never been too interested in partaking, even if there were times when you did go out and simply had a drink or two enjoying the atmosphere. Tonight, though wasn’t one of those nights; there had been too many meetings, too many conversations and phone calls banging in your head loud as bombs. All you wanted was silence, even if it was for a moment, an instant maybe. Tearing your eyes from the window to grab your coat you stopped mid-step, turning your head to see that Avis’s car was still in the parking lot. Yesterday you had seen it still in its designated spot as you were leaving at seven, and the day before when you had left at half past eight, but you hadn’t been sure if she was staying late every day or if this was a Meg-related thing. Now you were sure it was a normal occurrence, wondering how late she stayed each day before going home; if she went home. It was quite obvious to you that she was giving this studio more than it deserved, in your most humble opinion, but you also knew just how rewarding all this must be for her. A woman who’s never had any power at all, who’s been a housewife for more than twenty years, though that didn’t mean she had to run herself ragged just to fulfil this dream. Once again you tore your eyes from the window, picked up your coat from its hanger, and walked out of your office, locking it once you had stepped into the corridor. You didn’t even notice as the wheels of your mind began to move, your feet carrying you down to the elevator as if you were on autopilot, used to doing this little trek every day several times, but instead of pushing the ground button, you found yourself pushing the one for the first floor.

It surprised you for an instant, but then you realised you had been picturing you and Avis laying over green grass with a few sandwiches and sweet treats along with a bottle of champagne or maybe wine. It was such a lovely idea, and you knew you could wait until the weekend to do it at her place, make it absolutely perfect down to the smallest detail, but something told you that it should not wait. The door chimed as they opened to reveal the floor where the canteen and bar were, hoping that Avis would just go with the flow and trust you as you stepped into the corridor and down to the still open doors. A few boys were having the first drinks of the evening, others a bit tipsy already in a corner discussing heatedly something about a trip to Colorado in what they thought were hushed tones, but you didn’t care much. Approaching the bar, you waited until the man in the white uniform was done drying and putting away a bunch of glasses, signalling with your head that you were ready to order.

-Hi, James. Busy day?

-Not more than usual. I gotta tell you though that if you want something warm better be quick, Nick’s about to turn off the stoves for the day.

-Oh, then could you maybe get me, like, a few chicken sandwiches with lettuce and mayo and two cut up steaks? I would appreciate it. Tell Nick that potatoes are not necessary if he doesn’t want to add them, a Caesar salad on the side would work just as well.

-All that for you?

-No. I’m planning something, but I’m not telling you about it.

-You can trust me not to say a word Y/N. Who’s the lucky guy?

-Sorry, but it’s top secret. Can you give me a bottle of red wine, and some cut up fruit as well?

-Sure, just let me tell Nicky here. It’ll be a little bit, so if you want a drink while you wait…?

-No, I need to do something first, I’ll just come down when I’m done and pick it all up. Watch him with the salt though, I’m not eating another sandwich dipped in the stuff.

-It was April Fool’s, that’s all I can say, hun.

-Still, keep an eye on him.

He was a good guy, you had known him since the first day you had started working here, absolutely terrified of everyone but needing the money. It seemed as if it had been only yesterday when you first set foot in Miss Kincaid’s office shaking like a leaf, a young little thing that only wanted to impress her boss and to not get fired within the week. When you had gone down to the canteen to get yourself lunch you had seen him serving Mr. Samuels and in shock you nearly spilled your glass of juice all over the bar, but James had grabbed it just as your elbow was hitting it, saving the day, and the man’s suit. After that he had been kind and had gently guided you all through the building and the main events in your schedule so you wouldn’t have so much trouble getting through the day. He told you that you shouldn’t be that nervous, that Miss Kincaid was a real nice lady and you wouldn’t have any issues with her, which had turned out to be more than true. You owed him for that, and maybe one day you would be able to return the favour but for the time being he was more than happy to simply be your friend and a server at the studio. It paid well he said. Tapping him on his upper arm you turned away and headed back to the corridor, hearing his loud voice telling Nick about a special order as if it were one of those fancy restaurants you had seen down Sunset Boulevard.

The building was quiet, not as much as it had been that night you had shared with Avis, but the ambiance was far more relaxed than it had been in the morning, hearing your footsteps as you entered the lift, hitting the button for the top floor. In the back of your mind there had been a headache brewing, but it seemed as if the silence was soothing it, slowly vanishing into a gentle ache that maybe would fade completely as the night went by. One could only hope, of course. The doors chimed, opening with a quiet scratching noise to reveal a completely empty floor; not even Miss Stinton was at her desk anymore, having probably left an hour or so ago. Walking over the carpet your shoes made no noise, muffled as you made your way to those big oak doors, noticing how they were slightly ajar, the gentle light from the chandelier escaping and bathing the corridor in warm orange hues. Peeking through the gap you could not help the smile that graced your lips, watching Avis as she rested against the back of her chair, a pair of glasses perched perfectly on her nose, eyes moving from left to right as she took in the words written on the pages, rolling them and huffing every few seconds as if what she had in her hands was utterly disappointing. Her slender fingers with perfect manicured red nails tapped over the wooden desk in a monotone rhythm, the sleeve of her asymmetrical pink and black blouse bunched around her elbow, the fabric clinging to her ample bosom, although in her current posture, you could not see the way they rose and fell under the gown.

It would be marvellous to slip into this room, close the door, and have your way with her, making her pant and moan as you dipped to your knees, spreading her beautifully while sitting in that exact same chair, ruining the leather with each orgasm you could pull from her depths. In your dreams her screams and sweet hushed whines and whimpers would make your body shiver and burn, almost as if you could still feel her tender kisses on your skin, lingering, tasting every inch of you, her fingertips ghosting over your hips, under your jaw, it did not matter. Her presence was ever-lasting, overwhelming when you would wake up in the dark of your room, sometimes alone, sometimes with her beside you, her expensive perfume mixing with her salty essence in a perfect mix that filled your lungs and warmed your chest. You knew that once her husband recovered, if he ever did, all those late-night conversations, all those times you had driven her to your place, undressed her and simply let her sleep in your arms, all of that would go back to the shadows, hidden in every corner only able to steal glances whenever she went to the studio, only sharing her time and bed whenever her husband went away, whenever he neglected her and drove her to tears and her broken down body showed up on your doorstep. It was all a matter of time, you knew, but until that moment arrived you would savour every second life would let you have with her.

Slipping quietly through the crack you tiptoed in her direction, your heels falling onto the carpet softly so as to not draw any attention, your eyes watching her body language that although tense was also calm, focused on whatever garbage she was reading. Her presence soothed the ache you had not realised had settled in your heart since parting with her a couple of days prior, the last kiss still lingering on your cherry lips. Coming to stand behind her chair your hands traced the outline on the top, feeling the stiches under your fingers as you gently moved them to the front, coming to rest on top of her dress. The fabric was soft, the heat of her body seeping through the pink material as you gently began to move them up and down her shoulders. Avis had been so lost in her own world, the words written on the page swimming before her eyes in boredom as she let her mind wander through senseless ideas and wonderful memories, that she had not noticed you coming in, the feeling of someone’s hands on her shoulders startling her in her chair, jumping slightly until she caught a whiff of a perfume well known to her, that sweet berry aroma enfolding her completely as the sudden fear and anger at the intrusion melted away in an instant, relaxing her body into your touch. Her hat laid over the desk next to her purse, forgotten there since this morning, allowing her gorgeous ginger curls to be free and on full display, neatly pinned on top of her head and perfectly placed and soft under your lips as you landed a kiss to the crown of it.

-Hello, darling.

-Hi. – it was melodious to hear her relaxed gentle tone, every muscle in your body reacting to her voice as if she was enchanting snakes, your head coming to rest over her right shoulder, lips pecking the soft skin of her neck as the hand that had been holding onto the script let it fall on her lap, nails scratching gently your scalp, the other one removing her glasses and letting the fall over the desk. She hummed at your tender ministrations.

-I thought you would have gone home already.

-I wish. – without noticing her head lulled to the side, granting you better access as your lips moved on to that sweet spot under her ear before tracing the shape of her jawline, your hands never ceasing their rubbing on her shoulders, the hard knots palpable through her dress. - Ellen gave me these scripts to read at lunch time and I was just trying to get through the second one before going home.

-Any good?

-No. They really are shit, Y/N. No feeling, no art, there’s nothing here. I’ve read instructions on how to build shelves that made me feel more than this!

-I know, I watched “All Hands on Deck”.

-I told Ace not to green-light it, but he was adamant. – she was beginning to heat up in frustration, but your skilled fingers rubbing those sore spots relaxed her almost instantly, her head falling back against the leather as you pecked her cheek, her eyes closing with a contented sigh. -He said it was good, that it would do well, and it’s one of the worst we’ve made. Where are the meaningful stories? – the way her hands moved of their own accord, emphasising her words even as her body melted against your lips, was a delightful sight. She felt everything so strongly. - Where are the tears, the suffering, the love, the betrayals, the passion… This doesn’t show life, it shows fairytales that are not even that. It’s just crap.

-They are not Meg.

-People are talking about it you know. A lot. Good things, bad things, in-betweens.

-I know it’s a risk but honestly Y/N, you should read it, you should see it. It’s a breath of fresh air and Camille is marvellous, probably one of the best we’ve ever had. – every fibre of her being was practically beaming with pride, her body turning the chair around so she could face you, forcing your hands to slip from her shoulders, but it didn’t matter if the prize was seeing those sparkles of pride in her eyes, the way they glowed as her smile grew bigger with each word. - If Ace saw it, he would be red with rage, but I stand by this.

-I know you do. People here think that you are a scary tyrant, they expect you to be like him, but you are nothing like that. You know this is the right thing, that this film will matter, that some little girl in a tiny village will see someone like her on screen and think “I can do that. I can be anything”. You are changing lives as we speak, darling.

-Many people don’t agree with you. More than a hundred theatres in the South have already written saying that they won’t show it and have pulled some of the other films as a boycott to try and get us to cancel Meg.

-But you won’t. – you knew that Helena Rubinstein made Avis’s skincare perfectly suited to her, but it still amazed you how soft her cheeks were whenever you placed your palms over them, your thumbs rubbing circles on her jaw before your fingers travelled to the nape of her neck feeling a few flyways that had escaped her perfectly coifed hair.

-Of course. I’ve put too much work and faith in this to pull it now. I might tank the studio but at least we’ll go with a film that will mean something.

-You won’t tank it; Ellen has already mentioned that you’ve sued Lawson, Daniels and McHadden for breach of contract and that there’s theatres in the North that have already assured they will have security so they can show it. People might hate it, but there will be millions who won’t. I have a feeling that this will only be the beginning of a promising string of movies made not by Ace Studios, but by you, Avis Amberg.

-You believe in me more than I do.

-It’s easy. – the red of her lips had faded somewhat since lunch time, her plump mouth calling your name, her eyes looking at you with such expectancy that it almost made you weak in the knees. You were tempted to bend over and claim them but for some reason you could not stray away your eyes from hers, so deep and wide, looking up at you without any barriers, no walls to keep herself hidden away from you. Your thumb traced her bottom lip softly not even smudging her carmine as you did so, but the action didn’t carry a sexual innuendo, as enticing and beautiful as Avis was, it was a simple caring gesture. - I know you and I know that everything you do, you do contemplating risks and prizes, rewards that will be at the end of the line. Meg is the start; it will be the hardest of them all just because of that, but once this one’s through, and I’m sure it will be, the rest will just fall perfectly into place.

-Assuming Ace lets me carry on with it all when he wakes up.

-If he didn’t, he would be a fool. There’s talent inside you Avis, there always has been but men are too blind to see it simply because one does not fall into their category of pretty or obedient. Ace will know just how good you are when Meg becomes the biggest hit this studio has ever produced. He won’t be able to deny that this success was all due to you.

Your words dug deep into Avis’s heart, burrowing and settling deep, almost feeling as if you were marking her very soul. She had been in the shadows her whole life; yes, everyone knew who she was and any time she set foot in a room she filled it up with her power and personality but whenever she returned home the halls were cold, silent, no comfort kisses, no sweet words murmured in her ear. She was a forgotten woman in her own marriage, and she hated it more than anything. She hated how insignificant Ace had made her feel all this time and how bitter it had turned her, self-conscious of her abilities as if she didn’t have the right to think she was made for something else than just staying at home. Every day of her life had been a miserable dance of biting words and fake smiles surrounded by an atmosphere of empty luxury until you waltzed in, and everything since that night had turned from a bleak void into something worth fighting for. She was unsure how you did it, but you did it anyway; you made her feel special, unique, as if she actually mattered, that she was worth a million dollars every day she woke up, every second.

Locking eyes with you she could see the truth that glazed them, the adoration and love seeping from every pore of your body and mingling with her skin, and like a teenager, she felt herself blush, a gentle smile painting her lips. You believed in her with every fibre of your being like no one had believed before and that meant more than all the jewellery and priceless pieces of art she had been gifted in more than twenty years of marriage. She would throw them all away if it meant simply hearing you say those words for the rest of her life. The script had fallen at her feet some time ago, but she hadn’t noticed, too lost in you to actually care. Her hands held onto your wrists, keeping them in place on her cheeks as she turned her head to place a kiss on your left palm, the red lipstick leaving an imprint that you didn’t want to ever part with. With the way you always responded to her every touch it didn’t surprise her with how much ease she could pull you to her, your body falling on her lap as each leg rested on her sides, coming to straddle her, your face barely a few inches from hers. Your brain barely registered the way your fingers were now playing with the hair on the back of her head, pulling pins here and there to let one single curl fall to her shoulder, twirling it gently, almost playfully.

-It’s not only me you know, there’s Camille, Ellen, Dick, Jack… There’s an entire studio behind this one.

-But you gave it the go-ahead. You trusted this story with the right cast, you took a risk that no one else would have done. This script is something, and you knew from the very beginning even if you didn’t think they would let Camille do it. This beautiful Jew I’m looking at will make history.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, her chest so full of love that she feared she might explode, her eyes blurry with tears for an instant, but she didn’t give you the chance to watch them fall. Her kiss was hard, borderline bruising even, and yet you could not pull away, her lips soft as her hands cradled your face. Your mouth opened of its own accord to grant her the access her tongue was begging you for, tracing the shape of your teeth and giving you the opportunity to scrape her lower lip, a rumbling moan sliding from Avis’s throat at the feeling. If magic truly existed you would have cast a spell so your body would be able to mingle with hers down to the last atom, feeling her completely under your skin, in your bones, in your blood, your minds dancing around in each other as a thin red thread built and wrapped around you both. To live as one even for an instant, not knowing where Avis ended and you began, so utterly connected that neither of you would ever feel alone, abandoned on the curb of some dark road without direction, would be as grand as letting yourself sink to the depths of the ocean with her hand holding yours, forever united. As your lungs began to scream for air she had to pull away, chests rising and falling fast, the sound of your breaths the only noise in that big office. Avis’s eyes were slightly dilated, and you would have loved to simply take her, she probably had the same idea, you thought, but she needed to get out of that studio, to smell fresh air and leave work behind, at least for one night.

-What would I do without you?

-Break records and that ceiling glass that keeps us from reaching the top. I’m not some miracle that has turned you into a new woman Avis; all that power and skill has always been inside you. The only thing I’m doing is loving you, showing you what I see so that you can realise it and see it for yourself.

-But you are a miracle, Y/N. Mine. – rubbing right under your lower lip she wiped your smudged lipstick with her thumb, her eyes moving from your mouth back to your eyes. There was a single streak on her right cheek where her tear had blurred her rouge slightly, but it didn’t seem to bother her, not with the way her eyes were glinting under the light of the chandelier as she looked at you.

-You are going to make me blush, Avis.

-Not a bad sight in my opinion. Your face all red and pink just for me. I wonder if I could make you red everywhere else. – her voice was all husky and quiet, whispered against your lips almost, sending a shiver down your spine as her hands settled on your hips to pull you closer. Perhaps getting out of this office was going to be harder than anticipated.

-None of that now, you and I have plans for tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I would love for you to leave all me red and bruised, but I think that what I have in mind in going to be a welcome change.

-Oh? Any hints?

-You are far too smart; you’d find out within a minute. Just trust me to take care of you and make this wonderful, okay?

-I would go anywhere with you, you know it, but right now, anything to get me away from these horrid scripts is more than welcome.

-And what are you going to do about them?

-Tell Harold and the other guy tomorrow to fix it or they’ll be out on the street by Monday next week. Ace might have liked these movies simply because they were money makers, which they are not now, but I’m running this studio, and I won’t accept this crap, not anymore. If they want to write shit like this, they can do it in the streets.

-Always so sure of your choices. They’ll learn soon enough that you have taste, but no more of that talk now. If we hurry, we might get to see the last few seconds of the sunset.

Removing yourself from her lap was a herculean task, her hands holding you in place with a harder grip than you had foreseen but of course, there was that lust in her eyes, that possessive tinge around her chocolate irises that was practically screaming at you to forget all plans and just ravish her right there. She would do anything to keep you close and yet your fingers let go of her hair, pinning that loose soft curl back before letting your hands slid over her shoulders. Her fingers wouldn’t let go as you stood, the tips still lingering over the fabric of your white flowy dress but as you took one step back, she was forced to let them slip slowly off your hips, though you didn’t leave her any chance of dropping her hand to her sides or over the armrests. Tenderly your fingers intertwined and with a surprisingly gentle strength, you pulled her to you, her heels landing quietly over the carpet. There was a childish curiosity in her eyes that thrilled you to no end; the fact that you had the ability to always keep her guessing without making her feel as if she was in the dark about what was going on in your relationship was a refreshing change from all those late minute invitations to parties or boring dinners that she had to attend with Ace without the chance of saying no. Rounding the corner of the desk Avis had to let go of one of your hands to grab her hat and purse, but she made no effort to place the first on her head, over her perfect curls. The people left in the building wouldn’t pay much attention to her and if they did take notice, they wouldn’t comment on of the fact that she wasn’t wearing it.

Grabbing your coat from the back of the couch you guided Avis towards the door, flicking the lights off and letting her push the heavy wooden doors close behind you. In the darkness of the office, next to the desk, the script remained forgotten over the carpet. Walking beside you, Avis chatted about how her day had been, the doors to the lift opened and you quickly pushed the button for the first floor once again. Avis raised an eyebrow at that, but you remained quiet, simply smiling politely at her, though a sneaky grin did make its way to your lips when you turned your face back to the doors just as the lift stopped. Stepping out Avis had to let go of your hand. She was getting better with the public displays of affection; a quick peck on your cheek, fingers touching but never holding, a hand on your lower back or yours resting on her upper arm, still she could not bring herself to hold your hand fully. She worried what people might say, how they might react, not towards her, they didn’t have the balls to even look at her when she walked past them let alone tell her off, but you were far more approachable and people could be cruel, not to mention that one slip up and your picture could end up on the front page of a magazine before she could stop it. There was an emptiness in your chest that you didn’t appreciate at all as her hand dropped to her side but there wasn’t anything you could do about it. Avis saw that sadness in your posture, a veil of disappointment shading your eyes, but it wasn’t directed at her. In an attempt to lift your spirits somewhat she looked at the door of the canteen and up and down the corridor to make sure that no one was looking or heading this way before she grabbed your face and kissed you gently.

Your entire frame relaxed into her lips, her palms warm against your cheeks and her fingers falling in between soft locks of hair that had escaped your braid and were now framing your face. When she broke the kiss, leaving you slightly dumbfounded, she was quick to wipe your once again smudged carmine, your neurons short-circuiting for a moment before you were able to function again. It was okay if the pecks were given while Ellen or Dick were in the room, or when Gertie and Mr. Breaton, the old man that worked at the gates of Avis’s house, could enter the room at any given moment, but a kiss so public was not a usual thing she engaged in. Thinking about it you realised that the only time you had kissed in a semi-public space had been on New Year’s Eve while you were still in the car in front of the restaurant, but back then many of the people in the streets were drunk, so they wouldn’t remember anyway. Kissing you at the studio in such a public area was a risk you had not expected her to take but the happiness it filled you with overshadowed the sadness of not holding her hand. With hushed words, you asked her to wait there as you turned and entered the canteen watching joyfully as James placed containers of food on top of the bar as Nicky handed them to him through the tiny window connecting the room to the kitchen.

-Just in time, Y/N!

-I couldn’t have done it better if I had timed it, eh? Did you leave Nick alone with the salt?

-Not for one second. – he had a bright smile, one of the things his wife loved the most he had told you one day when you first started having lunch there, apart from his plumbing skills, and he flashed you one full with teeth as he pulled out a mesh bag from under the bar and placed the bottle of red wine you had requested along with a bottle of champagne, winking at you. It was obvious you were going on a date but there really was no need for champagne, but you were not going to say no to the guilty pleasure you knew Avis had. From underneath the coffee machine, he pulled a wicker basket, placing it on top of the bar so he could start placing all the containers inside along with some cutlery and a couple of paper cups. – Nicky has added some roasted potatoes he had left from some dish or something, hope you don’t mind.

-No, not at all.

-Then that’s all, I think. The sandwiches, the steaks with some salad and potatoes, the drinks and the fruit.

-Yeah, that’s everything. Thanks a bunch, James. How much do I owe you? – you pulled your wallet from your coat pocket, but he shook his head and pushed your hand away from him.

-This one’s on us. We would have thrown the food away anyway. You and your secret love enjoy it; but don’t get too drunk.

-You know I never do. Are you sure you don’t even want a twenty?

-I’m sure. It was actually Nicky’s orders, and you know him, no taking back. Go and have fun.

-Thanks, James. See you tomorrow. Bye, Nick!

From the tiny window the face of a big man with beady blue eyes popped out, his deep rumbling voice wishing you a goodnight as you picked the basket and the drinks, waving back to them both. When you stepped into the hallway Avis wasn’t anywhere to be found, a sudden fear that she might have stood you up, leaving you looking like an idiot with all that food, or that someone could have come and given her some news that had required her to leave, assaulting your mind as you headed one way of the corridor looking for her, but when you reached the ending of the foyer she wasn’t there, so you turned the other way. The despair that had bloomed just a few seconds ago growing exponentially. Rounding the corner your eyes caught a glimpse of a pink dress, registering after half a second her frame leaning against the wall, next to a window smoking a cigarette. A relieved breath escaped you, drawing her attention. She wasn’t the sort of woman that would leave like that, you knew so, but you had had partners that had behaved like that or even worse, making you wait for hours in a restaurant until closing time, drink after drink filling the table as you had cried in silence, and maybe, you thought bitterly, some of those issues were still lingering inside you. It made you feel quite bad the way you had reacted, as if you didn’t trust her enough, as if you believed her capable of doing such a thing when you knew perfectly well that she would never hurt you like that. Releasing the smoke she had inhaled, Avis noticed the fear in your eyes, the way you clung to the basket and the mesh bag, her body suddenly completely alert and rushing to you.

-Hey, are you okay? Did something happen?

-It’s nothing. I’m fine now, let’s go.

-Y/N, talk to me. – she flipped the butt of the cigarette out the ajar window before placing both hands on your forearms, thumbs rubbing circles through the fabric of your coat and dress. - You know you can trust me.

-You are going to think it’s stupid, which you wouldn’t be wrong about, to be honest.

-I promise I won’t. Did someone say something? I will fire them immediately.

-No, no. I just didn’t see you when I came out of the canteen and… I thought you had left.

-Oh, doll, I wouldn’t leave you without telling you and if I had to, I would take you with me if I could.

-I know. It was just my mind playing tricks on me.

-It’s happened to you before, hasn’t it?

-A few times. I know that you would never do something like that but for some reason, I thought you had. Which makes me feel really bad now.

-Don’t feel like that. – the carpet all of a sudden seemed the most interesting part of this entire hallway, but Avis didn’t let you keep your glance downcast, she placed her fingers under your chin forcing you to look up at her. It struck her hard how vulnerable you looked, how much like a scared child you seemed to be with those sad eyes, and she internally cursed about how little she actually knew about you and your past, only a few snippets here and there. Your love life was not something you divulged or talked about while Avis’s conquests were well known to you, and she couldn’t help but feel as if there were pieces of you she still had to find. But she knew that the only thing she had to do was ask you for them and wait until you were ready to hand them out. - You are the best thing in my life, Y/N; I won’t ever leave you. I would never simply walk out on you when you go to such lengths to make me happy, going out of your way to grant me wishes I didn’t even know I had. Don’t ever doubt my love for you or how much you mean to me.

-I don’t, it was just a moment when my demons took the best of me. Relationships like this are still something relatively new to me, but we’ve been through too much for me to lose my trust in you. Still, I appreciate your words Avis, truly. I’m fine now, let’s not let this ruin our plans.

She needed to make sure you were a hundred percent okay, to know that this wasn’t deeper than you were letting on. With a gentle grip around your biceps she stopped you before you could turn away from her, bending to kiss you tenderly, pressing her forehead against yours for a few instants. Just as she didn’t know how you did it, how you made her feel this way, you weren’t sure how she managed to always make you feel safe, protected, and cared for, as if her hands could shield you from every single horrible thing in the world and keep you both inside a bubble where nothing bad could ever happen. Where she could love you forever and always. The heat her body expelled wrapped around you in the silent corridor, the sun casting waves of pink behind Avis in gentle halos that bathed her frame as you separated slightly, the pastel colour moving around her as if a painter was applying brushstrokes all around. Without a word she took the mesh bag from your right hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, and pulled you back down the corridor until you stood in front of the lift once again. No one was there to see you, no one would have cared if they had, and a little bubble of happiness enfolded your heart as she never let go of your hand, not even when you both stepped out onto the ground floor and headed for the front doors to set foot out into the world.

It was a small gesture to show you just how much she truly loved you, a promise that she wasn’t leaving you even if the universe fell apart. You couldn’t truly understand why she was so against holding your hand in public, after all she had been seen touching your back or your arm, even with her hand on your shoulder, your bodies never more than a foot apart from each other. You were even sure someone must have seen her kissing you on the cheek at this point, and yet she still drew the line at holding hands. But despite it all she was crossing the hall knowing that the few people left would see, her action a statement to you but mostly to herself that you were far more important than gossip or a few pictures. You were her friend, her partner, her therapist, her doctor, anything and everything, and if she could have had it her way you would have been her wife already. So, if people wanted to talk, let them talk, they were bound to find something to gossip about anyway, and she wasn’t going to push her happiness to the back of her mind and heart anymore, nor yours. Her grip was strong but never painful, the warm breeze that greeted you both as you stepped out of the building carrying a soft aroma of the first flowers that were beginning to bloom, perhaps a bit early, but nevertheless beautiful in between the deep green grass and moss. You walked to the parking lot and towards her car, but you quickly pulled her arm in the direction of yours, meeting a raised eyebrow.

-I know a place that you will love.

-You don’t want to have dinner at home, in the garden maybe?

-I would love to, but you need to see this spot, believe me. Come on, I won’t crash the car or anything.

There it was, that melodious loud laugh of hers that made your every limb tingle. It rang as clear as glass, echoing ever so slightly in the nearly empty parking lot, and you could not help but join her with quiet chuckles as you pulled her to your Packard. You met no resistance whatsoever and made quick work of the basket by placing it in the trunk along with the drinks that Avis kindly handed to you. Whatever you had planned was bound to be good taking in account the bottles she had taken notice of; an expensive bubbly that she adored with its fruity aftertaste and its smooth flavour, and a rich, slightly sweet red wine that she had every once in a while with her meals, never on its own, and that was a perfect companion for meats and desserts. Just before you closed the trunk Avis caught a whiff of the delicious aroma of roasted potatoes and gravy, her stomach rumbling quietly as she realised just how hungry she was, not having had a bite since lunch time, only coffee and a glass or two of whiskey to keep her running.

Being out of the office was already doing her some good, the tension in her shoulders slipping down her arms as she rounded the side of the car to get into the passenger’s seat but not before closing her eyes and simply taking in a deep breath of fresh air, the last few beams the sun cast down onto the ground warming her face. An instant later she was settled beside you. The car already smelled liked you, that precious berry perfume that you sprayed on each morning clinging to the leather in transparent rivulets that filled Avis’s lungs as you turned the engine on and began to back out of the spot before heading to the gates, the comfort of it making her relax in her seat, resting an arm on the back of it and using her hand as a perch for her head. With her cheek on her palm, she was able to take you in, never tiring of simply staring at you. It felt as if every time her eyes landed upon your perfect face, she found a new feature she hadn’t seen before, like tiny little freckles on your high cheekbones or a beauty mark on the tip of your nose that was almost invisible unless the person was extremely close to you.

But the ones she had engraved in her memory were the ones she loved to take in again and again. She adored the way your full lips curled inward just a bit when you smiled, the way your cheeks dimpled ever so slightly, or how you scrunched your nose when you were concentrating on something. Every little aspect of you was like a wave of mint in her veins, overwhelming and overpowering the rotten stench of her life before she met you. She knew that you were young, younger probably than most of the boys she had had at the gas station, but you were far more mature than any of them and there was something so utterly intricate and beautiful in the way you always seemed to find joy in everything and everyone. She had no desire to destroy all that wonderful happiness that you carried with you wherever you went. People like you are what was needed in this world, and she hoped you would never ever lose what made you so special, so unique and interesting to her. You weren’t some passing fancy though, no, she had had plenty of those in twenty years and it had always ended quickly and messy; with you, it was something true and real and she wished to never be parted from your side until her last day on this Earth.

The sun would set soon over the horizon; you had lost too much time at the studio you thought, but you weren’t about to be a driving hazard simply to get to that spot you knew, to risk both your lives for something that you could go up to the rooftop of the building and watch while holding each other close. If you got there in time, it would be wonderful but if you didn’t it was perfectly alright as well, as long as Avis was happy with what you had arranged in the five minutes it had taken you to leave your office and to go down to the canteen, you would be content. Swerving the car onto the freeway you rested comfortably against the back of your seat, watching from the corner of your eye as Avis turned the dials of the radio until she found a song she liked, returning her head to its previous position over her hand, her feet tapping to the rhythm while humming. There was a gentle tug on your coat, and you looked down for a moment to see her free hand playing with the hem of it absentmindedly, moving her eyes between you and the road ahead every couple of minutes. Those deep chocolate irises observing you, drinking your every movement, made you blush like a schoolgirl, cheeks and neck turning a pale pink even though her touches were nothing but harmless twirlings of the fabric in between her fingers, her skin never brushing yours as to not make you lose concentration on the road.

The spot you were driving to wasn’t really that far away, but the secondary roads were a nightmare to get through and Avis was about to find out as you took the exit that pointed out Runyon Canon. She sat a bit straighter when she saw the sign, dropping her hand to her side, and turned her head to look at you with a raised eyebrow. She hadn’t personally been there but the boys at the studio had mentioned that there were a few nice picnic spots with tables and everything, and as much as she liked the idea of having one with you she was also slightly disappointed that you had decided on some place where there would no privacy whatsoever. She liked being alone with you, no families with screaming children or passersby that would go climbing early next morning, she wanted it to be just the two of you, but she wasn’t going to voice her opinion. You had done things for her that no one else had, she could go through this for you. The first pothole got you both off guard as the light began to dim, your foot slipping from the brakes a little as Avis fell slightly on her side, having to use her hands to stabilise herself on your arm and shoulder. A curse echoed in the cabin of the car as she tried to sit back on her side, but the bumps were making her slide off the leather due to the fabric of her dress and without a second thought she pulled the black skirt from under her thighs hoping that her bare flesh against the seat would help her stay in place. Of course, you had not been expecting that and when you turned your head to see what on earth she was doing you were hit with the sight of the fabric bunched up around her hips, those shapely and delightful legs displayed in nude stockings before you, and oh God, those voluptuous breasts of hers were practically spilling out of her skewed blouse. Without thinking twice, you braked in the middle of nowhere, a cloud of dust enfolding the car, Avis’s body jerking forward before falling back against the seat.

-Y/N! A little warning next time. Is this where you wanted to take me? I’m not saying that it’s not pretty honey, but…

The words were drowned by your mouth on hers, the hand brake nearly forgotten in your hurry to get your hands on her body. You had been fighting hard against your better judgment, but it seemed that you had lost, though you could not say you were saddened by it, not when your hands were holding onto her hips under all that bunched up fabric, digging your fingers hard on her hot flesh, lips on lips pushing her back against the seat without realising it. Avis had not even thought of the fact that she would be half undressed in your presence and your reaction was perhaps a bit too forward for her at first, mainly shocked by it, but she wasn’t about to complain when she had been craving you all day and hadn’t had the chance to have a quicky in her office. When she parted her lips to grant you access, she was pleasantly surprised by the force with which you sucked on her tongue and bit down on her lower lip. The moan that resonated from her making her entire body vibrate, her hands digging hard into the leather to keep herself upright. Just as suddenly as you had assaulted her mouth you separated, eyes filled with such lust Avis thought she might drown in such passion, your body hovering over hers.

-If you want to actually get to the spot and have a nice date with me, I suggest you cover those legs or I’m going to bury myself between them and not let you out of this car until tomorrow morning.

-That’s not a bad prospect darling. That mouth of yours is quite talented.

-God Avis, I’m really trying here to not fuck your brains out, help me out, will you?

-Why would I? – her body pressed against yours, that delicious heat seeping though your thin dress as one of her hands lifted from the seat to rest over the one that was on her right hip, making it travel in between her legs until your fingers were barely an inch away from her centre. She was always warm, hot against your skin, but God, she was burning in between her legs, and your fingers could not help moving closer until they brushed the soaking lace. Avis’s head fell back at the contact, a groan filling up the cabin as you moved slowly up and down. She was absolutely drenched; this couldn’t have been just from now.

-You’ve been fantasizing about me have you not?

-Hmmm, yes. – a gasp escaped her when you pressed your thumb to her clit through her underwear, eyes rolling briefly to the back of her head. - Reversing roles, are we?

-You seemed to enjoy it the other day. – scrapping your teeth on her neck, Avis felt as if she might combust right there and then, your tongue licking the soft skin before your lips made their way to her ear. - How about we make a deal? You let me take you to that spot and we have a nice date, and I might be tempted to ravish you later. But only if those legs remain covered.

-Where are you taking me? – your hand stopped its motions over her centre, a quiet whine parting from Avis’s lips as she locked eyes with you, but your hand didn’t move from its spot on her inner thigh, ghosting over the flesh and drawing goosebumps and shivers that made her ache even more for you.

-I ask the questions today darling. Deal or not?

-Deal.

She could not lie, the prospect of you fucking her out in the wild with people barely a few feet away, hidden by trees or one of those big picnic tables, set her on fire and this whole act of her belonging to you, that possessiveness was just fucking amazing. Like the well-behaved lady she was she pushed as much of her dress as she could over her thighs, pressing them together without thinking to gain a bit of friction. Your body didn’t move away from her quiet yet though; the hand that had just been in between her legs when up to her collar, feather-like touches making the air in her lungs hitch, feeling how it moved down her sternum and over her breasts, bending your head until you could lick the swell of her left tit before you pushed yourself back into your seat leaving her absolutely flustered. She had taught you a trick or two on how to toy with people, and you weren’t about to waste this opportunity. Pushing the hand brake down and shifting into first gear the car began to move again, the potholes and bumps not helping Avis’s situation in the slightest, but you weren’t much better either, with the way her bosom jiggled and bounced you were actually finding it extremely hard to keep your end of the deal.

Finally, and you did send a prayer to the heavens for it, you saw the entrance to Runon Park and the designated area for picnics, but just before reaching it you swerved the car to the left and followed a slightly covered path for a mile or so, the trees tall and dense around you but allowing for the very last beams of light to still come through them, illuminating the way. Avis’s breath caught in her throat at the sight when you drove past the last tree, coming into a secluded clearing. All the lust and fire moved temporarily to the back of her mind as she took it all in from the way the canyon dropped into a deep abyss barely six feet from where you were parking to the vast green that seemed to go on into the horizon, endless and absolutely breathtaking. This… this was better than what she could have ever imagined. Without thinking, without command, her body stepped out of the car almost as if she was suddenly living in slow motion, the skirt falling around her legs properly, but she barely registered it with her hand on the warm steel of the hood, each step she took crunching twigs under her heels. How had she lived in Hollywood for over twenty years, and had never been here? The warm breeze caressed her face, its waves carrying the fresh aromas of pines and wood that melted against her skin as the floral accents from the very first violets and snowdrops danced around her in a harmony of fragrances that filled every cell in her body.

Under her feet deep emerald green grass grew up until the very edge of the cliff and in a need to see she stepped forward until she was barely a foot from it, the abyss deep and terrifying but so stunning that she could not feel fear. Looking to the West a waterfall burst from the rocks, its waters strong and transparent as they poured and fell down to the valley more than two hundred feet beneath her, where a river of powerful currents and acute meanders adorned the scenery, the sounds the wind carried kissing Avis’s ears in sweet gurgles and murmurs of water that filled her heart with such emotion that she could not even comprehend what she was seeing. Every tree, every rock and bush were placed almost strategically as if God had taken his time with this spot only for you both to see. She could not understand how the plateaus where she stood along with the one across the valley were so full of green, trees as tall as buildings gracing the world with a rainbow of greens and browns as they grew, while beneath them rocks as red as fire stood, the careful lines and topography of curves, columns and arches contrasting with the weeping willows and fragile riverbend plants that grew in between the rivulets of bluish crystal waters at the bottom of the valley. Looking down to the East the world was a song of fire, the canyon going on for miles with both gentle curves and acute angles that would have been hidden under seas of green had the river not carved its path deep within them.

Avis couldn’t steer her eyes from it all, observing the way the leaves swayed in the breeze, white butterflies dancing tenderly between the petals of white daffodils and red poppies, the splatters of colour spread throughout the grass in mosaics. There was a ruffle coming from some bushes across the valley, and Avis watched intently as a deer walked out into the evening sun, standing tall and proud with its growing antlers close to the edge as it almost held her gaze, its magnificence making her wonder if she had ever seen one in the flesh. Crossing the streaks of blue that still remained in the skies above, eagles cut through the winds, wings spread wide as their loud calls accompanied the flow of the waterfall. Her eyes had never seen such beauty; the world had always seemed like such a fast paced universe to live in that she had never taken the time to simply stop and step aside from the current of people, but standing here, where nature seemed to carry on without noticing humans even existed, was as if she was seeing her home for the first time, and she could only think about how beautiful it all was. There were eagles nowhere else but on this planet, bees and dragonflies could only buzz and sway over rivers and fields of daisies in this planet the same way that roses and pine trees could only grow and thrive here and she had never realised it until now, when the world was quiet and society laid miles away.

A pair of hands came to lay on her waist, startling her ever so slightly before they wrapped themselves around her as your head rested over her shoulder, and in murmured words you told her to look over to the waterfall. Her head returned to the West slowly, unsure of where her eyes should be, but upon landing them on the spot, both of you watched enthralled as the sun began its last descent. The sky was dressed in thin veils of pink and purple silk before the last golden glow of the day bathed the earth, it’s warmth melting against Avis’s face, only disturbed by the elusive touch of green beams that only a few handful of people had ever managed to catch, its perfect light turning the red sandstones and crystal waters into a world of molten gold and emeralds before it all turned dark and the sky above began to blend its indigo blue into a deep navy one. High up in the sky was now a full moon, lighting the world with white rays as to not leave it in a deep terrifying darkness, all the animals vanishing from the land to return home while others woke up to start their day. The world had turned silver.

-Was it worth the wait? – your voice whispered in her ear as your hot breath sent a shiver down her spine in a reflex response to your touch.

-Words cannot describe it Y/N. This place… how did you find it?

-When you are lonely and homesick you try to find places that bring you comfort, that make you feel as if you’ve never left. I found this one in one of those moments. I had been driving my old car around, getting familiar with the roads, and I took a wrong turn that turned out to be a right one.

-It’s beautiful.

-It was beautiful, now that you are here, it’s perfect.

Romance had seemed such a soppy affair, with all the compliments and shows of affection and love, but by George, was Avis absolutely adoring it all, red as a beet at your words and so very thankful that it was night, and you could not fully see it. Her hands were resting over yours, rubbing and gently moving her fingers over your soft skin as you both remained standing there observing it all, taking in the scenery for a moment or two. The waterfall seemed to have slowed down its incessant pour, the water falling gently from rock to rock, the once bright green moss now reflecting the moonlight as if they were diamonds framing the silvery currents, the grass vast seas of white as the breeze moved them from side to side. She could stay here forever, build a small wooden cottage and live with you, hidden from the world, not having to worry about whether people would approve of you, the doctors unable to call her and remind her that she had a husband in a comatose state, no Meg to think about, no studio to run, just you, her and nature. A most wonderful dream indeed. With a deep breath, the pine fragrance filling her lungs, she felt you turn her around, an astonished gasp escaping her parted lips when she saw a checkered blanket over the ground along with the basket and the mesh bag, a turned-off lantern resting on the side. You were quick, she thought, or maybe she had been truly lost in her surroundings, either way, she was pleasantly surprised by it all and let you guide her to the makeshift dinning room.

Your heels came off, resting on the side, away from the blanket, and in a similar manner Avis removed hers, letting her body fall as gently as she could onto the ground, tucking her legs under her while your flowy dress covered your crossed ones. It wasn’t supper by candlelight, but at least the lantern gave enough illumination when you turned it on, with the lighter that you had picked up from Avis’s purse, that you wouldn’t have to bring the fork an inch from your face to see what on earth you were biting on, the mesh bag falling onto the grass as Avis pulled the bottles and left the champagne over the blanket to work on opening the wine. You both worked in silence, containers resting in between you before you began to remove the lids, the wonderful smell of roasted potatoes covered in gravy and steak surrounding you both while the coolness of the sandwiches remained on the side, a big bowl of Caesar salad in the middle so you could share. Putting the fruit back in the basket so they wouldn’t be in the way. The cork of the wine came out with a pop, Avis pouring the deep cherry liquid into one of the paper cups and passing it to you before serving herself, raising it in the air.

-Cheers.

-Cheers. – it was utterly delicious. You were not much of a wine person if you were being honest, you were perhaps more modern or glamorous, always ordering cocktails, but the fruity aftertaste it left on your tongue was magnificent, simply delicious and lifting your eyes from the cup you could see Avis was enjoying it just as much.

-So, what’s on the menu for dinner tonight?

-We have Nick’s special, of course, steak with potatoes and salad, and on the side some chicken sandwiches because I was not very sure what you fancied. Maybe I went a little bit overboard, but my grandma used to say that it was best to have leftovers than to leave hungry.

-Your grandma was a very wise lady. Should I go first and try the salad?

-Whatever you desire, etiquette is not compulsory here, darling. – picking up her fork she stabbed a piece of chicken practically drenched in the dressing along with some lettuce and using her left hand as a barrier so the food wouldn’t satin her dress should it fall, she popped it all in her mouth. God, it was delicious, the lettuce crunchy and fresh, a crouton she hadn’t seen shattering in her mouth in a perfect balance of salty as the parmesan melted on her tongue along with the juicy chicken, her starving stomach taking it all as if it was a heavenly meal. She probably hadn’t noticed but she had moaned loud and clear, eyes briefly closing as she let the simple flavours assault her, but you had, and you could not say whether you were happy she liked so much or far too bewitched by her that even the slightest noise was music to your ears, as if you were listening to the London Philharmonic, a chuckle escaping your lips as you took some of the salad yourself.

-God, I can’t remember the last time I had something like this.

-If you are reacting like that to just the salad, I’m worried the potatoes and gravy will kill you.

-I’m not. You know how to resuscitate me with that tongue of yours. – she had said it with such a nonchalant tone before bringing another bite of the salad to her mouth that you chocked on your wine, a splatter or two landing on your cheeks. One point to Avis she thought, watching your flushed face as you wiped the specks of deep red liquid from your skin, a naughty smirk painting her lips that’s she hid quite well behind her own cup of wine. – Are you alright? Did something go down the wrong pipe?

-Don’t act as if you didn’t just almost kill me, but yes, I’m fine.

-Me? I haven’t touched you, honey. I think you know very well when and how I could send you to the heavens… or hell, whatever you prefer.

-Are trying to seduce me?

-Is it working?

That raised eyebrow was such a turn on for some reason, but Avis didn’t move from her spot, simply bent over to stick her fork on some of the steak, doing the same motion with her left hand as before but your eyes were clearly staring at another part of her body that wasn’t her face. You would have to get professional help to understand why you were so goddamn in love with her breasts; what sort of magic did they possess to make you shiver and burn at just the simple sight of them? It was playful banter, a game of cat and mouse that you knew she loved, but this time you didn’t answer, simply sat back and watched her chew on the meat, the sound of her humming in approval at the flavour reaching your ears. You could have prepared a better picnic, you could have brought candles and dried rose petals and made it all far more romantic but there was that spark in Avis’s eyes that told you it was perfect. With her hand left hand now resting over the grass she let her fingers rub and gently move in between the twigs and tiny little flowers, the moonlight reflecting on top of your head as the orange light from the lantern cast shadows over your face. She wondered for a moment who did you look like most; was it that grandmother you had mentioned or perhaps your father? Who did you inherit that nose of yours from or those blond locks that swayed in the warm breeze around the nape of your neck? A question assaulted her suddenly, out of curiosity more than anything else.

-When was the last time you talked with your mother?

-Oh. – it caught you off guard the drastic change of topic, but you couldn’t say that you were mad. It was natural for her to want to know more about you, after all, you had kept most of your private life secured away, afraid that she might find you too much of a foreigner or maybe simply lose interest since you were nothing like her acquaintances. But you wouldn’t have brought her here if you were not ready to share, you thought, knowing how much this whole place meant. – Well, I wrote to her last week, so I think that the response should arrive in maybe a couple of weeks.

-You don’t phone her?

-I can’t afford international calls. I do try though, on Christmas or birthdays, but sometimes I can’t. So, letters are the best method.

-Where are you from? You’ve talked about your home, but you’ve never told me. – grabbing a handkerchief Avis picked half of a chicken sandwich, eyes never leaving your face as your eyes glazed with memories untold, deep secrets you cherished in your heart, a tender smile growing on your lips.

-P/B. We are from a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, a couple of hours from the capital actually. I can’t say that we live on a farm but some of my neighbours do. It’s not as exciting as coming from New York, I’m afraid.

-No, but I’m sure is more beautiful. This place reminds you of home you said, and I can’t help but wonder just how much.

-Well, vast fields surround the village, and they seem endless as they go on and on into the horizon. – with your fork you stabbed one of the potatoes, biting down on it as steam curled in front of you, the thin layer of gravy mixing beautifully with the rosemary and the fat that coated the vegetable, swallowing before continuing. - In winter they are all brown and yellow as the farmers prepare the soil for the next sowing, although in some of the areas there are already tiny little sprouts growing before December is over. They might not look pretty at first, but if you go out early in the morning, when the sun is dawning, the olive trees rest among a thin fog that leaves very fragile layers of ice over the branches, and morning dew drops form over the grass that’s beginning to break from the ground. It usually doesn’t snow, but the very few times it has it’s a perfect scenery. White just never ceases to appear in front of your eyes and the air is so cold and crisp but so fresh and the smell of the chimneys just make it all so wholesome, so like home. - You were lost in a world of your own, the memories forming before your eyes as if you were standing right there, on the edge of the village seeing it all, hearing the loud voices of your neighbours and waving to the older married couples that were working on their lands, the cold almost numbing your fingertips. Avis had forgotten about the food and was simply resting her hands on the ground with her head lulled to one side observing the way your eyes were zoned out, your fingers moving gently as if you could show her where you were pointing at.

-In springtime though everything is gorgeous. There’s green everywhere, the trees that had laid naked amongst all that cold now blooming under the warm sun, flowers overtaking the grass as the cereals that had been planted grow tall, sometimes taller than me. There are red and white poppies, and so many four-o’clocks simply sprouting from the sandy grounds. My mother loves them and grows them in the garden in a variety of colours. Then of course there are the pines and olive trees that no matter where you look there’s mosaics of, and we use them for shade when we’ve been working out on the fields or in the garden, to cool down and have a bite. There are so many colours and so many insects. Our house gets filled with butterflies and bees that settle on my mother’s roses to rest and that drink from the tiny little yellow blossoms that will later become tomatoes. And the air… it’s so rich with fruits and vegetables and those wonderful floral fragrances that one could stay out all day and never get tired of it.

-It’s sounds like paradise.

-It’s far from it, but its home. We don’t have waterfalls or big deep valleys carved into the stone, but we have fields of lavender and hawks that fly high above, and slow-moving rivers where ducks and swans sometimes bathe. We can see roe deer jumping from between the trees and rabbits that rush around without a care in the word, building their burrows in those areas where the ground has not been planted so it can rest. Coming here makes me realise that there’s always a piece of home if you look for it, no matter how many miles separate you. It’s in your blood, in everything that you are and that you do. One might not realise it but it’s always there and it’s up to us to reject it and hide it or to embrace it and adapt it as we grow older, to never forget what makes us who we are. I did not grow up in big cities or high up on mountains, but I have lived surrounded by nature and dipping my feet into the warm sea, listening to the waves crashing against the rocks, filling my lungs with the salty breeze. I have walked among orange blossoms and lemon trees; I have been in nameless places in the middle of nowhere, but it was in those moments that I felt at peace.

-So why did you come here?

-Because one can’t stay stuck in the same place forever. I had a chance to make something for myself, to build a life that wasn’t the one my mother or my grandmother lived and as painful as it was, I took it. You left Northport to come here.

-True, but what I built was ruins. Nothing ever lasted before it was knocked down.

-I wouldn’t say that. People know you for you, not for Ace or Ellen or Dick. You have made a name for yourself even if the circumstances were not ideal or pleasant, but when they hear your name, they see you, not you with your husband or with a friend, just you. You might be standing over rubble, but you are not letting it keep you on the ground, you are picking up the pieces and making yourself a staircase to the top. You are running a studio and are going to release the best film in history, I think you have done pretty fantastic from that girl that you were back in Northport.

-How do you always see all the good, positive side of things?

-I usually don’t, but I have seen what sadness and hurt have done to you and I want to make it right. You deserve joy and love, not harsh words or bitter situations. You are doing what no one else has had the balls to do and I know that that girl who moved here years ago would be beaming with pride. – that girl that had been lost and miserable, Avis thought, would she truly be proud? She had had dreams that were shattered, a whole future shaped out before her that vanished into nothing when the talkies came, and then Ace and Claire happened and life just turned into a sea of habits and nasty looks, and that innocent girl became a not so innocent woman, but still filled with sadness and disappointment. And yet she felt as if you were right. That young thing from Northport would have never dreamt of running a studio or making a controversial film but foremost she would have never imagined she would find someone like you, the right person at the right time, just a bit later in life than what she had expected.

-I wish I could see the world though your eyes, I bet they are the most magnificent lenses anyone could wish for. Nothing is ever truly bad or horrid to you, there’s always hope and light at the end of the tunnel. With all those compliments you are giving me you are going to end up spoiling me if you are not careful. I might get used to this treatment. But how about you tell me what is it you want to build? What do you expect from life?

-I don’t know and that’s the beauty of it. My future is a blank canvas. I can be anything I desire, at least that’s what my mother says, from a secretary, as I am right now, to a nurse or a painter. I chose the paths I tread and admit my errors when I take wrong turns because that’s how one builds something worth fighting for. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you are the only person that I have painted on that canvas, the only thing that I’m sure I want as a constant for the rest of my existence. I don’t know where I might be in five or ten years, hell, I don’t even know If I will still be in contract at the studio in six months, but I do know that wherever I am, I will be beside you. – Had your eyes ever been this deep? Had they ever shone with such beauty and determination? Avis wasn’t sure, but under the warm light of the lantern they were open doors to your heart, to every feeling and desire that grew and wrapped around your chest, and she was suddenly pulled into them, falling and drowning in their abyss. Her hands moved the food gently to the side, the containers covered halfway to avoid spills, allowing her body to crawl on all four in your direction, knees digging hard onto the ground underneath the blanket leaving the imprint of tiny pebbles over the skin until she stopped right in front of you, the soft skin of her palms coming to rest on your cheeks as she drew your body to hers.

-And I want you with me. Forever.

There was no room for words anymore, your heart skipping a beat before it began to race as the feather light touches of her lips on yours, hovering but never actually pressing them, drove your hands to hold onto her hips, digging hard over the fabric of her dress as your bodyweight fell over hers. Gravity granted you a helping hand this time and as she pulled you even closer her mouth landed over yours in a tender kiss. Somewhere in the distance a loud coo was heard, echoing in the air around you both but Avis never parted herself from you, absolutely addicted to the way your carmine mixed with the rich tones of the wine and the saltiness of the gravy, leaving an aftertaste on the tip of her tongue that was simply you, your sweet essence. Breaking the profound navy blanket that covered the skies, a magnificent horned owl flew over the crystal waters at the edge of the cliff, flapping its enormous wings hundreds of feet above the ground, casting deep black shadows over the grass before perching itself high on a tree, observing in the night, protecting. Neither of you was bothered by its presence, you were all animals at the end of the day, creatures that had evolved up to this point in the history of the Earth forgetting that before cities and societies existed love was shown among the trees, on the edge of riverbends under the scorching sun or the coolness of the night. One of your hands moved to Avis’s back, the other one resting on the grass as your bodyweight pushed her gently on top of the blanket, the top of her head pocking from the corner of it and in contact with the now deep green that surrounded her.

The new position forced your lips to part, Avis’s chest raising and falling in hurried breaths, and as you moved your legs to straddle her, your foot accidentally kicked the lantern. The flame dying as your hands travelled to her sweet face, left you both bathed in only moonlight, the warm breeze caressing your bodies along with the sound of the flowing waters, crickets playing their quiet songs in the distance. Inching your fingers closer to the nape of her neck, feeling her soft ginger curls, they moved nearly of their own accord to massage her scalp, touching the cold metal pins she was wearing as you scratched your nails over her sensitive skin. It was delicious the way she hummed under you, her hands running up your back to your shoulders to keep you as close as possible to her, shivering as the heat of your body seeped through her stifling outfit. Your lips were torture on her neck, kissing the shape of it from her jawline to the hollow between her collarbones, licking and tasting her sweet skin as your fingers worked tenderly on removing as many hairpins as they could find, nibbling and scraping with your teeth. She needed you to mark her, to take her and make her yours. The way your light touches lingered on her flesh, delightful and thrilling as they drew goosebumps and gentle tingles on her limbs, made her brain slowly lose its train of thought and simply give into every sensation. Releasing the last pin, your fingers threaded deliciously in between her locks, pulling on her hair slightly harder than you had planned though she didn’t seem to mind. The motion had forced her head to lull back, a gasp escaping Avis’s ajar lips as the grip on your shoulder became stronger, her nails threatening to rip your dress.

You had never desired anything more in your life than to keep her in your arms for all eternity. That sweet spot under her ear was assaulted by your lips, the tip of your tongue tracing the outline of her earlobe, your hot breath tickling her skin and causing a mix between a giggle and a groan to slide from her mouth. Painstakingly slowly you moved along her jaw, lips delivering feather-like touches before you moved down to her neck again, sucking hard on her pulse point, delighted in the rumbling moan that she made as her throat vibrated beneath your lips. It was utterly gratifying to see how responsive she was to your touch, to the way your hands moved from her hair to her shoulders, fingering the neckline of her blouse, your fingertips barely brushing her skin and yet her pupils were so dilated that it was a miracle if you could actually get a glimpse of that gorgeous brown of hers. Dropping her hands to your hips her gaze was intense, watching your every move as you sat back over her thighs and began to trace the outline of her breasts and stomach through the fabric until they reached the hem, an obstacle that you had to remove, you thought. Avis felt you pushing the item gently off her abdomen, agreeing silently with you that it needed to come off. She desired to feel your skin on her skin, to have you as close as it was humanly possible, and so she pushed her upper body off the ground, resting its weight on her elbows as she guided your hands to push the garment off her midriff and arms until the blouse simply flew over the grass a foot or so away.

God, she was wearing a nearly see-through corselette. There was a deep groan vibrating in your throat at the sight, the translucent satin cupping her breasts so beautifully, so enticingly that the heat that was coursing through your veins nearly turned into fire, Avis’s rosy nipples stiff and fighting against the material. The boning of the garment hugged the curve of her waist as if it was made perfectly suited to her body shape, and perhaps it was, the olive kissed skin coming through the material that built the bodice, flowers and fallen petals embroidered in deep blues and greens, encasing her form. It was beautiful, you could not help but stare at it for a moment wondering how one came across such things, but your attention returned quickly to Avis, the heat of her body seeping to the palms of your hands from where they rested under her bust. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, bosom rising and falling in rapid breaths in anticipation, unknowing of your next move as your eyes bore into her skin, hot and cold shivers running down her arms and back. Your thumbs rubbed the underside of each breast causing Avis’s breaths to mix with her loud pants as your hands journeyed higher, cupping her tits graciously, the plump flesh overflowing from your palms as you began to knead them, dropping your lips to her now exposed collarbone, teeth scraping the flesh and leaving angry red marks that your tongue quickly soothed.

How could you drive her to such insanity every single time? It made no sense how well you already knew what made her mind go blank, mad with desire and lust, every spot in her body that could draw out moans and gasps, how much pressure to use, how much strength and roughness she required or wanted. Bruises on her body were a marvellous sight for her to wake up to, your lips sucking on the skin of her chest and the top of her ample bosom until the purple began to form, your tongue running over them to calm her flesh, but she would never ask you to stop, finding that gentle pain simply delicious, addicting as your head moved to the valley between her breasts, letting your tongue run over the translucent fabric until it reached her left nipple. The feeling of it rolling in your mouth alongside the friction the material provided was making Avis’s core burn hotter and higher, her left hand holding onto your hair while the other grabbed onto the blanket, her knuckles almost white. The stiff peak twirled around your tongue with ease, your lips sucking hard as your teeth scrapped the sensitive bud, a quiet scream making its way out of her mouth before she could stop it. She was always so vocal, so needy and ready for you. As your head was busy with her left breast your hand had been kneading her right one, but its mission had changed after noticing the way Avis moved under your weight, travelling down her side to the waistband of her skirt in search for the zipper, that was quite conveniently resting on her right hip.

Much to your dismay, and hers, you had to let go of Avis’s nipple, a gentle pop resonating from your mouth as you pushed your body onto the blanket to get rid of the black pencil skirt that prevented her from properly spreading her legs. The garment’s zip slid like butter, both of your hands pulling it down her legs as she lifted her hips off the ground to help you, leaving her matching knickers on display for your eyes to feast on. You were sure you had just had a mini heart attack at the sight of the translucent fabric, her folds practically exposed before you. There was a hunger inside you, a monstrous appetite simply for her, for every single inch of her that you could not satiate, both your hands crawling upwards on each side of her body, over the blanket, your legs moving in between hers to spread her open. Part of Avis was resting over the grass while the other was on top of the checkered fabric, but if the feeling of the cool plants on her skin bothered her she did not mention it, perhaps too lost in what you were doing to her as you hovered over her, lips so close to hers that she could taste the wine on your breath. Her eyes locked with yours, feeling the way her chest pressed against yours with each hurried breath she took, the moonlight reflecting and making her deep brown orbs glow even if deep inside them there was a light of their own, a veil of love and faith that made your heart swell with pride. You and only you had managed to do what no one else had; earn her trust.

Your lips landed softly over hers, your tongue dancing over her now non-existent carmine as you asked her silently for permission to explore her mouth once again, as if you didn’t have it memorised already, but she granted it, nevertheless. It was a battle for what little control you were willing to give to Avis this time, losing to her as she sucked on your lower lip, her hands holding you in place with her overheated palms on your cheeks. The air was filled with whimpers and whines, answers to your every little touch that only increased in pitch as you broke the kiss, one single drop of blood falling onto Avis’s own lips from where she had bit you down a bit harder, your mouth leaving a thin trail of the red warm liquid as you moved down her throat, vanishing as you pecked her chest. You had barely registered the way your blood was staining her skin, too focused on burying your tongue in the valley of her breasts, but the corselette was in the way and you could hardly reach that delicious skin that was calling out to you in whimpered whispers. Your hands were shaking slightly as you lifted your body from hers to work on the first few hooks of the garment, her ample tits inching closer to freedom as you unclasped each fastening, bouncing and jiggling under your working hands until they finally escape and stared at you in all their glory. You just couldn’t get enough of that creamy flesh and pink hard nipples. The mix between a gasp and moan that Avis produced was utterly sinful as you licked the skin and sucked around her right peak, small red marks painting her flesh before you devoured her, nibbling and pulling on her stiff nipple as your hand raked your nails over her left breast, to the point that only a score of screams could be heard from her.

-Please, Y/N.

To hear her pleading was such a thrilling sound, so unlike the Avis that everyone saw at the studio. And who were you to not listen when she was so sweet under your tongue, so responsive to the way your hands held onto her hips to keep her from thrashing around as you sucked and twirled her nipple until her pleas were finally needy enough, imploring even. You had made a deal after all. Under different circumstance you would have undressed her completely, drank her in until you were absolutely wasted in her essence, but this clearing was still a public area, anyone could come here; you doubted they would, but it could still happen, and you were not willing to let strangers see Avis in such a compromising position. Still, you released her breast after one final nibble that had her eyes rolling to the back of her head momentarily and began to kiss the fabric of her bodice all the way to her pubic bone, the material showing the wet spots you had left behind as you licked and pecked. If you took the lantern and gave it to Avis, she was sure she could light it with her bare hands from the way her skin and blood burnt high, scorching every cell of her being. You were inching closer and closer to where she needed you the most, your lips dancing from her left hip to her right, brushing your kisses so close to her clit that she thought she would go insane if you didn’t touch her, eat her alive. In a quick motion one of her hands held onto your hair, pulling roughly as if she could motion you to obey her, but you were quick to push it away and moved to hover your body over hers. With your hand you grabbed her face roughly, forcing her to face you.

-Do you want me to fuck you, Avis?

-Yes. – she was utterly breathless, lust filling every pore in her body as your domineering energy laced your words, sending shivers down her spine as she felt your other hand lazily moving between her ginger locks. Upon grabbing a handful, you pulled hard, a gasp muttered almost against your lips as the pain rippled through Avis’s frame, turning into such pleasure that she thought she might cum on the spot.

-Then behave. We’ve reversed roles, remember? I could have you writhing in pleasure for hours or I could refuse to touch you until you begged and cried for me to eat you out. – God, she loved you, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as your fingers traced the outline of her folds through her underwear, absolutely drenched and so impossibly hot to the touch. – Is this what you want?

-More.

-More? You mean something… like this? – your skilled fingers moved the lacy garment aside, freeing her completely to the warm air of the night. Dipping them properly in between her wet lips, you slid them up and down as slowly as you could, taking in the way her left hand shot out to grab your upper arm, the other one laid hidden under the bunched-up blanket, groans and moans echoing in your ears as her eyes fluttered close. Her neck was right under your mouth, a slow tender lick coming from the hollow between her collarbones to right under her chin, cleaning up the blood you had left there only a few minutes earlier, drawing out a quiet whimper. It was borderline torture, it had to be, the way you were moving at a snail’s pace, and she knew you knew, a smirk on your lips when she opened her eyes with a pleading look.

-Please, Y/N, don’t tease me.

-It’s not enough? Maybe I can do something about it. – your motions stopped completely, the frustration at the lack of friction making her whine. With your lips brushing her ear you whispered lustfully. - Apologise and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Just one word, Avis.

-I’m sorry. I’m sorry Y/N! Please, please.

-Well done, darling.

She almost missed the pain on her scalp when you released her hair, but there wasn’t much room for her to think when she felt your lips on her inner thighs, licking the soft skin and kissing your way up to the joint between her hip and her wet folds, her breath hitching in her lungs in anticipation. The instant your tongue slid over them she felt as if she was about to pass out, her eyes rolling to the back on her head, ripping what grass she could grasp with her fist. It didn’t matter how many times you tasted her; she was the most delicious salty meal you could ever have, and there was a perfectly cooked steak maybe two feet from you both, but it could not fill you up the way Avis did. The laps you were doing on her drew out moans and yelps from deep within her, her legs trembling already, hips buckling to try and get as much friction as she could. To keep her still you placed a hand on her lower abdomen, reaching with the tip of your tongue the base of her clit. She was close, you could feel it in the way her thighs were beginning to shake ever so slightly, her moans higher and higher in pitch but they were still not quite there yet. There were wrinkles in the blanket that were digging on your knees, but you cared very little, adding your fingers to the upwards-downwards motion as to coat them in her juices and make sure you didn’t hurt her, though with how your face and upper thighs were practically drowning in her arousal you doubted it could happen.

-God, Y/N, more. Fuck.

Two fingers went deep inside her, pumping gently in and out to let her adjust, your tongue having moved higher until her swollen bundle was twirling lazily in your mouth, her fingers on your head out of habit and to keep you well in place. There was a thin layer of sweat covering Avis’s body that made her glow under the moonlight, her skin flustered and the most erotic shade of red your eyes had ever seen, her head lulling back with each movement from your fingers, pants and yelps echoing against the trees. You should keep her quiet, she could draw the attention of passersby, if there were any, but you couldn’t quite do it, it was just delectable to hear her lost in passion. Without a care in the world. Her walls clenched around you, a sign that you needed to increase the pace of your hand as your lips sucked on her clit, feeling how she was coming undone piece by piece at a faster speed that you had anticipated. She must have really worked herself up throughout the day to be so desperate for release. The hand that was holding her in place pressed a little harder, mixing with the third finger that you had just pushed in, adding to the pleasure that had been steadily building higher and higher, skyrocketing it. Her throat felt raw as she screamed over and over, losing her mind under your ministrations, the tension building as her toes curled and her heels dug onto the earth. With one hard nibble on her clit, along with your fingers curling, pressing almost against the one on her abdomen and she fell completely apart.

-Y/N! YES! AHHH! YES! YES!

There was fire in her veins, white hot flames spreading through every cell, every limb, electric shocks travelling from the top of her head to the tip of her toes and fingers, her head thrashing up and down as she held onto your head, buckling her hips to meet your pace as she rode out her orgasm. Her eyes were open wide for an instant, the sky above peppered with millions of tiny sparkles of light, but she was unsure whether they were real or simply brought on by the pleasure that was rocking her entire body. Either way, she didn’t have enough sense left to think, let alone differentiate between reality and dreams. Your punishing pace never faltered, pants and screams mixing until her juices exploded all over your face, her mouth hanging open in utter silence as her back arched of the ground. So the hand pressing on the abdomen really did work, , a little something you had read in a very inappropriate book, you thought as she squirted all over you, your tongue lapping up and down and around your fingers to make sure you were capturing every single drop until there was nothing left, drinking her in. Your mouth had left her overstimulated clit alone, kissing the soft skin of her thighs and knees as you gently helped her come down from her high, fingers slowing down after a moment or two until her legs stopped trapping your head, dropping onto the floor with gentle trembles, the hand on your head slipping onto the ground. She was completely spent, her head clouded in desire and afterglow passion that kept her laying on the floor panting for air. Pulling out, you used to blanket to wipe your fingers clean, crawling beside her until your head rested over your arm, rubbing Avis’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her racing heart and to let her know you were still there, that you hadn’t left her.

-Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?

-Hmmm – all that she could muster at the moment was to open her eyes lazily, turning her head to look at you as the waves of pleasure left her body, the hand that had been holding onto the blanket finally freeing it form its grip, rubbing your thigh over your dress. – It was fantastic, doll. And you say that Ernie didn’t put you on contract?

-I haven’t lost my touch it seems. And yes, there wasn’t much market for me, I’m afraid.

-Fools, all fools. Trust me, baby, if you ever do lose it, I’ll be the first to inform you.

-Good to know. I was wondering, honey, where did you get this underwear? It’s gorgeous.

-It’s actually tailored. I wanted something special, and I went to my favourite store to see what they could do, and we came up with this. I wanted the flowers in gold and white, but they didn’t stand out enough, so we settled on blue and green. Did you notice what flowers they are?

-I’m afraid not, I was too busy staring at your magnificent breasts. – a loud laugh burst from her throat, floating in the air around you as she tapped your thigh in amusement. It was a gift the way you made her adore herself the same way you worshipped her body, as if she was a work of art. After a moment it died down, leaving a small smile on her swollen lips.

-Thank you for the compliment, dear. As for the flowers, they are orange blossoms.

-Avis.

-I know, I didn’t have to do this, but I wanted to. I wanted to have something that clearly means the world to you as closer to me as possible. I couldn’t risk a necklace with your picture, so I settled for the next best thing that would still keep you near my heart.

Your hands took hold on her waist, pulling her body impossibly close to yours, needing her in your space, in your personal bubble. With your left hand you turned her face towards you until your lips met hers, a sweet tender kiss to show her just how much you appreciated the gesture. You would never met someone like her, there was no one like Avis in this entire universe and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have found her. She still needed a minute or two to go back to normal, the lazy patterns your fingers were painting on her overheated skin soothing the sensations that were still clinging to her skin. Breaking the kiss your head hid in the crook of her neck, smelling her perfume and the soft hint of sweat that laid over her flesh, but Avis’s eyes were staring up at the sky. The deep universe that laid up above was sprinkled with billions of stars, glinting and shinning like diamond in the firmament, coloured clouds of dust swirling between them, around them, all over, in bright pinks, reds and purples, brushstrokes of baby blue blending among them. They formed a perfect line that crossed from North to South, and as the seconds went by perfect white swirls appeared all around as if an explosion of the most beautiful colour palette had just happened before her eyes, the universe in constant change right in front of her. She could spend all eternity laying here with your body pressed against hers, eyes taking in every little detail of the world around her, the deep emerald trees blending with the navy blue in perfect contrast. A gentle cooing reached her ears, eyes moving from left to right until they settled on the owl that had perched itself high up on a pine tree a while ago, its piercing yellow eyes watching her for an instant before they returned to the deep valley beneath you all. She had lost track of time she realised.

-Y/N?

-Hmm? – with a tender peck on the side of her neck you turned your head to look at her, observing how enthralled she was by the sky. It warmed your heart to see that even after so many years of Avis walking on this planet there were still secrets you could show her, images that her eyes had never laid upon and that you had the power to engrave in her mind.

-Have I told you that I love you?

-Once or twice, I think.

-Well, don’t you forget it, because I truly love you.

-As if I ever could when I love you just as much, Avis.

Her hands slid over yours, a small smile on her lips as she closed her eyes, letting your heat seep into her skin and bones. A cool breeze swept through the clearing, a deep shiver shaking Avis’s frame. It was beginning to get cold, and as you glanced down at your wristwatch you saw that it was nearly eleven, too late for you both after the day you had had. You didn’t want to unwrap yourself from Avis’s frame, but you didn’t want her to get sick, your hands pulling her into a sitting position to hook the corselette back in place, being extra careful not to touch her sensitive nipples. As she adjusted her bosom you crawled around picking up her skirt and blouse, hissing as you felt your knees land right over the spot where all of Avis’s hairpins had landed, cursing under your breath. You had half a mind to leave them there but you didn’t want Avis to ask about them when you were already ten miles away from here and have to drive back to not find them in the dark, so you went around feeling the blanket with your palms and putting them in your pocket until you were sure you had most of them. She was waiting patiently on her knees, the pearly beams bathing her skin as if she was dressed in silver. Your eyes stared at her tussled hair and bruised skin for an instant, contemplating your handy work with pride before handing her the clothes. As you dealt with the uneaten food and spilt cups of wine, from the corner of your eye, you watched Avis stepping into her skirt, the perfect curve of her ass so tempting, the black garment hugging her perfectly as she zipped it before pushing her head through the blouse, smoothing the fabric best she could once everything was in place, running a hand through her slightly knotted curls. Standing up you were about to put the basket back in the trunk when Avis stopped you.

-We still have the ride home; all this doesn’t have to go to waste. Just give it to me.

She had a new lightness to her, her feet almost skipping barefoot over the grass as she rounded the hood of the car to leave the basket on the passenger’s seat, heading your way to help you fold the blanket once you had put the champagne bottle in the trunk. Nature suited her, it gave her a new look on things, it made her feel alive, as if there was something much bigger than her that she had the opportunity to contemplate. Maybe one day the both of you could live in a secluded spot without a worry in the universe, only the trees or the waves witnesses to your love. Once Avis had put her shoes on your eyes there was nothing left on the ground, no sign of what had transpired in the last few hours, and as you were about to turn towards the car you felt for an instant that you could not quite go, that everything had been too perfect to lose it, to only keep it as a memory. Avis had noticed your slumped shoulders and was quick to wrap her arm around your waist and pull you close, simply watching it all. She wanted to say something but was unsure as to what, she wasn’t sure if you even needed to hear something, feeling as if she had to let you go through this on your own terms. So, she simply stood by you, her presence comforting as you once more said a mental goodbye to your home. It never got easier even if it wasn’t really your land or your country, but the sky above was always the same, no matter where you stood the same stars shone bright and glinted in the night and you knew that no matter many oceans separated you from your family they were looking up at the same firmament, a point of eternal union. With a quite sigh you promised yourself that you would come by soon, with Avis if you could.

Nodding against her shoulder Avis understood the movement and gently guided you towards the car, letting go of your hand after opening the door for you. With the both of you settled over the leather seats, the warmth of the cabin a welcome feeling on Avis’s slightly chilled skin you turned the engine on and carefully drove down the same path you had used to get there in the first place. “In the Mood” was playing on the radio, a cheery tune that quickly lifted your spirts, a fork with a piece of steak appearing in your line of vision. With a chuckled you took the meat, chewing even though it was cold, not that you minded, the rich flavours still there, just dulled a little. Hearing some ruffling beside you, you turned your attention away from the road for a moment to see Avis battling with a potato that kept sliding off her fork, the gravy dripping in thick drops. Reaching the edge of the woods, the sign for Runon Park shone bright against your car’s headlights, showing the way to those awful secondary roads that you needed to drive trough to get to the freeway, but the ride wasn’t as back. Avis kept feeding you every few minutes, a light banter and chatter settling between you over the music that the radio was playing, a sip from the bottle of wine smoothing everything down beautifully until there was only a little bit less of the red liquid left once you got to the freeway.

At that time of night there wasn’t much traffic, and you could slip your eyes of the road just a tad bit more to look at Avis as she gave you the final bite of the Caesar salad, moving on to the fruit. There were strawberries, bananas and what you suspected were slices of oranges, not entirely sure from your current angle. Avis showed you the fork with some of it, asking simply by raising her eyebrows, but you kindly declined, full already and not desiring a night of tossing and turning with indigestion, she could have it all if she wanted them. The radio began to play a different tune, something a bit slower, the atmosphere in the car adapting perfectly as you took exit 56, your companion resting her back against the seat while munching happily on what you were now sure were oranges. The Amberg residence was only a few streets away already, swerving the car around the corner, the night inching closer to an end that neither of you wanted, reality settling in between you once again, those stupid social norms that kept you from simply walking into her house and never leaving. The streetlamps shone bright as you came up to the gates, noticing strangely that they were slightly open, Mr. Breaton nowhere to be found, but you didn’t think much of it, he was an older man and it was already late, he could have simply gone home.

Parking on the side, in your unofficial spot, you turned the engine off. There was no beating around the bush, she was home, and she didn’t want to part ways with you, she simply wasn’t ready; there was a voice in the back of her mind that told her that she had to stay with you. Avis had turned her head in your direction, but the words she was about to say never made it out, your body already out of the car, rounding the hood to open the door for her. You didn’t want to leave her, of course, but you weren’t going to cry about it either, you preferred to cling to the memories of this evening, stretching your hand to help her out after pushing the door out of the way. She was pleasantly surprised by the gesture and smiled up at you, a charming “thank you” leaving her lips. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard to convince as she had thought. Accompanying her to the front door the breeze that swayed around you both was turning colder by the minute, a very slow fog forming around the streetlamps. The hairs on the nape of your neck suddenly rose, your body filled with goosebumps, the strangest sensation spreading through your body, but you were quick to push it away. The porchlight was on, glowing softly as you walked the few steps that separated the garden from the front doors, coming to stand under its roof. It was rather childish the way you were both simply standing there, like a teenage couple that had just returned from watching a film or having a milkshake, wanting to stay with each other but knowing that the best thing was to part ways. And yet your hands never left hers.

-Here we are.

-Yes, here we are.

-You can stay if you want. There’s more than enough room in my bed for you. – her grip was a bit harder, hope blooming in her chest that perhaps tonight she wouldn’t have to go up to an empty bedroom and lay awake all alone.

-I know, but your daughter’s home and you need to sleep. I’ve kept you out long enough already.

-She doesn’t have to know.

-I don’t want to ruin the relationship you are building with her. I don’t want you to lie to her and break that bond that you’ve been working so hard on.

-I don’t want you to go. – her voice was so small; it sounded so weak and sad that you were tempted to stay and throw caution to the wind, but you knew that if you stayed Claire would go nuts at you both if she found out, and you were more than sure that you would find it very hard to not sleep with Avis again and she really needed to rest. Letting go of one of her hands you placed it on her cheek, rubbing the soft skin tenderly.

-I don’t want to either but think about it this way. If I go, you will have something look forward to the next time we met. True that it won’t be in a week, we will see each other again at the studio tomorrow, but I’m sure that you will look forward to it.

-Will you have lunch with me then?

-Of course. Now, go in and go to bed. I think I’ve left you satiated enough that sleep will find you easily.

-Cheeky. Thank you for tonight Y/N. I’m grateful that you showed me such a special place. I didn’t know there was anything like that here.

-It was my pleasure, believe me. Perhaps when the weather allows it, you and I can go visit a few more of those secret spots.

-I would love to. I’ll see you tomorrow?

-Tomorrow.

-I love you.

-I love you too.

These bittersweet kisses were not your favourites by far, after all partings never were even if they were only temporary, but at least you would go to bed with the flavour of her and the acidity of the oranges she had just had deep in your lips. Separating after a few seconds, she flashed you a bright smile before pulling her keys put of her purse and opening the doors. From underneath the threshold she blew you a kiss, your hand moving to catch it and place it close to your heart. The darkness of the hall swallowed her, and you stood there until the sound of the heavy oak closing in front of you boomed in your head. Perhaps you had been wrong, maybe you could stay tonight, just once, you thought, but your musings were interrupted by the sudden feeling that someone was watching you. For an instant you thought it might be Claire, but the curtains of her room were drawn and there were no shapes near the windows. Turning around you inspected the garden but there was no one there and yet the feeling only got worse, the fog settling faster than you liked as you made your way to your car as quickly as possible. Avis heard the rumbling of your motor from the bedroom, removing her clothes as she stepped into the bathroom, that feeling that you should have stayed stronger than before but there was nothing she could do about it now. Backing out from the house and back onto the road you didn’t see the figures dressed in black that came from the shadows, slipping into Avis’s house without an issue, hands signalling onto the empty street, or what might have been an empty street if a black Lincoln hadn’t unparked out of the blue, following you into the night. Come the next day you would realise that its headlights never turned on.

#avis amberg #avis amberg x reader #patti lupone x reader #patti lupone #lilia calderu #lilia x reader #we thank miss lupone simply for existing #hollywood 2020

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the-fiction-witch · 3 months ago

Text

Work Shift

Media - Lockwood & Co. Character - Anthony Lockwood Couple - Anthony X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 12 Word Count - 1302

Anthony sat on the couch reading his paper, looking through the articles for leads or interesting things of note. The house around him was quiet and peaceful, with merely the gentle sounds from the street outside and the humm of the boiler moving water through the old house. George was off visiting family for a few weeks, so the house was merely Anthony and Y/n.

The front door opened, revealing Y/n in her work uniform with her hair falling from a bun. She tossed her keys by the door and began to make her way inside. As much as Anthony didn’t like that Y/n worked anywhere but Lockwood & Co. They did have to be realistic, someone had to pay the bills, and paranormal work is not a steady income. So, Y/n had a regular job at a local supermarket to keep them afloat.

Anthony glanced her way, "Hey Y/n, how was the shift?" he called, he could tell she was pretty tired from that dead look in her eyes,

Y/n did not answer; she simply walked to the couch, bumping into the armrest before she fell down face first onto the couch, her head landing perfectly in Anthony's lap where she nuzzled and bundled herself up.

Anthony chuckled, shaking his head. His hand landed on the back of her head and he pulled her hair fully from the bun and started to play with her hair as she nuzzled, "Bad day, I take it?" he asked softly as he began braiding a part of her hair, knowing she loved it when he did it.

She grumbled and nodded,

"Want me to make you your pasta for dinner?"

She shook her head, "No… Pasta will make me all bloated. I do not wish to bloat on my day off tomorrow."

He hummed, nodding, "What about some soup and sandwiches then? I can make one with chicken broth to really help you feel better. You always feel better after the soup I make, don't you?" he asked softly as he gently pushed a strand of hair out of her face,

"… Not in a soupy mood…"

Anthony nodded again, "All right, how about I make you some of that chicken and rice you like so much then?" He suggested, "I just want to make sure you have a good meal and can rest properly."

She nodded slowly. "Yes, please…"

He smiled, looking down at her, nodding "Alright. Do you want to stay here and watch me cook? Or go nap in my bed?" he asked, the two had a bad habit of just sleeping in Anthony’s bed, mostly because it was the closest when Y/n was too tired to walk all the way up to her own room.

"Watch you cook…"

He smiled and gently moved her off his lap, grabbing a pillow for her "Just get nice and comfy, ok?"

He said before moving to the kitchen, pulling out a pan and getting to work, "So, How was work?"

"Miss Potters was back." She yawned, pulling a blanket over her legs,

"… no… not… Again?!" he asked with a small chuckle and a smile, "let me guess… she wants some random item that doesn’t exist?"

"Mhm. pre-buttered bread"

He shook his head, laughing "At least we'll never be out of work"

“I know…”

Anthony nodded, smiling as he started to finish up the food, “I am proud of you, Y/n, and I appreciate you. I really, really do.”

She nodded "Mhm…" She grumbled, nuzzling into the pillow and blanket like a little cocoon. “Thank you, Anthony,”

Anthony smiled at her "Just go to sleep, Y/n." he said sweetly, knowing she was pretty much out already, so he sat in the chair, watching over her,

"Samuel Walker came in again today. Everyone else was busy." She grumbled

Samuel Walker was the same age as them, and they unfortunately had a long history with him. For as long as they'd known the guy, he'd been a creep. But since Y/n started their work here, he would come in regularly. He acted like her kindness in her job was her flirting with him and always felt he owed her something. More than once, police had been called about him, and Anthony had put himself between him and Y/n on a lot of occasions. Anthony's shoulders tensed as she spoke, his head bowing forward, "he… he didn't say or do anything rude to you, right?.." Anthony was really protective of Y/n and didn't like any guy getting an attitude with her, but Samuel always seemed to irk him more than anyone else.

"He came in to see Michael about the Night Shift janitorial job." She said, "… He slapped my ass when he passed me in the hall…"

And with that, Anthony's temper boiled over, his hands clenched, and he had to set down the food, "he did… he… I'm going to kill him…" he muttered, turning to look at Y/n and making sure she wasn't injured or upset "I'm so sorry Y/n… you shouldn't… you should never have to deal with anything like that… or anything at all with that creep. He is lucky I wasn't here today… have you said it to Michael yet?…"

she nodded

His body relaxed slightly, but he was still furious, "Good… good.. that's good, love. I'll have to ask him what he's gonna do about this… I'm sorry I wasn't there for you today…" he muttered as he reached out taking her hands, "promise me you'll start carrying the stuff I bought you for Christmas this year. It can be… really important if he ever comes back again…"

"I promise." She whispered,

"and I'm sorry I just… I care about you… alot. I don't want some creep hurting my Y/n… you deserve better than that, sweetheart." he muttered, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.

She Blushed, "Since when was I 'your' Y/n?"

He moved back, chuckling softly "Since the day we met, you have always been my Y/n. You were my Y/n the day we met in the sandbox, and you were my Y/n when we were in school, and you'll still be my Y/n when we're old and grey and senile"

Y/n blushed hard and nuzzled her nose on his

He smiled at her, giving a soft chuckle as he pressed his nose back to hers.

She playfully pushed him away and got up, she took her food and slowly began to eat. "Aren't you eating?" She asked, looking at his lack of food

He chuckled softly, looking up from her "Ohno… I've already eaten, love. I made this all for you"

She nodded, accepting his answer as she slowly ate. "It's really good. You make good food …"

He smiled and nodded "I'm glad you like it, I wanted to spoil you so you can just relax after your shift. I know they can be difficult, and so I like taking care of you. just like I know you like taking care of me," he said softly, rubbing her back gently before he moved to wash the dishes he'd used.

She watched him as he washed the dishes, and she finished up her food. She tried to wash her single dish and spoon herself, but he took it.

"ah, a h, you go relax. I can handle the cleaning," he said, gently pushing her hand back when she tried to grab it, "you've had a long shift and need rest, Y/n. I'll handle everything."

She sighed but accepted it. "Anthony?"

He smiled and looked back at her "Yes, love?"

"Thank you for dinner." She smiled, standing up on her tiptoes to give his lips a little peck before she went back to the couch and her blanket,

his face immediately turned red from the peck, and he stumbled over his words for a moment before saying, "N-no problem!.." he turned back to do the dishes before he could make any more of a fool of himself.

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood netflix #lockwood & co #Anthony #anthonylockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood fanfic #Anthony Lockwood fanfiction #anthony fanfic #anthony lockwood imagine #lockwood and co fanfiction

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gaslightwestern · 8 months ago

Text

Hell's Half Acre

Charlotte would be the first to admit hiding from the law behind a newspaper was an awful idea, what with her face and name spread across the front page.

When death comes to Fort Worth and strikes her new circle of friends, Charlotte O’Shea resolves to hunt down the culprit before they kill again. Murder isn’t the only mystery in the air however. Elijah Addison and Thomas Quinn, two headstrong cowboys and her partners-in-crime-solving, are determined to uncover what made the socialite run away from New York and why she is no stranger to firearms.

— Status: Zero Drafting (Excerpts) | Tag: #Hell's Half Acre — Genres: Historical Mystery, Western, Romance — Setting: Fort Worth, Texas & New York City (1870s). — POV: Multiple. 3rd Person. Past Tense. Dual Timeline.

Themes and Tropes: Love in all its forms. Anti-heroine. Found family. Being your own person. Organized crime. Queer cowboys. If it isn't the consequences of my own actions. Parallels. Obsession. Haunted by the past. Murder, mayhem, and other wild west shenanigans.

Cast of Characters

Can't a man visit his on-and-off-again boyfriend without all hell breaking loose? Not for Elijah Addison, a restless cowboy turned shrewd detective who becomes relentless in his pursuit of justice.

By his side is Thomas Quinn, who most write off as little more than a legend's son. Stubborn as anything and fiercely protective of his family and friends, he doesn't trust Charlotte in the slightest.

Captain Samuel Quinn is a three-time, war-hating, disabled veteran with a larger-than-life personality. A lifelong troublemaker, when he isn't sticking his nose where he shouldn't, Sam runs Quinn's Firearms.

A seamstress and aspiring journalist, Mabel Williams is determined to expose the rot in New York City regardless of the enemies she gains along the way. Her talent for disguises often comes in handy.

Having grown up in the shadow of his brother, not being good enough has long haunted Warren Howard. But if life will not give him what he wants, he will take it for himself regardless of the cost.

Vivacious and self-absorbed, Charlotte O'Shea enjoys her place in New York's high society. Surrounded by friends and engaged to the wealthy Nathaniel Howard, her life is perfect. So why is Charlotte out west pretending to be someone she's not?

Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist: @cirianne, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @thelaughingstag, @shouldyouwakethewriteblr, @mauvecatfic

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gorgeys · 2 years ago

Note

Do you still make fanfics? If you do please do Carla smut

PORNSTAR ★ carla roson

Carla Roson x fem!reader

Part 2 of So Naive

You still don't understand that you belong to Carla, she intends to prove it to you and Guzman...

Warnings: SMUT - top!Carla, bottom!reader, semi-public sex, dub-con, shoving, grabbing, hair-pulling, hickeys, biting, brat taming??, pet names, mentions of murder/mutilation, degradation/praise, choking, finger sucking, non-con pictures/filming, begging, fingering

Word Count: 4750

Note: i'm so sorry this took so long! i lost motivation for writing for a while but i'm temporarily back!

also i literally changed tenses in the middle of writing but i was too lazy to fix it and the ending is a little rushed bc i didn't want it to get any longer than it already was, hope you enjoy!!

Carla checks her phone as she enters Guzman’s house. She’s definitely late. Too late as she notices the last text from you was sent over an hour ago when you had arrived at the party. In one hour you could have been anywhere doing anything. She hates the thought of it.

The horiffic image of you and him had been replaying in her mind all day. His hands all over your body, his lips against your skin, the way you would sound for him. It was like a constant nightmare that she couldn’t put to bed. She was hoping you could help silence her thoughts.

She headed for the kitchen to pour herself a drink, craving a light buzz. She only downed half of it when she noticed Samuel approaching her.

She turned her back toward him, hoping he would get the hint, but he quickly tapped on her shoulder. Carla obnoxiously rolled her eyes before turning around to greet him.

It was more than obvious he had developed a hearty crush on her since Marina. He always ran his hands in his hair, trying to perfect it before he went to approach her. He’d be too smiley while talking to her, and he’d take a step too close which always resulted in Carla escaping the situation as quickly as possible. She couldn't understand how Samuel never noticed her grimaces or eyerolls or the hundreds of signs she sent him to give it up. Carla hated everything about it.

But you seemed to love it. You’d always tease her about him, calling Samuel her boyfriend and pushing her to go talk to him. She was pretty sure this whole thing had even started because of you, that you had mentioned to Samuel that Carla was interested in him in the first place. You always loved a little white lie.

For some reason you just loved to be a nuisance. You loved to watch Carla squirm when you flirted with the guys. You loved watching her become so irritated and red, grinding her teeth so hard she could start a fire. You loved flustering her in the middle of class by sending her some dirty pictures, watching her eyes go wide as she quickly hid her phone in her skirt. She’d always give you the craziest look, wondering if your antics would ever end. And you loved forcing her onto Samuel, watching her struggle to get away from him just to spend another moment with you. Of course, you never let her, always ditching her with the pretty boy and leaving her wanting more.

You were such a brat. Everyone knew it. Your parents were unbelievably rich, valued much higher than the regular Las Encinas family, so you always got want you want. Of course you used that to your advantage more times than not. It became your entire reputation.

Carla was your perfect match. Everyone was always willing to give her everything she wanted, from her father to her ex-boyfriend. Everyone but you. Carla hated it sometimes, but all those other times, she loved taking what she wanted from you.

“Hi, Carla,” Samuel said with a big, dorky smile.

“Hi, Samu,” she dryly said, placing her drink on the counter. “Have you seen Y/N?”

“Yeah, I just saw her out there,” Samuel said, pointing to the the door he had just entered through. “But-”

“Thanks,” she quickly said, giving him a grateful pat on the shoulder before walking past him in that direction. She paid no mind to how he called after her as she walked through the doorframe.

Her eyes scanned the large living room where most of the students had gathered to talk and drink. It was quite crowded and she almost didn’t see you. Almost.

But there you were sitting in one of those fancy leather chairs, a drink in one hand. But you weren’t alone, not even close. Carla could already feel her face burn up, her neutral expression turning completely sour.

You were sitting in Guzman’s lap so comfortably. You were perched on one of his legs, facing the side. Your own legs were over his and hanging over his lap. Your free arm was draped loosely over his shoulder, your nails digging into the soft skin of his neck. His hands were all over you, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other reaching to squeeze your thigh.

Maybe Carla wasn’t the murderer but in a few seconds she thought she’d become one.

She wanted to pull all of his teeth out just to wipe away his smug smile. You leaned in toward his face as you spoke, tightening your grip on his neck, and when he laughed, Carla felt he was already gloating his victory.

She wanted to slice all his fingers off when his hand began to travel downward from your waist to palm your ass. She nearly groaned when she noticed the skirt you were wearing. She knew that one very well. She knew it was the shortest one you owned from the amount of times her hand had wandered beneath it. You were basically sitting on him with your bare ass out.

And then, for the finale, she would make sure to cut his dick off. She saw the way he adjusted in the seat, slightly moving his hips up into your body. It would have been a miracle if he didn’t have the largest hard-on known to man. But the part that really made her swell with rage was that you could feel it and you weren’t doing anything about it. You were sitting on his dick like you were his girl. She hated to think about what could have happened if she hadn’t arrived at that exact time.

You raised your glass to your lips to take a long sip of expensive liquor. It was the perfect opportunity for Guzman to turn his head and find Carla standing stiffly in the doorway. He almost laughed out loud. The feeling of you sitting in his lap and her jealous glare was so triumphant. His smile doubled in size and doubled in arrogance.

Her eyes narrowed at him, a silent promise that he wouldn’t get the last laugh. If Carla’s blood was boiling before, it was on fire now.

But then, noticing Guzman’s attention had been stolen, you turned as well, instantly finding Carla’s eyes. You could feel her wrath even from across the room and you only fed off it. You were drunk off the feeling of power knowing you had La Marquesa tucked snuggly in your back pocket. It felt so good that you couldn’t help yourself.

Instead of being a simple tease like usual, you gave her a ladylike wave. And then you sent her a polite, friendly smile. It was innocent to the naked eye.

But friendly? She couldn’t bear you. You looked so fake and well-mannered. Two things you definitely weren’t. Especially when you were alone with her.

Carla couldn’t stand you acting like she was just one of your bitchy friends, like there was nothing more between you. No, she was everything for you. She owned you in every which way and she was determined for not only Guzman to see, but for you to accept it as well.

You and Guzman both directed your attention back onto one another although you were very aware of a seething Carla charging toward you. But only when she was at arms length did Guzman see her. He didn’t have enough time to react before she reached out and violently grabbed you by the arm.

“What the fuck, Carla?” Guzman shouted, outrage painting his face.

She was squeezing so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming, but you refused to go without a fight. You tugged your arm back and gave her a condescending glare.

She was done with your bullshit. She pulled your arm, twisting it in such a way that you spilled your drink all over the white rug.

“Carla!” You scolded. Her aggression surprised you a little. She always kept it classy in public, not a hair out of place. It seemed you had pushed her over the edge this time and you were enjoying it a little too much.

Carla didn’t speak but gave you the coldest look you had ever received from her hazel eyes. She looked ready to kill and you silently wondered if you would be Las Encinas’ next victim. You didn’t really mind as long as she fucked you first.

Deciding you had been difficult enough, you allowed her to take the glass from your hand and place it on the table. With another tug of your arm you were letting go of Guzman and sliding off his lap. He protested but you didn’t acknowledge him. He had finished his duty of keeping you warm until Carla rescued you.

In a blur you were weaving through the crowd, wobbling on your heels at the pace Carla was dragging you at, and then climbing the stairs. Carla opened the first door on your right and pushed you inside. You immediately recognized it as Guzman’s room.

You stumbled into the large room from the force of Carla’s shove, eventually losing your footing and falling onto the soft carpet. On all fours, you peeked over your shoulder to see Carla slam the door behind her.

But she didn’t move toward you. She just watched you, one hand still on the door knob and the other moving to sit on her hip. Now that you were alone, the look in her eyes was a bit less violent but still intense. She looked hungrier than ever.

“God, you look so much better on your knees,” she said, her eyes shamelessly devouring you. “Looking up at me.” Her lips twitched upward, reminiscent of a smile. These were the moments she enjoyed the most.

You pushed your hands off the ground and sat back on your knees. You gathered your hair on your far shoulder, giving Carla a better view of your long neck and devilish eyes.

“But I leave you for one second and you’re out there riding his dick in front of everyone like his little slut,” Carla hissed. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth a couple times and shook her head disapprovingly, scolding you like a child.

You mocked her attempts to chastise you with a condescending laugh.

“Don’t be jealous that his dick is bigger than yours,” you said, looking over your shoulder to show your shit-eating grin.

She didn’t seem to take your comment lightly as her jaw noticeably clenched and her grip on the door knob tightened.

“I would watch what you say, princesa,” she said, tilting her head. Even if she was the Marchioness’ daughter, she had always called you royalty. The title fit you too well. “Things will only get worse for you later.”

She took a confident stride toward you, enjoying the way your smile slowly diminished. Images flashed behind your eyes of what “later” could possibly be.

The feeling in your stomach was so strange. You hated being dominated by anyone, but for some reason, when it was Carla, you felt an uncontrollable pulse between your legs. You were practically begging her to shut you up.

“I don’t care how big his dick is. I know he can’t fuck you how you like it,” she said, taking another teasingly slow step.

“That’s not what I was saying last night,” you said, that aggravating smirk returning. “Actually, it was right here, on his bed. You should have seen it, Carla. I was just begging for him to go faster, deeper.”

You imitated yourself, letting your head fall back and rolling your eyes into the back of your skull. You balled your fists at your sides, gripping onto imaginary sheets.

Carla’s next two strides were quick and put her right behind you. She dug her nails into your scalp and fisted at your hair, violently pulling your head back even further so you were looking directly up at her looming figure. You released an involuntary moan at the sudden pain, stretching your hands out behind you to brace yourself.

“I fucking warned you,” she said, her other hand cupping your chin to angle your face even further back. Your mouth slightly hung open at the sight of her. “But that mouth of yours gets you into all kinds of trouble.”

“And this mouth,” you started, voice strained by the way your neck was bending backward, “took his whole fucking dick,” you said with a sadistic smile. "Every inch."

That was the final nail in the coffin, her expression morphing into one of red hot rage

Your hand instinctively flew to the back of your head and a shriek left your lips when she pulled you up by your hair. She dragged you once more, this time to the bed, and tossed you toward it face first.

You quickly turned onto your back, leaning back on your elbows while Carla stood over you. She placed her hand on your bare midriff, the skin between your top and waistband, before she climbed onto you, straddling you with her thighs.

Both of her hands quickly moved to wrap around your throat, instantly crushing your windpipe and causing you to drop flat on your back. Her slender fingers felt comfortable there as you wheezed pathetically for air, her nails digging into the skin for good measure.

“Not so tough now, are we?” She hunched over you, ass up, as she brought her face so close to yours. She grinned like a maniac. If someone had walked in right then, they would have thought Carla was trying to kill you.

“You know he showed me all those fucking pictures you sent him,” Carla said, steadying the pressure on your neck. “The pictures meant for me. And in that fucking red set.” She scoffed at you, shaking her head. “You wanna be his cam girl? His pornstar?”

You threw your head back as your eyes began to roll into your head for real this time. Pain never felt so good as you felt yourself pooling under your skirt.

“Fine. Then I’ll treat you like it,” she said, one of her hands leaving your throat to grope your tit through your shirt. She moved her face downward, leaving a trail of warm breath against your neck, eventually finding your collar bone. She looked up at your twisted expression as she roughly bit down on your skin, earning a strangled noise from your throat. She smiled into your flesh before sucking on the spot mercilessly.

It was like torture as she made it a routine, moving her lips downward each time she bit and sucked your skin raw. You felt the blood rushing to where her teeth gnawed your skin, forming pigmented bruises. She never tired of hearing the shaky breath you released each time.

When her lips had chased your skin all the way down to the neckline of your top, she was quick to grab the hem with both hands. She pulled the top over your head with your cooperation, leaving you braless and bare beneath her. She exhaled a long, satisfied sigh.

“All for me, huh?” Her eyes shifted from your face to your chest and back up again. Still trying to catch your breath, you couldn’t give her a response. She sinfully laughed, basking in the sound of muffled music and your relentless heaving, before her lips wrapped around your nipple.

You groaned low when her teeth grazed the sensitive skin, your hands molding into the back of her thighs. Her other hand mimicked her mouth on your unattended nipple. You knew she always loved twisting, yanking, and rubbing your tits until you squealed and squirmed.

Eventually her mouth moved onto the smooth skin of your breast, marking you up yet again. You rolled your eyes, wondering where this sudden obsession had come from. She always liked to keep you clean and free of noticeable hickeys. You didn’t mind the change but you were beginning to grow impatient with the foreplay. She had given so much attention to your top half you just wished she would give something to your bottom half.

“My god, Carla, could you be any slower? At least he fucked me in the end,” you said in a raspier voice, pulling on the skin of Carla’s thighs.

Carla rolled her eyes back at you, momentarily detaching her mouth from your chest.

“So fucking loud,” she mumbled, speaking more to herself than you.

She wasted no time stripping her hand from your tit and pushing two fingers past your lips and into your mouth. She was content when her fingers slid in with ease and pushed down your throat. You didn’t mind sucking on her like a popsicle as she pulled them out and then pushed them a little deeper. Her lips quirked upward as she absorbed the sight before her. Each time her fingers disappeared into your head she could feel the spot between her legs heating up.

“Good girl,” she said, gently holding your cheek with her other hand. She leaned down to give your chin an appreciative kiss. “Bet he couldn’t go that deep,” she said following a particularly rough thrust. She chuckled lowly, not breaking eye contact.

She returned to your tits only for a few more seconds before pulling her head back to view the entire, perfect sight of you. The hickeys were already beginning to darken on your skin leaving you perfectly bruised and battered. That plus you bobbing on her fingers was a beautiful scene. One that had to be shared.

She pulled her hand from your mouth tantalizingly slow, allowing the saliva to create sticky strings between your lips and her fingers. She eyed them curiously, slowing her movements to prolong the strings before they broke. Then she carelessly rubbed her fingers across your chest and down the valley of your breasts, leaving a visible trail of spit in her wake.

“What a pretty slut,” she said, her eyes devouring you like a piece of meat, enjoying the slightly tired look in your eyes. She made you feel unusually small. “I wonder what Guzman would think.”

Without missing a beat, Carla reaches for her back pocket and pulls out her phone.

“Carla,” you whined like a child, turning your head to the side, and burying your cheek into the sheets. You were never camera shy but this moment of vulnerability was different. If you had known this was her intention all along then maybe you wouldn’t have let her fuck you up so badly. No one was ever meant to see you like this. No one but her.

“Come on, you didn’t have a problem sending him those pictures. What’s a few more?” she said while petting your cheek. She held the phone above you, just out of reach, where she could capture the entirety of your bare top half.

She hums in satisfaction watching your sweaty body under the lens. Your hair is cinematically sprawled across the sheets while the saliva coating your lips, chin, and chest shines under the dim lighting. Your neck is slightly red from Carla’s ironclad grip and your chest is adorned with darker shades from the excellent work of Carla’s teeth and lips.

“He’s gonna cream his pants when he sees this,” she says, sucking her lips into her mouth. She was getting a little too anxious looking at you. “Smile, cariño,” she says, her own grin decorating her face. She grabs your chin and forces you to look up at her and the camera. Your eyes are barely open but it doesn’t matter.

She snaps the picture before you can even react.

“Gorgeous,” she says, letting her free hand trail gently down your neck. She intentionally presses her fingers into a particularly sensitive spot, eliciting a groan from your lips. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Carla,” you whine once more, throwing your head back in frustration and further imprinting your nails into her thighs. You hated how much she was ruining your plans. Guzman was just meant to be a distraction while Carla was supposed to make you cum all over her fingers. Instead, Carla was slutting you out to Guzman and you were nowhere near cumming.

“Shut up. You did this to yourself,” she said, her hand gliding past your chest and scratching your stomach. “You should have never sent him those pictures.”

Both of her hands move to the waistband of your skirt while still clutching the phone. She’s harsh in the way she rips the skirt down your thighs, creating some friction between the clothing and your skin. She slightly adjusts herself and bends your knees to fully remove it, leaving you in just a pair of lace panties.

She presses her palm against your clothed pussy and only laughs in yet another mockery of your state.

“Good god, you’re just dying to be fucked dumb, huh?” she says, beginning to palm the wetness that seeped through your panties. She situates herself in between your legs, allowing you to push your knees further outward, helping to aid the aching feeling inside you. Her sly smile widens, glad to have broken your hard exterior. “Already spreading your legs? You’re too easy.”

Her fingers push your panties aside and dip into your soaking pussy. She refuses to give your clit any attention as she swipes her fingers against your slit. A throaty sigh pushes its way past your lips, your hands finding solace cupping your tits.

“D’you want me to take this off for you?” she says, tugging at the waistband of your panties.

You hum in agreement, looking up at her through your eyelashes.

“Then ask nicely,” she demands, her eyes straying from your pussy to stare at you expectantly.

You can’t help but groan irritatedly. She knows how much it hurts your ego to ask nicely for anything, let alone this. She thrives off making you feel the worst before making you feel your best. You push away your pride in hopes of feeling that sweet release.

“Please, Carla,” you plead rather dully, breaking eye contact in a forced attempt to get what you want.

“I think you can do better. Look at me and tell me what you want,” she says, leaning her face down toward yours, forcing you to meet her eyes. She brushes her thumb against your clit for some encouragement. It seems to work as you let go of any last bit of dignity and look straight into her.

“Please, Carla, just fuck me. Take it off and fuck me with your fingers.”

The hidden desperation in your voice clicks something into place. You swear you see her eyes light up as she instantly obeys, removing your panties in a flash, leaving you completely naked beneath her. She moans loudly at the sight of your bare pussy, pushing her hair back so she has the perfect view. You spread your legs a little further, enticing her to reach out and feel you.

She does, now pressing her thumb roughly into your clit, and reveling in the starved noise you make. She watches the muscles in your face tense as she rubs consistent circles against your clit, enjoying each element of your expression. All the sucking and biting and teasing had already made you a swollen, soaked mess. It only made toying with you even more fun.

Carla gradually sped up her slow movements, earning increasingly louder squelches from your pussy and increasingly louder moans from your wet lips. She could feel her own panties dampening from your distraught noises.

“You even sound like a pornstar. Fucking whore,” she says, as your hips slightly buck up in pleasure. “You want me inside of you?”

“Please, please, Carla,” you beg, every sign of the brat you once embodied having faded into oblivion the second she laid fingers on your pussy. “Fuck, I need you inside of me so bad,” you say in one breath, practically moaning your words.

“Fine,” she says, slowing the rotations on your clit. You watch her rub your pussy with one hand and hold the phone above you with the other. She points it directly at your entrance. “Be a good girl for the camera, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for your response as she slowly begins pushing her finger into your hole. You can only assume she’s recording as your back arches off the mattress, feeling her slender finger dig so deep inside of you. The pleasure is almost instant when your pussy consumes her entire finger and you release a guttural moan.

“You say he fucked you but you’re still so god damn tight,” she says, her eyes darting between your pussy and the phone screen, making sure she’s capturing the perfect angle. Her exaggerated laugh rubs salt in Guzman’s wound. “Hold your legs up, baby. I want to see all of you,” she says. You immediately obey, grabbing under both your thighs and pulling your knees up to your chest. “That’s better.”

Another moan leaves your lips, feeling the stretch more intensely with your legs spread even wider. She takes it as a sign to pull her finger halfway out and then push it back in, slightly deeper. She does it agonizingly slow, building a steady wave of pleasure. She repeats herself, once, twice, three times, pushing in and out of you at a deliberate pace, leaving you a whining mess. You lose count as you grow impatient, wishing she’d thrust into you like a mad man as she had done many times before.

“Please, Carla, faster,” you beg, opening your eyes to look down at her. She moves the camera up your body, capturing your raised legs, bouncy tits, and blissed out expression.

“Sorry, what was that?” she teases, smirking behind the phone, forcing you to be louder for the video. Her attempts to soothe you with her thumb on your clit are futile.

“Faster, fuck me faster, please,” you whine, throwing your head back, hopefully out of view of the camera.

She doesn’t necessarily oblige but she does add a second finger when she pushes into your pussy again. You moan louder at the slight stretch, your insides twisting into a tight knot. She curls her fingers delightfully at the end of the thrust, only making the feeling even stronger.

She puts the camera directly over your face.

“Open your eyes, cariño,” she says. You listen, looking up at the camera, hoping she’ll reward you for following her command. “Who’s fucking you so good?”

When you don’t respond immediately, she prompts you by driving into you a little harder.

“You,” you instantly moan out, your hips chasing her hand. You fight the urge to shut your eyes

“Who?”

“You, Carla,” you moan when she curls her fingers sharply, staring into the lens. When you notice her pick up speed with her thrusts, you begin repeating her name like a prayer, hoping it’s the key word.

“Who makes you feel good inside?”

“Who makes you squirt all over the sheets?”

“Who do you belong to?”

The answer is always “Carla.”

She’s still not fucking you nearly hard enough but it’s faster than how she started. You feel your pussy throb and her fingers hit the right spot each time. Your tits are slightly shaking as she increases speed while your spine forms a permanent arch. You allow yourself to be as loud as possible in hopes of pleasing her, in hopes that she’ll let you cum. All the while she captures each godly move of your body and her fingers.

But eventually, after what feels like a lifetime, she ends the video. She throws her phone across the room and smiles down at you.

“The only thing that will be as good as fucking you is seeing his face when he opens this video,” she says, her hands leaving your pussy to cup your face. She leans down and attacks your lips with a devastatingly smooth and wet kiss, her starved lips moving intensely against yours You can barely reciprocate with the delicate state that you're in.

You almost start to complain about the emptiness of your pussy, but she suddenly ducks down, hooking her arms under your thighs and burying her face between your legs.

“If I were you, I’d start praying. Pray to God that I’ll let you cum.”

why am i lowkey feeling guzman and carla threesome??

@hauntedfictionland @mjl877 @underratedax @androgynouscloudenemy @justyourwritter69 @blondetxxz @nessyishere

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magicalqueennightmare · 9 months ago

Text

Trust Me (Pt 3/4)

Rick Flag X Reader

Post Corto Maltese AU

You're getting used to the idea of life in Corto Maltese and starting to think you've found a new normal when Sol and Harley pull the rug out from under you.

You were crammed into the jeep between Cleo and one of Sol's men you recognized from the final fight that day against the soldiers of the old regime of Corto Maltese. His name was Samuel if you remembered correctly. You cut your eyes at him and he offered you a small smile "I'd like to thank you" your brows furrowed in confusion "For what exactly?" he laughed lightly "You pulled me out the path of a bullet and took down two men in the blink of an eye that day. Ma'am you were a force of nature..all of you were. It's an honor to escort you and to welcome you back here"

You couldn't help the shocked laugh that fell from your lips. No one had ever spoken to any of you like that. The task force wasn't exactly ever regarded as heroes..well except for Rick. He was. Was. There was that word again. You found yourself falling into that hole inside of you anytime you realized you had to speak of him in past tense. You realized Samuel was still looking at you so you forced a small smile that you hoped looked genuine onto your face "Thank you but it's an honor to us to be welcomed back into your country. I hope we can help with some of the rebuild efforts and find a place here" he nodded then turned his attention to someone speaking across the radio.

What the hell were you thinking coming here? You weren't a hero. Hell Harley was more of a hero than you and that was saying something. You'd simply fought the way you had that day because the pain inside of you needed an outlet and fate had decided to place quite a few targets into your path. If anything these people should be horrified of being around you.

You closed your eyes as memories of Dubois' face when he'd seen what you'd done to peacemaker flashed through your head. You could feel the blood cooling on your face and hands. Your shirt was stuck to your chest from the amount of blood that had seeped into it and very little of it was yours. It was a mixture of Rick's and Waller's puppet that took him from you. A small part of you had registered that truly that peacemaker was simply only that, a puppet. Unfortunately for him that part wasn't very loud considering the man you loved laid dead a few feet away from you. You'd never even reached for your gun, no Rick had done enough damage to him in their fight you'd been able to take him down with the two knives you carried. When Robert had come looking for you he'd found you sitting with Rick's head in your lap, staring blankly at the bloody remants of what once was peacemaker.

Cleo's hand slipping into yours pulled you back into the present as she gave yours a small squeeze. You gently squeezed hers back and whispered "I'm ok. Just tired from the plane" she nodded "We can rest before exploring with Sol if you need to" You shook your head "I'll get some coffee and food down me and I'll be fine, promise"

She nodded slowly after a moment but you saw Sebastian crawl from her lap into yours so you absentmindely ran your fingers down his back. He was more of a comfort than anything. Maybe Cleo and him could find a rat like him to train? You huffed out a tiny laugh at the thought of an emotional support rat. God, you could imagine Rick's face. He'd probably would've offered to get it a tiny little vest, maybe even a little american flag cap to match his. Probably say something along the lines of "I'm fine with it darlin as long as it doesn't try to get between us when I wanna love on ya"

Your heart ached thinking about him but you knew you had to keep putting one step in front of the other. Dubois and Harley were right about that. You'd had a few dark days. Dubois was a little rougher with his approach and had said "Fuck that. You think I'm gonna let ya roll over and die? Get up" Harley on the other hand had simply said "Come on dollface be the woman he fell in love with. A little crazy, a little angry and very much chaotic" so here you were in the very place you'd faced the worse trauma of your life which was saying so very much because you had to keep moving, not for yourself or even for your little team that had become more like a family to you but for Rick. He'd want you to still be you no matter how much it hurt.

You followed Harley through the house Sol had directed all of you to. It was a four bedroom and had a pool. Perfect for all of you. It was older and needed a little work but nothing you all couldn't handle and Nanaue almost lost his mind seeing the pool. After some debate Dubois annouced you were getting the master bedroom that was on one side of the house by itself. You weren't sure why but when you felt the mattress of the bed you didn't argue, the damn thing felt like laying on a cloud.

---------------

After settling your few belongings she took all of you to her new base of operations. There was houses being rebuilt, the schools, stores and the hospital needed volunteers.Sol stood at the front of the room looking over all of you "We could any of you wherever you're most comfortable. You all have strengths in areas we need"

It was decided Nanaue was going with Dubois to help the construction on a few places while Cleo and Sebastian was going to the school to assist and that left you and Harley with a decision to be made.She gave you a wide grin "Come on babe, you know we can help at the hospital" you scrunched up your face "I dunno Harls. Maybe I should go with Dubois. Nanaue doesn't like listening at times and if he gets hungry and doesn't tell anyone.." she cut you off by grabbing your arm "Nope. You're good with kids, old people, sick people and can bandage people up in a pinch and triage. We're going!"

You knew better than to try arguing once her mind was made so you accepted your fate "Can I get some coffee first?" She giggled when she realized she'd won "I'll even get ya a nice breakfast sandwich to go with it!"

Years in the special forces, numerous missions and many times he walked away when he shouldn't have. So many things that should strink fear in the heart of Rick Flag Jr but the thing he was currently terrified of was seeing the betrayal in your eyes when you realized he was alive and you hadn't known.

"Rick. If you don't take a breath, you're gonna hyperventilate" Marcel spoke, reminding him he was in physical therapy. He was getting evaluated again but he knew you were in Corto Maltese. Sol had come by that morning before going to meet your plane. He nodded but before he could turn his attention back to what he was supposed to be doing the door to the physical therapy room swung open and none other than Robert Dubois walked in. "The dead lives!"

A smile split Rick's face seeing his own friend as he met him halfway across the floor. The two embraced before Dubois pulled back to give him a once over "Looking good for a dead man" Rick shrugged "Been busting my ass man" Robert nodded "I know you have your reasons so I'm not getting into it now but you shouldn't have waited this long to tell her" "Dubois man.." Robert cut him off by raising his hand "I'm not here to bust your balls Flag. She's just a good gal and loves you with every thing she has. I've been there for it. She's gone through hell so no matter what she says, give her time"

Rick's stomach knotted at Robert's words. He didn't like knowing he'd put you through any hell, intentional or not. "Where is she?" he asked in nearly a whisper. "Harley and Sol took her to breakfast" Rick nodded slowly so Robert patted his shoulder "I've gotta go. I left Nanaue at the fountains. I'll see you later, eh?" "Yeah"

Rick watched Dubois leave in a fog. Would you hate him for hiding from you? No. He truly believed there wasn't much he could do to make you hate him but would you still love him like you did before?

After a stop in the children's ward that left your hair rebraided and Harley dubbed the best clown ever you followed her and Sol through the hospital playing with the pink leather bracelet one of the older girls had tied around your right wrist. If those kids could be strong, you could.

"Where are we headed?" you asked as Sol opened the door leading to the stairwell "I need to speak to my cousin Marcel. He's the resident Physical therapist" You nodded absentmindedly. "After that I think we should go to the schoo considering how much the kids here liked Harley" at the mention of her name Harley glanced over her shoulder with a wink "Everyone loves me babe. Ya know you do" "Ya know it"

---------------

You stopped out the PT room and started to lean against the wall but Sol shook her head "C'mon. He wants to meet you two" you forced a smile. "Ok" you pushed off the wall and Harley slipped her arm through yours "Its all gonna be just fine honey" "What do you mean Harley?" You asked and she just grinned in return. You looked to Sol who simply nodded and slipped into the door of the PT room.

You felt like they were hiding something but you trusted both women with your literal life so you let Harley lead you into the room. "Sol, where's your cou..." you stopped mid sentence. Your entire body froze, every nerve ending was dipped in ice water and fire simultaneously. You were stuck to the spot yet your body screamed to run. Fight or flight went into overdrive. Your mind collasped into itself and you barely breathed out one name "Rick?" before you felt darkness wash over you as you fainted.

---------------

Fuck any pain he felt Rick was across the floor and catching you before Harley could turn. A grunt of pain left him as he lowered both of you to the floor, pulling your head against his chest in a recovery postion as Sol ran to grab water and Harley slipped her jacket off to put under your head. Marcel watched everything go down and when Sol cut her eyes at him he shrugged "Now that was some hustle. I see how the hell he's recovered this much this fast. I wish every patient had someone they loved like that"

Sol rolled her eyes then kneeled down next to Rick, gently touching your face as she called your name. When you began to stir it was only then that Rick realized he'd been holding his breath since you'd went down. The first gulp of air he allowed in burned as it went down. "Darlin?" he called gently and when your eyes opened he would've been prepared for damn near any reaction except for the horror that filled your eyes as you scrambled backwards off of him, leg kicking over the water Sol had gotten you in the process as you tried to get away from him "no no no"

----------------

It looked like Rick, it felt like Rick. Fuck, it smelled like Rick but it couldn't be. This had to be a trick. Rick died in your arms. You scambled backwards until your back hit the wall and you felt your stomach lurch as your breakfast fought its way up. You barely made it to the nearby trashcan before it did. You didn't realized you were sobbing as well until Harley touched your back "Dollface" you tensed under her touch "What the fuck is this Harls?"

"It's Flag, I promise" "He died in my arms Harley. His heart stopped bleeding. Peacemaker killed him" sobs wracked your body with every word you spoke until Harley's hands fell away replaced by a touch you thought you'd only ever feel again in your dreams "Dr Vasquez said he nearly did. My body went into a coma state to protect itselt from the trauma"

You couldn't bring yourself to turn and face him, even as he pulled you back against his chest. Even after Sol ushered everyone else out of the room. "So you're telling me I left you there?" you sobbed, body shuddering with the realization. His warm breath hit your ear when he spoke again "Don't do that sweetheart. Don't you dare do that. You thought I was dead. You had every reason to think I was"

You closed your eyes at the familiar rumble of his chest against your back despite the little grunts of pain you could hear him trying to hide under his breath "Why didn't anyone tell me?" You slowly turned to face him and when you looked up into those hazel eyes the sobs that had slowed began to wrack your body all over again. Rick pulled you against his chest "I'm not the man I was darlin. I'm still healin. I was a lot worse, I didn't want you to have to handle that."

"Handle that? Rick, I've been losing my mind. I thought you were dead. Do you know what that did to me? What losing you felt like?" tears began to flow freely from his eyes as he pulled you tighter against his chest, a gasp of pain leaving him from the action "You hurt yourself from catching me" he kissed the top of your head "It was worth it"

You pulled back to look up at him and you really noticed the differences. The purple circles under his eyes, how the corners of his lips were drawn tight which was a tell that he was hurting and trying to hide it. Hell, his posture alone screamed he was in pain. You were hurting from not knowing, your heart breaking again for him not having faith in your love for him but you had to push that down to take care of him now. You noticed your fingers shaking as they traced his jaw.

"I wish you would've let me be here for the worse but I'm here now. We'll talk more later. Where have you been staying?" he grimaced slightly "Marcel's guest room" you nodded "I'm assuming you know Sol gave the team a house?" he nodded so you half smiled "I have the master bedroom which has a big kingsize bed which is heavenly soft. I am exhausted because I haven't slept more than an hour at a time since the night before..."

He placed a kiss on your forehead when you trailed off, his hands resting on your hips. "You wanna go get some sleep? Then maybe we can talk?" He gave you a weaker version of one of those smiles that had always made your knees weak "I'd love nothing more" you smiled "You need to get something for pain first" he laughed lightly as you leaned up to place a gently kiss on his cheek "Yes ma'am"

@princesssunderworld

#rick flag x you #rick flag x y/n #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag imagine #rick flag x reader #suicide squad fanfiction #dc fanfic

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theegoldenchild · 10 days ago

Text

Chapter Nine: Plucked Angel Wings

No one said a word on the way back to the north field. The car was soaked in silence. Not a soft or peaceful kind of silence. This silence had a weight to it. It had a sharp tension that lived in the space between their bodies, riding along with them like it was a fourth passenger. This was the kind of silence that hummed with all the things they couldn’t or wouldn’t say. At least not right now.

Sera sat in the backseat, the wind danced gently against the hem of her slip, but she didn’t bother tugging it down this time. Her hands were laid neatly in her lap like the epitome of meekness, but her shoulders were stiff and her eyes were heavy-lidded as she stared out at the trees blurring by. She tried to clear her mind but mentally she was still in that parlor, standing in front of her father with shame clinging to her like a second skin.

Smoke drove quickly trying to get Sera away from her childhood home before reality set in. His jaw was tight with his muscles ticking every time the car hit a bump in the road. The brim of his hat casted a shadow over his face, but the typhoon behind his eyes still flickered visible in the rearview. Beside him, Stack sat with one elbow draped out the window, jaw clenched and lips pressed in a hard line. Every few seconds he glanced at Sera through the mirror, then turned to glare at the road like it had personally offended him.

When they finally pulled up to the juke joint, the sun had begun to lower, casting a deceitful halo across the land. The Devil’s Tongue stood like a beast half-awake. Its windows yawned open and its walls hummed in anticipation of the night to come.

Smoke killed the engine with a short twist of his wrist and he was out the car before the rumble even settled, feet hitting the ground with purpose. “We need kerosene foe’ the porch lanterns. I want ‘em all lit by nightfall.”

Stack stepped out slower, stretching long like a cat ready to pounce. “On it.”

“We also need more nails,” Smoke continued, already listing things as he walked toward the porch. “Bar boards loose, back door hinge crooked again. Bring extra, just in case.”

“Already saw that.” Stack popped his knuckles and leaned against the car with a lackluster expression.

“Two jars of peach, four of apple, and don’t let Bo give you that watered-down batch again. I want the good stuff.”

Sera quietly opened the back door, slipping out onto the dry grass barefoot, her toes curling against the warm earth. She stood quietly behind them, listening to the rhythm of their conversation like a girl listening to thunder from a far-off storm. Her voice came soft. “Can I go?”

Smoke stopped mid-step. He turned slowly, brow raised before examining his woman. “Go… where?”

“With Stack,” she said, lifting her chin just slightly. “Into town. I… I just wanna ride with him. Get out for a little bit.”

“No.” The word left his mouth hard and final without a second thought.

Her face fell for just a moment. Barely a second. A brief flicker of something vulnerable and small passed over her features before her eyes shifted downward. The corners of her mouth tugged into a subtle pout that disappeared almost as soon as it formed. A reflex, quickly swallowed. Because Pastor Samuel had taught her early: gratitude, not complaint. Anything else earned pain.

So she caught herself, forced a gentle smile, and looked away. “I understand.”

But Smoke saw it. All of it. That little twist of her mouth, the way her shoulders tensed, how she blinked like she’d just stuffed the hurt down into some hidden part of herself where it wouldn’t bother anyone. And it hit him like a lethal punch.

Stack had seen it too and was first to speak up. “She just wanna ride,” he said, pushing off the car. “Ain’t like she askin’ to run off an never come back. Let her breathe a little.”

Smoke didn’t answer at first. Just stared at her, jaw working, eyes dark with concern. “She needs rest.”

“She need a fuckin’ distraction,” Stack rolled his eyes and shot back. “She need to remember the world don’t start and stop at that man front porch.”

Smoke looked at him, quiet. Then back at Sera. Her eyes met his. She looked a little afraid, but not of him. No, what he saw in her face wasn’t fear of punishment it was fear of overstepping. Of being too much. Of asking for something and being told she wasn’t allowed to want it.

He let out a breath, slow and steady then turned to Stack. Smoke spoke in a hushed whisper only his twin would hear it. “You let anythin’ happen to her… don’t bring ya ass back here.”

Stack didn’t blink. “Ain’t nothin’ gon’ happen to her.”

“You keep her by ya side. You speak for her. You fight for her if someone so much as breathes wrong in her direction.”

Stack’s voice dropped. “You know me. You know I will.”

A few seconds passed with the twins finishing their conversation in a silent exchange of expressions. Then Smoke gave a single nod, his voice rough with the weight of it all. “Be back by sundown.”

Stack tipped his head toward Sera. “Well, my little dove,” he drawled, opening the passenger side door, “you feel like causin’ a scene at the general store?”

Sera smiled, it was faint but real this time, and she slid in beside him. Her yellow slip raised just slightly above her knees as she settled into the leather front seat. As the engine roared to life again and the car rolled off into the setting sun, Smoke stood in the doorway of the juke, hands stuffed in his pockets as he surveyed the land. His eyes flicked up just long enough to catch hers. And when they did, he gave her the smallest smile. Go on. Be soft for a while. You deserve it.

She turned and focused on the road in front of her. And behind her, The Devil’s Tongue hummed with anticipation, waiting for night to fall and sins to begin.

The drive into town was awkward. Very… Very awkward. Ever so often Stack glanced at Sera beside him in the passenger seat. She hadn’t said much since they left the north field. She sat with her knees touching and her hands tucked under her thighs while she sat on them. Why she was sitting on them, he couldn’t figure out and assumed it was something church kids did. Her eyes were fixed on the open road and her carrot colored curls swayed gently around her face from the breeze streaming in through the open windows.

That thin yellow slip she wore clung to her thighs and shifted with every bump in the road. He could still see the faint flush on her skin from the sun, his little chocolate strawberry. Every time the breeze hit her just right and made her shiver, Stack had to bite down on his tongue to keep his thoughts from wandering too far.

He hated the silence. Especially when it was her silence. So he did what he does best and spoke.

“Y’know,” he started casually, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, “after the war, me an Smoke took a lil’ time away. Ain’t come straight back to Clarksdale. We needed space. Air. Some’ new.”

Sera blinked slowly, glancing at him out the corner of her eye.

“We ended up in Paris for a while,” Stack continued, voice easy now, rolling smooth like a story he’d told a few times before. “City of lights and lust. Nothin’ like Mississippi. Music on every corner, folks drinkin’ in the mornin’, laughin’ at night. And the women—” He gave a low whistle. “Lord. Women smelled like lilac and honey, wore dresses so fine you could see their souls through the seams.”

He grinned at the memory, not noticing how Sera shifted slightly in her seat.

“Me an Smoke?” he chuckled. “We was trouble. Tall, foreign, bold. Had ‘em eatin’ outta our hands. We ain’t go a single week without breakin’ a heart or slippin’ out a window come mornin’. We was—”

Sera had heard enough and turned her face away, suddenly facing the window fully, her untamed curls shielded her expression. Her back stiffened just slightly, a silent withdrawal that spoke louder than anything she could’ve said.

Stack trailed off mid-sentence and his grin faded when he realized what he had done. Shit. He cursed himself silently. Nigga, are you stupid? He didn’t even mean it like that. He wasn’t bragging, he was just talking, trying to fill the air and trying to get Sera to relax again. But he had said too much.

He reached over, his hand light on the wheel. “Hey… dove?”

She didn’t respond.

“Sera.” His voice lowered. “Seraphim. Look at me.”

Still nothing.

The silence returned in the car and it was colder now. Sharper.

He stared at her side profile—delicate and a puzzle he would spend an eternity trying to solve. Then he tried something else. A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, laced with mischief and something else unspoken.

“I thought you was the obedient type,” he taunted, just loud enough to cut through the wind. “All quiet and sweet. Yes, sir. No, sir. But now look at ya. Turnin’ your back on me like I ain’t nothin’ but a story you don’t wanna hear.”

She turned slowly then, just her head. Her amber eyes fixed on him—no longer soft. “You tell on yaself’ talkin’ too much,” she said, her voice calm but laced with a sharp edge. “And I ain’t ‘bout to fight ova’ no ghost in Paris when I’m sittin’ next to the man who brought it home.”

Stack blinked. The words hit him low and square in the gut. Then a primal urge sparked inside of him and lit up behind his eyes like a struck match. It wasn’t rage or pride, it teetered on the edge of lust.

Without warning he pulled the car off the road with a sudden jerk, tires kicking up a swirl of dust as he turned onto a narrow side path under a stretch of pecan trees. The C.R. Patterson slowed to a stop beneath a cluster of drooping branches, cicadas stopped buzzing to hear what would happen next.

Sera looked at him, confused now. “Why are we—”

“I can’t let you talk to me like that and just keep drivin’.”

Stack’s voice sounded like hunger dressed in silk. A crooked grin twitched at the corner of his mouth as he looked at Sera, fully now, elbow slung over the back of the seat. His espresso colored eyes dragged over Sera’s face, her lips were swollen and her chest rose and fell a little quicker than before.

“You know what you said?” he asked, tilting his head. “That little line… ‘ain’t bout to fight ova’ a ghost in Paris…’” His voice dipped deeper, smooth and deliberate. “You knew what that would do to me.”

“You think I’m just gon’ let you sit there… drippin’ in sunlight, all smug and sharp-tongued… after walkin’ around all day in that little slip…” His gaze slid downward, and when it returned to hers, it was nearly black. “…with no drawers on?”

Sera’s cheeks flushed instantly. Her mouth opened, maybe to plead her case, or maybe to scold him for not helping her find her other dresses and underwear earlier, but nothing came out.

Stack didn’t wait for a response. His hand moved, slow and sure, placing itself heavy and warm on her thigh. She gasped softly, her hips shifting without meaning to, breath catching as his fingers splayed wide over her deep auburn skin. He didn’t rush the movement or grope her. He just rested his firm palm on her thigh, thumb brushing in soft and mindless circles right above her knee.

Her skin buzzed beneath his touch.

“You ain’t denyin’ it,” he murmured, voice pitched like molasses poured slow. “You been sittin’ in that passenger seat, no panties, no protection, lettin’ the wind kiss places only me an Smoke ‘posed to see… touch… lick.”

His fingers crept higher. Barely an inch. Sera swallowed, throat bobbing, and turned her face away, but not before he saw her mouth tremble.

“You wore this just for us, didn’t ya?” Stack continued, eyes on her lips. “Didn’t say nothin’ when your dresses disappeared. Didn’t even look too hard for ‘em. You wanted to sit pretty in this lil’ thing. You wanted us to see. You wanted the world to see what belong to us.”

His hand moved again and crept up higher. He dragged his fingers upward beneath the hem of her slip, leaving a trail of goosebumps along her thigh. He didn’t reach her heat yet and he stopped close enough that she could feel the promise of it in the air between them.

Stack leaned in, his mouth close to her ear now, voice velvet and full of dominance. “You act like you mad ‘bout Paris,” he whispered, “but I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout them like that… You the only woman I been obsessed with in a long time, little dove. I’d kill for you. I’d do anythin’ for you… And if you let me… I’d do anythin’ to you.”

Sera’s chest rose sharply. He could feel her shiver beneath his hand. He could smell the heat rising off her skin. She turned slowly to face him with her eyes wide and amber-bright. Her breath was shallow and yet—when she finally spoke, her voice was steady. Quiet but firm. “You keep talkin’ to me like that Mr. Stack… then ya’ need to prove it…”

Stack froze. His hand stayed right where it was half-hidden beneath her slip but everything else went still. Then, slowly, his mouth curled into a grin. Wide, dangerous, and wild.

“Goddamn,” he whispered. “There she is.” He kept his hand still on her thigh, thumb now tracing slow, torturous circles just below where her slip barely covered her.

“Keep that mouth on ya, dove,” he muttered, voice thick with want. “I wanna see what it sound like when I got you beggin’ and still tryin’ to sass me.”

Sera swallowed, unsure what she’d lit inside him with her little remark but she felt it now, crawling up her spine and curling low in her spirit like a match held to oil. She didn’t speak again and could barely breathe. Her thighs pressed closer together, but she didn’t move his hand. If anything, she leaned into it just a little. Her eyes blinked slowly like she was somewhere between prayer and surrender.

Sera showing a glimpse of her bratty behavior she has never let anyone see only to revert back to her submissiveness with ease, stroked something deep in Stack. Something territorial he hadn’t tapped into in a long time. She didn’t even know what she was doing to him, sitting there like that. So sweet and moldable.

Stacks fingers slid higher until his knuckles brushed against that sweet treasure he couldn’t get enough of. Sera was a gushing mess between her thighs. “You been sittin’ next to me like this,” he rasped, the pads of his fingers ghosting over her folds, “wettin’ up my seats...”

Sera whimpered and she clenched the edge of the seat with both hands, white-knuckled, but still didn’t stop him.

Stack gritted his teeth.

Sera’s thighs quivered reflexively as he dipped between her folds, slow and adorning, parting her with fingertips that moved like worship. “You don’t even realize what that does to a man… Why you ain’t tell me?” he quipped, dragging his thumb gently over her swollen clit—once, twice—just enough to make her hips twitch, just enough to make her head fall back against the seat in a silent plea.

Sera whined, a delicate, breathless sound. Her knees fell open just a bit more. “I was tryin’ to … b-behave,”

Stack let out a broken laugh and pushed a singular finger into her barely explored opening. “You think this is you misbehavin’?” he breathed, voice thick with hunger. “Baby, you don’t even know what misbehavin’ looks like.”

Her body bucked as his finger pushed in and out while his thumb circled that aching little bud, slick and sensitive, coaxing her higher and higher. Her legs trembled. Her breath hitched in sharp, quiet pants. Her mouth dropped open, lips glossy and soft, like a prayer half-formed. She was close. She was so close.

When she felt the swirling of pleasure in her lower abdomen her hands shot out. One grasped his forearm, the other flew to her mouth as her thighs began to tremble harder, her back arched and her belly tightened.

Stack watched every twitch, every moan trapped in her throat, every shudder of her slick folds around his knuckles. And then… he stopped and pulled his hand back.

Sera gasped like air had been stolen from her lungs. Her body jolted in confusion, in loss, and half-climbed pleasure. Her desperate eyes flicked to him, glassy and betrayed.

Stack leaned close, his hand gripping her jaw, fingers curled against her cheek, thumb resting right below her bottom lip. “I ain’t finished with you,” he said, voice low, raw, shaking with restraint. “But if I go any further, Smoke gon’ put a bullet in my back.”

Sera’s thighs continued to shake. Her breath came in soft whimpers. She was still riding the edge, half-lost in the sensation of being touched like that—almost undone, but not quite. And that was worse than anything else.

Stack’s eyes burned into her, hand still firm on her jaw. “You and that fuckin’ sassy lil’ mouth…” he whispered, mouth brushing the corner of hers but never kissing her. “You gon’ be the death of me.”

Then, slowly, he reached for the gearshift with his clean hand, turned the key and the engine roared to life as the car jerked forward onto the gravel path, leaving the shade of the pecan trees and the scent of her still lingering in the air behind them.

Sera sat in silence, hands flexing in her lap trying to come down from her pleasure high while the thump between her legs rumbled louder than the rattling engine.

The Patterson creaked beneath them as it rolled over the last stretch of dusty road just outside of town, golden light streaked through the trees and caught in Sera’s curls like fire spun from wool. The air outside was still thick and humid, but inside the cab, something else hung between them—hotter, tighter… needier. Stack’s knuckles gripped the wheel like a vice. He hadn’t said a word since pulling away from that patch of pecan shade, where Sera’s thighs had trembled under his hand and he’d left her teetering on the brink of release. He wasn’t staying quiet because he didn’t want to say anything, but because if he opened his mouth now, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

But Sera? She couldn’t keep her eyes off Stack. He tried to not glance her way but he could feel her eyes on him. Like heat prickling along the side of his face, crawling down his neck and lingering low in his gut.

He kept his eyes on the road and didn’t look her way. Not when his dick was still rock-hard beneath his trousers, thick and pulsing, restrained by a willpower that was cracking with every second she stayed silent and flushed beside him.

What he didn’t know was that Sera was staring at him like he was something she couldn’t figure out. Like he was something she shouldn’t want, but did. The tight knot he’d left her with had only grown as the seconds ticked by, her core pulsed angrily between her legs, making her fidget in her seat every time the road dipped or the car jolted. Her eyes fell to his hands. Veins raised underneath his bronze skin, the grip he had on the steering wheel taut and commanding. His brows were drawn, his jaw tense, but his lips… those sinful, cruel lips… were parted just slightly, like he was trying to stay calm.

The longer she looked, the faster the words slipped out before she could catch them. “…That wasn’t fair.” The words were barely louder than the whisper of wind through the window.

But Stack heard them. He blinked and cut his eyes towards her. “What?” he asked, low, like a warning. Almost as if he was daring her to repeat herself.

Sera stilled. Then shook her head quickly, eyes going back to the road. “Nothin’.”

But it was too late. Stack had already turned the wheel, hard. The Patterson rumbled off the main road again, bouncing into another clearing just before town. Tall grass parted under the tires as the car rolled to a stop behind an old oak tree that leaned like it’d been listening to secrets for decades.

Sera sat stiffly, staring at the windshield, her chest rising and falling too quickly to be calm.

Stack didn’t speak right away. He just turned toward her slowly, the heat of his gaze slithering down her neck like a touch. “What wasn’t fair?” he asked, patience fraying at the edges.

Sera pressed her thighs together, lips trembling. “You touched me like I was yours, got me right to the edge… and just stopped.” Her voice cracked halfway through, half-shame and half-accusation.

Listening to her vocalize her frustrations, Stack’s manhood jumped in protest beneath his belt, as if her words alone stroked it. He leaned in close to her while ignoring the nagging voice of Smoke playing in the back of his mind. “You think that was easy for me?” he muttered, his hand rising to brush the edge of her jaw. “You think I wasn’t two seconds from pullin’ you out this car and puttin’ you on your knees to fuck every smart word outta that pretty little mouth?”

Stack exhaled hard, like the war in his mind had reached its boiling point. Then he reached for her. Hooked his hands around her hips, firm and possessive, and lifted her. She gasped again as he pulled her across the bench seat and settled her directly into his lap, her knees bracketing his thighs, her body straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her heat met his hardness and they both shuddered. The thin fabric of her slip clung to her back like it was painted on, already damp from her sweat. Stack’s hands settled low on her hips, thumbs dragging slow circles just beneath the curve of her plump ass, guiding her closer.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice husky against her neck while biting down and marking his territory. “You feel how hard I am for you?”

Sera nodded shakily, her fingers gripping his shoulders as her body quaked over him.

“You hurtin’ still?” he asked, one hand drifting to her thigh, squeezing it gently.

She didn’t speak, she just nibbled on her bottom lip with a look that expressed how needy and overwhelmed she felt. He took her by the hips and rolled her forward. Just enough for her breath to catch sharp in her throat as her soaked center dragged over the hard length of him, still shielded by the linen of his pants but the pressure was exquisite.

“Keep doin’ that,” he growled. “Go on, dove.”

Sera nervously looked at Stack and whimpered but did as told. Shakily, she began to roll her hips, grinding herself along the length of him, letting the ridge of his rod press against her folds through the fabric. Her slip rode up her thighs, bunching around her waist, her bare heat dragging over the rough texture of his trousers. Every movement set her body on fire. Every stroke brought her closer to that edge again. This felt different from when she grinded against Smoke. This felt more scandalous… like she was truly having sex…

Stack groaned deep in his chest, head tipping slightly back against the seat. “Fuck, you so perfect like this… makin’ a mess all over me…”

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as her rhythm grew frantic and she rolled her hips in a desperate motion. If any other woman rocked their body against Stack in such an amateurish manner he would have laughed in her face and pushed her off of him. But watching Sera ‘take control’ and work herself to her peak the only way she knew how had him falling deeper in love and lust.

Her slight trembling started to turn into a full body convulsion as the slow burning ember inside of her sparked into a wildfire. “I-I’m close—”

Hearing her announce her impending orgasm flicked an old dusty switch in Stack’s brain. For a moment he forgot where he was and who he was dealing with as his eyes turned crazed and libidinous. He cupped the back of Sera's neck and pulled her forehead to his, before grunting through clenched teeth, “Don’t you dare finish yet.”

The way he spoke to her made Sera halt her movements mid-swivel while gritting her teeth to contain her whimpers. He held her there, quaking and slick and flushed, her body burning from the denial once again.

His lips brushed hers torturously close. “You got the nerve to mouth off in my damn car,” he whispered, voice like a threat wrapped in velvet. “Now look at you… grindin’ against me like you ain’t ever learned how to beg proper.”

Sera didn’t understand the push and pull Stack was putting her through and whined while blinking back tears of frustration and need. “I just… wanted to f-feel it…” she moaned, voice barely audible.

She bit back tears before hiding her face in the crook of Stack’s neck. Her body vibrated in his hold like a leaf in a storm. Her voice cracked when she continued. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, I didn’t mean to sass… I just wanted to feel that warm thing again. The happy thing. In my stomach.”

Hearing his woman cry from her sexual frustration was enough to snap Stack out of his trance and bring him back to the present. He wasn’t back west dealing with one of his dolls. He wasn’t halfway across the world commanding a woman who didn’t speak the same language as him. No, he was here in Mississippi with a delicate redheaded angel sitting on his lap in need of care and attention.

Stack swallowed hard, guilt and heat slamming into his chest at the same time. She wasn’t just needy—she was hurting from the denial. That deep ache she didn’t know how to soothe. That frustration lodged beneath her skin like a splinter. “Shhh… shhh… it’s okay, dove,” he cooed, running his hand up her spine. “You gonna break my fuckin’ heart, talkin’ like that.”

Sera shifted in his lap, just slightly. Enough to rub her soaked folds along the ridge of his dick, and Stack hissed low through his teeth. “I’ll help you finish, baby,” he rasped, voice thick and apologetic. “I got you. You ain’t gotta beg for nothin’. You already did.”

She looked up at him, lashes wet, lips parted, and shook her head in understanding.

“Then move for me,” he whispered, guiding her hips with both hands. “Take what you need.”

Sera whimpered as her hips began to rock again, slowly grinding down against him. The friction was rough and perfect. Her slick folds dragged over the thick bulge in his pants, the texture of the fabric adding just enough pressure to make her thighs quake. She gasped, her head falling back as her body found the rhythm, instinctive and sweet.

“That’s it,” Stack breathed, eyes fixed on the spot between them where her body moved against his. He imagined what it would be like when he could finally slide deep inside of her. “Keep goin’ pretty girl. You ride me just like that.”

Her movements grew faster, messier. Her slip clung to her, rising higher with every motion, exposing the full curve of her hips as she chased that feeling… the one he’d promised.

Stack slid one hand up, cupping her jaw, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “You feel it?” he asked, voice low and reverent. “That buzz deep down?”

She nodded frantically, hips bucking harder. “Yes—yes—E-e-Elias, it’s comin’ again—please don’t stop me—please—”

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he groaned. “You let go, baby. You take it. That warm feelin’ is yours. You deserve it.”

Her whole body shuddered. Her thighs clenched around him. She moaned loudly as her belly tightened. And then her orgasm crashed through her like lightning beneath her skin. Her hands flew to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. Her mouth dropped open in a soundless cry, and her hips bucked against him with helpless movements, grinding through the release until her slick flooded his lap and her body gave out completely.

Stack held her while she came undone with her chest heaving, thighs quivering, fiery curls damp and wild around her flushed coco brown face.

He rocked her gently even after she went limp, stroking her back with one hand, his other still firm on her hip. “You feel better now?” he whispered against her temple, his voice a little broken. “You still wanna cry?”

Sera shook her head weakly, eyes glassy, her lips barely forming the words. “That felt like sunlight,” she whispered. “Like it bloomed inside me.”

Stack closed his eyes, jaw working as he pressed a kiss to her damp curls. “Sunlight, huh?” he muttered. “You gon’ ruin me… my little sunshine.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t rush her coming down. He just held her.

In the quiet of that sunlit clearing, the pressure was finally gone from Sera’s body but Stack’s dick was still painfully hard in his trousers and he still stayed still for her. Because Stack didn’t just give an orgasm to his woman, this was a revelation to what Smoke had been trying to preach to him. Sera isn’t ready for that side of him to come out and he would need to learn patience until her mind and body clicked as one.

Starting the car up once again, Stack silently drove as the sun kissed the sky ahead of them. Sera still kept her eyes on Stack but this time her look was filled with gratitude and longing. The scent of him still clung to her skin, cigarettes and vanilla. Her body was warm, relaxed, but still tingling with the aftershocks of what had happened. The desire had finally faded, but a new, quieter need nestled in its place: the need to be close to him.

She sat quietly in the passenger seat, watching his profile. The strong line of his jaw. The way his hand rested loose on the wheel, fingers twitching every now and then like he was still trying to calm himself down. His hardened gaze was fixed on the road, but she could feel how aware he was of her—of every little shift she made, every glance.

Stack didn’t speak anymore to try and fill the silence. Not when his manhood was still screaming at him from his slacks, his lap soaked with the remnants of her pleasure, and his thoughts racing like devils on fire. He’d meant to keep his hands clean, meant to listen to Smoke and leave her untouched… but the moment she sassed him he fell back into his old ways. He hadn’t even let himself finish. Didn’t want to… at least not like that. He understood now that Sera was too new to this even though her body seemed ready for more.

They rolled into town just as the last hour of golden light stretched over the dusty rooftops. Main Street buzzed with activity. Women in worn dresses haggled at produce stands, kids tossed bottle caps near the well, and a few old men leaned against the porch of the hardware shop, sipping lemonade with suspicious eyes.

Sera followed Stack like a shadow. Quiet still barefoot, and still wearing only her slip. Stack made a mental note to stop and purchase her some clothes. Can’t have the SmokeStack twins woman dressed like a woman of the night… at least not in public.

Stack crossed off Smoke’s list quick:

Wicks.

Kerosene.

Extra nails.

Two jars of peach, four of apple.

Heftier rope. Just in case.

Their final stop was Bo’s. A tin-roofed shack tucked behind the butcher’s smokehouse. The walls were warped from age, and a wooden sign swung above the door with faded red letters: BO’S. That was it. No description needed. Folks knew who he was.

Stack pushed the door open with his shoulder. A small brass bell clinked overhead. Inside, it smelled of old tobacco, metal, dried blood… and peaches. “Grab us some fresh ones,” Stack told Sera gently, nodding toward the crate near the side window. “Check ‘em good. No bruises. We need sweet ones for the bar.” Sera nodded obediently, moving off toward the fruit while Stack approached the worn wooden counter.

Behind it stood Bo—same old Bo from the war days. Thicker now, face lined with years of sin and schemes, his suspenders stretched over his chest, a toothpick clamped between his teeth.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Bo grinned, eyeing Stack like a fox spotting a bloody chicken. “If it ain’t one of the Devil’s sons.”

Stack cracked a small smile. He leaned against the counter with one arm, casting a glance toward Sera, then back to Bo. “You get that shipment in?”

Bo nodded once. “Came in this mornin’. Quiet-like, just how you like it.” From beneath the counter, Bo retrieved a black satchel wrapped in cloth and tied with a thin leather cord. He set it down gently, like it was worth more than gold.

“Finest jade I’ve seen in months. Smooth finish. No seams. From Suzhou, far side of China. I got the usual trinkets, plus a couple specialty cuts… if you’re lookin’ to train someone.” Bo’s brows lifted meaningfully. He nodded toward Sera.

Stack’s smirk dropped and his jaw tensed. “Don’t.”

Bo held up a hand, chuckling. “Now now, don’t get hot. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Just heard rumors, is all. Seraphim got that look. Wide eyes. Walk like she ain’t used to the way her thighs feel. She that preacher daughter after all and y’know what they say ‘bout those kind of women.”

Stack leaned in close enough that Bo could smell the heat still radiating off him. “You let my woman name pass through your teeth one moe’ time, I’ll rip that cigarette out ya’ mouth and put it out in ya’ eye socket. You understand?”

Bo blinked and his grin slipped for a moment. Then he gave a slow, respectful nod. “Ain’t mean no harm, Stack. Just a habit, y’know me.”

“I do know you,” Stack muttered, snatching the satchel and sliding it into the inner pocket of his coat. “And I know you run ya damn mouth too much when business get slow.”

Bo cleared his throat, adjusting his belt. “Fair enough. But uh… got somethin’ else came in with the shipment.” He reached into a small crate behind the counter and produced a dark glass bottle with a paper label written in hand-brushed script.

“Oil. Light. Smells like lavender. Warms with skin. Meant for… untended women. Girls who ain’t been opened before.”

Stack’s brows twitched. Everything and everyone was pushing his buttons today.

Bo shrugged. “Thought maybe you’d want somethin’ to help keep her from bruisin’. You don’t need to break her. Just shape her.”

Stack didn’t respond at first. Then, cautiously, he took the bottle and rolled it between his fingers. It was warm already, just from the heat of the shop. Smooth. Expensive. He didn’t say thank you, he didn’t need to. He just gave Bo a nod and tucked it away before turning to where Sera stood near the peaches, nose buried in a crate of the ripest ones.

“Find somethin’ sweet?” he asked.

She looked up, holding one peach in both hands like it was a treasure. “This one’s soft… but not bruised.”

Stack smirked. “Perfect.” He tilted his head to the door. “Let’s go, sunshine. We got a juke to open and a hell of a night ahead of us.”

By the time they made it back to the north field the sun was flirting with the horizon. The juke joint stood tall in the distance, its barnwood frame glowing red in the dying light. Smoke was outside waiting, one hand holding a cigarette that burned low between his fingers and the other resting on his pistol. He didn’t look pleased. As soon as the car rolled to a stop, his eyes locked onto the windshield like a hawk spotting movement in the brush. Sera shifted in her seat, suddenly aware of every wrinkle in her slip.

Stack stepped out first and didn’t even bother opening his door as he effortlessly hopped over it.

Smoke didn’t move. “Y’all were gone too long.”

“Yeah?” Stack grabbed the bags from the back seat with more force than necessary. “Well, maybe if you gave me a list that ain’t run the length of a sermon, I’d be back sooner.”

“Don’t start with me, Elias.”

“I ain’t startin’ nothin’, Elijah,” Stack snapped, tossing a box of lantern wicks toward Smoke’s chest. Smoke caught it with a grunt. “Here. Kerosene. Rope. Wicks. Whiskey. The goddamn peaches. Everythin’ you asked for’ an more.”

He shoved another bundle at him, the bag with the clothes he bought for Sera barely avoiding the dirt.

Smoke caught it with a confused frown, studying his brother. “What the hell crawled up your ass?”

Stack didn’t answer. He brushed past Smoke without even a glance, boots crunching dry grass as he stormed toward the back of the juke. “I got her some clothes,” he yelled over his shoulder. “You get her dressed.”

Smoke’s eyes flicked from Stack’s back to the open passenger door, where Sera now stood timidly beside the car, hands wringing the hem of her slip.

“What happened?” he asked, voice sharp with suspicion. “What’s wrong with him?”

Sera blinked, face warm. She looked up at him with big, nervous eyes. “He… got mad at me after we left Bo’s… said he had to… um… piss.”

Smoke narrowed his eyes. “He got an attitude like that ‘cause he need to take a piss?”

She nodded—too quickly.

Smoke tilted his head, jaw clenching. Something wasn’t right. Stack never acted like this unless something deeper was simmering beneath the surface. His brother could act the fool, but this wasn’t just impatience. This was something else. Then he saw it. A faint bruise, just above Sera’s collarbone. It bloomed like a pressed violet against her chestnut skin, small, fresh, and unmistakably shaped like a mouth.

Smoke’s gaze hardened. The cigarette burned down to the filter in his fingers.

He let out a long, slow breath through his nose and looked skyward. “What the fuck did he do to you?” he muttered, voice tight, “I fuckin’ told him...”

Sera shifted her weight around on her feet. She was unsure about what she did wrong but felt the need to try and explain. “We—he didn’t do anythin’ he said he had to—”

“Quiet,” Smoke cut in, his voice soft but steely. “Don’t talk yet.” He flicked the cigarette into the grass, eyes never leaving hers.

“I told him to give you space,” Smoke grumbled, more to himself than to her. “Told him you needed time.”

Sera looked away, her cheeks burning. The silence between them thickened like cold grits. Then Smoke held open the back door of the juke joint without another word. “Get inside,” he said, low and even. “Now.”

She hesitated, but one glance at the tightening in his jaw told her better. She walked past him, slip brushing against her thighs, still damp from earlier. Her shoulder grazed his chest. He said nothing.

But his eyes didn’t leave the blooming bruise on her neck. And as she disappeared into the darkness of the juke, he exhaled again—slow and dangerous—and whispered to the wind, “Stack better pray I find a reason not to kill him ‘fore midnight.”

The door to Smoke’s room creaked softly as it swung open, the last of the evening light bled across the wooden floor in long, orange fingers. Sera stepped in first and walked to the center of the room, uncertain if she should sit, speak or move. Smoke entered behind her, his boots thudding against the floorboards like punctuation marks to his silence.

He didn’t say anything and walked to the trunk at the foot of his bed before dropping the bags Stack had thrown at him. Then, without a word, he knelt beside them and began to sort through the contents. Everything was there like he said, including a pile of neatly folded dresses and on top of them, gleamed a short satin dress.

Smoke picked it up between two fingers. It was the color of dark wine. Deep, silky, and the fabric whispered between his calloused fingertips as it unfolded. Thin shoulder straps. A low-cut bodice. Slit high enough to start trouble. His brow furrowed in confusion. The fuck was this?

He turned toward Sera slowly, dark brown eyes cold as ice beneath the low shadow of his brow. “You pick this?”

Sera hesitated and her mahogany cheeks colored red, but she didn’t look away. “Yes sir… all of them,” she said softly. “I picked all the dresses. Stack just… paid for ‘em.”

Smoke held her gaze for a moment longer, trying to read beneath her answer. But there was no guile in her eyes. No lie trying to hide. Only a strange, quiet pride. He hummed low in his throat—somewhere between a grunt and a sound of reluctant acceptance. He folded the dress and set it aside.

“Grab the basin,” he said, rising to his feet. “You need a quick wash ‘fore the crowd shows.”

Sera blinked. “I can do it—”

“I know you can,” he cut in, walking past her toward the back shelf where the tin pitcher rested. “Didn’t say I was lettin’ you.”

She stood still for a moment, watching him pour water from the jug into the basin. Steam curled from the surface like he must’ve set the kettle on earlier, out of habit. He moved with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. Because he had. Back west, he and Stack had taken in girls too bruised to lift their own hands. They cleaned them, dressed them, taught them how to walk again like women and not shadows. There was no shame in the task. He didn’t do it because he wanted to show them softness. He did it because of responsibility and ownership.

Smoke didn’t look at Sera when he spoke again, voice low and matter-of-fact. “Take off ya’ dress. Stand by my bed.”

Sera’s breath caught. But she did as she was told.

She peeled the yellowed slip from her skin, fingers trembling slightly as she folded it over the back of a chair. Her bare feet tip-toed across the floor, and she stood beside the bed completely nude with her spine straight, cheeks flushed, and arms hanging at her sides. She didn’t try to cover herself.

Smoke approached with the cloth and basin. His eyes roamed over her, slow and clinical. He didn’t leer. Didn’t smirk. His face stayed unreadable as he did a quick scan for any other marks on her body. He dipped the cloth in the warm water and wrung it out. Then he began. His hands were warm, the cloth gentle as he dragged it across the back of her shoulders. Down the nape of her neck. Across the fine line of her spine. He moved without haste, without shame—each stroke washing away sweat, dust, and the lingering touches of his brother.

He said nothing when he reached the small of her back. Nothing when her breath hitched as he wiped the backs of her thighs. He just kept going. Like this was a ritual. Something sacred. Something hers.

After a few minutes, he set the cloth aside and dried her skin off. “Arms up.”

Sera listened as he helped her step into the deep wine-colored satin dress. It slithered over her skin like it remembered her from a past life. Smoke adjusted the straps with the precision of a man folding napkins before war all quiet and focused. The fabric hugged her hips and slipped low over her chest. It made her look wild. Like a storm waiting to break.

Smoke stepped back and let his eyes rake over her frame. “You wearin’ this tonight?” he asked, voice slightly cracking with disbelief.

She looked down at herself, smoothing the fabric. Then up at him. “If you say I can.”

That made something flicker in his gaze. Not lust. Not even approval. Possession. He reached out and brushed a thumb under her chin, lifting her face slightly. “You have my permission… but if you ever lie to me again ‘bout my brother…” he trailed off trying to find the right words.

Her heart thudded. “I—”

He leaned in, real close. “I ain’t Stack. I don’t like guessin’. I know things. I see what you don’t say. So next time, tell me the truth ‘foe I have to piece it together myself.”

Sera stared at Smoke with frantic eyes and raised her typically soft spoken voice. “I didn’t lie!”

He was taken aback by her tone and studied her from under lowered lids, the weight of her honesty still circled the air like fumes from a slow-burning fuse.

He finally spoke. “Walk me through the trip to town. All of it.”

Sera’s lashes fluttered, and she drew in a breath like she had to pull it up from her knees. “Well… we drove into town like ya’ asked. We went to all the stores includin’ Bo’s. Stack told me to go pick some peaches while he talk to him.”

Smoke gave a slow nod, eyes narrowing slightly. “You hear what they talked ‘bout?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. I was out by the crates. I didn’t hear nothin’.”

“Alright. Go on.”

“Before that, we went for the rest of the things on the list. Kerosene. Some more nails. An before that in the car… Stack was quiet at first, but then he started tellin’ me a story. Story ‘bout Paris...”

Smoke’s jaw twitched, but he stayed silent.

“He said you two went after the war. Talked ‘bout drinkin’ an dancin’ an women throwin’ themselves at y’all like y’all were in a picture show. He was smilin’ real wide, like it was somethin’ worth braggin’ on.”

Sera shifted where she stood, biting down on her bottom lip. “… I ain’t like it.”

Smoke let out a low grunt that could’ve meant anything.

Sera pushed forward, voice soft but steady now. “I ain’t know why at first. But somethin’ twisted in my belly, and I mouthed off. Told him I didn’t wanna hear ‘bout them ghost. Then I turned in my seat and stared out the window an didn’t say nothin’ else.”

She looked up briefly, her eyes catching Smoke’s like two wires brushing together. “That’s when he pulled over.”

Smoke blinked, but didn’t interrupt.

“He leaned over and started teasin’ me. Got close. Said I was actin’ out ‘cause I didn’t know what to do with what I was feelin’.”

The tip of Smoke’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. He still didn’t say a word.

Sera’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of the satin dress. “Then he got back on the road. Drove for a while. I kept feelin’ worse. Not ‘cause of what he said, but ‘cause I—I didn’t know what to do with the ache he caused.”

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I started cryin’. Not loud, just little tears. And he asked me what was wrong. I told him… I just wanna feel that happy feelin’ again. That warmth.”

She looked up again, eyes round and honest. “So he pulled me on his lap. Real gentle. Didn’t do nothin’ rough. Just helped me feel better. Held me while I rocked on his lap… Like how I did with you... He didn’t even… he didn’t take nothin’ from me.”

A long silence followed. Smoke backed away and sat on the edge of his bed. He placed his elbows on his thighs and stared at the wood grain in the floor like it held answers. Then he exhaled and dragged a hand over his face. “Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered. His body shook once. Then twice. Then he broke into a low, incredulous laugh.

Sera blinked and stared at Smoke with a puzzled expression.

Smoke looked up, still chuckling, more out of relief than humor. “I thought he’d done gone and knocked the halo right off ya head. Thought that son of a bitch couldn’t keep himself in check long enough to keep your first time sacred.”

Sera flushed deeply, looking at her feet. “Oh…”

“But he didn’t,” Smoke continued, voice calmer now, almost thoughtful. “He didn’t take what wasn’t his. Didn’t rush you past your own pace. Just… helped you through it.”

He leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Damn,” he grumbled, eyes to the ceiling, “almost killed my twin for nothin’.”

Sera stayed quiet, her fingers frozen around the hem of the dress.

Smoke looked at her again, the sharp lines of his face softening just slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice steady now. “For snappin’ at you. You ain’t do nothin’ wrong. You told me the truth. And he… he did better than I expected.”

Sera blinked again, caught off guard.

“And he ain’t mad at you…” Smoke added. “That man just pent up. He probably didn’t want to finish what he started ‘cause he didn’t wanna deal with me. And now he’s off somewhere out back, tryna’ burn off the edge ‘fore he walks into a room full of liquor and sinners.”

Sera’s mouth parted, but she didn’t know what to say.

Smoke stood then and grabbed her shoes. He knelt and set them beside her feet without asking. “You put these on,” he said, voice rough like the sole of a match before the spark. “Then you stand by me tonight. Doors open in ten. If you so much as blink at another man too long, I’ll knock out his teeth ‘fore he can smile back.”

“Yes, sir,” Sera whispered. The words left her lips without hesitation now. They felt natural. Right. Like learning how to breathe in a new way.

Smoke reached up, adjusted one of the satin straps on her shoulder with surprising gentleness. His fingers brushed her skin, lingered just a moment too long near the hickey on her neck before pulling away.

Then he looked her in the eye and said, quieter now, “Stack care ‘bout you. I care ‘bout you. We possessive, and we don’t like sharin’ what’s ours… even if it’s ’tween the both of us.”

He swallowed hard, like it cost him something to say the next part. “Please have grace for us when we mess up. An’ we gon’ remember to do the same with you.”

Sera’s breath hitched in her throat. That wasn’t a line. Wasn’t smooth-talking or manipulation. That was a man standing still in front of a storm and asking it not to swallow him whole.

“I will,” she said, barely audible. “I ain’t tryin’ to make things harder,” she said, soft. “I just… I don’t always know what I’m doin’. Or what I’m feelin’. But I’m tryin’ to figure it out.”

“You are perfect, my love,” Smoke said immediately. “You doin’ just fine.”

And then something shifted.

It was the way she looked up at him with her heart wide open. The way the light from the window kissed her high cheekbones. The way that damn dress clung to her like it was made specifically for her. It was all of it, tangled together and tightening around his heart like a vice. Before he could second guess it, he cupped her face. Rough palms. Warm skin. Thumb brushing beneath her bottom lip like he was memorizing the way she held her expression.

Sera gasped softly but didn’t pull away. Then his mouth was on hers. This kiss was full of warning and promise. It felt like a man who had seen war and ruin and still chose to find something worth living for. His lips moved against hers with purpose, one hand drifting to the small of her back, pressing her close like he needed to feel the whole length of her body to remind himself she was real. Sera clutched his shirt without meaning to, fingers twisting into the thin fabric as her knees threatened to give way.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, their foreheads nearly touching. “Don’t let me scare you,” he whispered. “I ain’t gentle, but I’m true.”

“You don’t scare me,” Sera breathed, lips still tingling. “But you did just make it hard to think straight.”

Smoke chuckled, low and smoky. “That’s the idea.”

They stayed like that for a beat longer. Just breathing the same air.

Then Smoke stepped back and cleared his throat, already pulling his jacket on. “Shoes on. Hair fixed. You at my side when we open that door.”

Sera slipped her feet into the shoes with shaking hands, but her chin was a little higher now. Her eyes brighter. “Yes, sir,” she said again, steadier this time.

Smoke didn’t say it aloud, but the look he gave her said everything. That’s my girl.

Authors Note: Stack wanted to be hard headed now his head is hard 🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️

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