famouslyanonymous

[famouslyanonymous]

[famouslyanonymous]

Bambi ~ Part two

series masterpost here pedro pascal masterlist

a/n: you've been waiting for this for a long time, thank you for your patience!!! and also all the love you've been giving this fic! i hope you enjoy this chapter, there's more darkness to come 👀😈

mentions: post-outbreak / apocalyptic setting, dubcon/coercion themes, blood mention, obsession/possessiveness, power imbalance, reader is above 18, naive reader (soft/innocent/inexperienced), fingering, joel watches, non-explicit violence & threats, gun use, manipulation & emotional control, possessiveness, praise kink, possible other kinks, punishments,, “daddy” kink, shared reader (Joel x Reader x Tommy), pet names (Bambi, sweet girl, good girl, our girl), domestic elements turned dark, mental confusion & emotional overwhelm, morally gray to fully unhinged dark Miller brothers

Reader discretion strongly advised. Dark themes throughout. Minors DNI ❌ This is a work of fiction and does not reflect healthy or ideal relationships!!! 

Do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own. 

⟡━━━ ✦ 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗳𝗶𝗰 ahead ✦ ━━━⟡

Tommy acts like it’s not a big deal around you, but it upsets him. Joel pretends nothing is wrong, as if he didn't break the agreement they had about you. Not even a week had gone by since they found you. 

Tommy tried to get near you, talk to you, or spend time alone with you, but Joel had been sticking close to you, lending you his clothes, marking you, showing you things, giving pleasure that Tommy wanted to give you as well. He can’t undo what Joel did, he can’t go back and undo that moment, but he wished he could show you he could do the same and even more. He’s not demanding, but he’s aching to be chosen as well, wanted. 

Joel is always there, he’s cooking you food, carving you figures, murmuring things when he thinks Tommy isn’t around, or maybe does it on purpose. 

Tommy sees all of it and it hurts him more than he’d like to admit, of course, he’s too good to voice any of his trouble. He tries to tell himself he isn’t mad, this isn’t your fault, god you’re too naive, too sweet to know what his intentions are, what Joel’s intentions are. You just let yourself be guided, shown affection and fall into the bear trap that easy. He tries to reassure himself, you’re here now and it’s not like you’re going anywhere. There’s still time for you to get closer to him, to want him. But every second that passes, every day that goes by, he’s afraid you won’t want him at all, only Joel. 

One afternoon, he’s outside working by the shed. He’s chopping logs both for the fire and to get the steam off him, let all his anger out. His shirt sticking to his body, his forehead trinkles sweat and his hands are full of dirt and rough. 

It’s quiet in the shed, allowing him a peace of mind. 

He hears your footsteps, the leaves rustle and crunch under your boots, his. The only thing that belongs to him. They’re somewhat big on you but you don’t mind, they keep you warm at all times. But when he looks up, your shirt belongs to Joel, your shorts probably do as well. Everything is too big on you, he reminded himself to find you more suitable clothes the next time he was outside the perimeter. 

He looks up from the log and notices your eyes full of curiosity. the way you observe his hands, the logs, the shed and the things inside it.

You don’t say anything, just look around. 

When your eyes meet his, he notices you want to ask something. 

He shifts the axe in his grip, your notice quickly notice his action. 

“Want to help, Bambi?”

Your eyes flick to the wood, then back to him.

“I don’t know how.”

He shrugs. Smiles. “That’s alright. I’ll teach you.”

He says it softly, without pressure. But inside, his chest is tight.

You nod, walking toward him. He steps back, lets you closer. The sun catches on your hair, and his fingers ache to reach for you.

“Here,” he murmurs, picking up a smaller piece of wood, “just hold this steady while I—yeah, just like that.”

Your fingers brush as he adjusts your hands. You look up. He’s already looking down.

And for a second— It’s just the two of you.

No Joel. No jealousy. Just you this moment. 

You hold the log steady with both hands, kneeling in the grass like you’re focused, but Tommy can see your mouth parted just slightly, your brows knit with effort.

And you’re close now. Too close.

He swallows hard and kneels beside you, guiding your hands just a little, just enough to feel the shape of them. Calloused fingers wrapping around yours.

“You’re good at followin’ directions,” he says, voice low beside your ear.

You glance at him, lips parted like you’re not sure if that was praise or something else entirely.

He smiles—crooked, warm.

“Means I can teach you whatever I want,” he adds, quieter now.

Your breath catches.

He leans forward, hands on either side of the wood, arms boxing you in—but not touching. Just close enough. His warmth seeps into your skin.

His eyes flick to your mouth.

You don’t move.

“Can I…?” he asks softly, leaning just slightly forward.

You don’t say anything. You just look at him. And that’s enough.

He kisses you. Careful, restrained. Just his lips against yours—no pressure, no demand. Waiting.

You freeze at first, unsure. But his mouth is so soft, so warm, so different than Joel’s—and then your head tilts, and you mirror him.

Mouth parting. Breathing him in. Your hand rising to rest lightly against his chest.

His grip on your waist tightens just barely.

And the kiss deepens.

You feel it—the hunger under the surface. The need. The way he holds it back just for you.

When you finally pull away, your eyes are wide, lips swollen.

He’s already looking at you like you hung the goddamn stars.

You're both quiet after working in the shed. The sun’s lower now, golden through the trees. Tommy wipes his hands on a rag and looks over at you, who’s still looking around the space, the tools. 

“Thanks for helpin’,” he murmurs, voice rough and warm.

You nod. “It was nice.”

He offers his hand to take you and you give him a soft nod before taking it. He shuts the shed door and walks back into the cabin.

Joel is waiting sitting at the table, the rifle behind him leaning on the back of the chair. He had just gotten back from patrolling and found the cabin empty. 

He sees the shift in your face. The softness. The glow. And he knows he kissed you. 

The tension is clear, cutting through the cabin like a knife. Tommy turns to you, his hand in the small of your back, thumb rubbing against the fabric of your shirt.“Why don’t you go shower Bambi, yeah? You’ve been touching a lot of dirt and tools.”  

“Uhm, okay Tommy” you nod and offer him a small smile before disappearing down the hallway. Now it’s just the two of them in the living room. 

“You kissed her.”

Tommy sets his jaw. “Yeah.”

Joel steps forward. “We said we’d both take care of her. You’re takin’ her for yourself.”

“I am? You’ve been glued to her since the first night.”

Joel’s voice rises. “I found her, Tommy. You didn’t even trust her.”

Tommy snaps, “Because she was a stranger, Joel. We’re not livin’ in some sweet fuckin’ world where trust comes easy. I was protecting us.”

A beat.

Tommy breathes through his nose. Softer now.

“Not anymore, though. We know her now. What she’s like. And we both said it—we liked her. Wanted her around.”

Joel looks away for a second. Then back at him.

“So what? We split time? Take turns?”

Tommy glares. “You really think she’s a toy?”

You step into the main room wrapped in a big towel, hair damp and skin flushed from the steam. You pause at the sound of voices—raised, then quickly hushed.

Joel’s standing near the kitchen. Tommy’s by the couch. Both their faces are too stiff, too calm.

You blink. “What’s goin’ on?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, but he forces a smile. “Nothin’, Bambi. Don’t worry ’bout it.”

Tommy adds, more lightly, “Just patrol stuff, sweetheart. Nothin’ for you to worry about.”

You hesitate. The air feels strange—thick and heavy.

“Is everything okay?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, baby. Just tired.”

Tommy’s already sitting, stretching one arm across the back of the couch. Then he pats his thigh with a small smile.

“Come sit with me?”

You pause. Then walk toward him slowly.

He helps you settle into his lap, guiding your bare thighs over his jeans. You shift awkwardly, towel slipping a little, and he hums, adjusting you just right, wrapping an arm around your waist, firm but gentle.

“There,” he says, voice low. “S’nicer like this, huh?”

Tommy’s hand rubs slow circles on your thigh as you settle deeper into his lap. You’re still warm and soft from the shower, towel bunched high on your legs, hair dripping down your back.

He leans in, lips brushing your temple.

“Had a good shower?” he asks, low and sweet.

You nod, relaxing into his chest.

“Yeah. Water felt nice.”

Tommy hums, pleased. “Good. Gotta keep you taken care of, Bambi.”

Joel doesn’t say a word.

He’s sitting stiffly on the armchair across from you, elbow on his knee, hand flexing once, then again. His gaze is locked on where Tommy’s hand rests against your bare thigh, thumb stroking the inside absentmindedly.

He doesn’t blink.

You glance up, innocent and soft-spoken:

“Joel… you okay?”

His jaw clenches before he answers.

“Fine.”

But it’s anything but fine.

Tommy knows it. That’s why he grins a little into your hair, hiding it from Joel but not really.

“You sure?” you ask again, tilting your head like a confused baby deer. “You look kinda… tense.”

Joel finally breaks his stare, looks you right in the eye.

“Just thinkin’,” he mutters. “That’s all.”

But you’re not sure why it suddenly feels like the air’s gotten thick again.

Tommy just plants a slow kiss behind your ear like nothing’s wrong at all.

You lift your head slightly and glance across the room.

Joel’s stare is razor sharp.

Your brows furrow gently. “Joel…?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snaps—too fast.

You flinch.

Tommy goes still beneath you.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Tommy lifts his head slowly, eyes locked on his brother.

“You got somethin’ to say?” His voice is still calm. But there’s steel beneath it now. “’Cause you keep lookin’ like you do.”

You try to get up, slow and cautious, like maybe if you move, the tension will go with you.

But before you can shift fully off his lap, Tommy’s arm tightens around your waist. His palm flattens against your stomach, pulling you gently back down.

You pause.

“S’okay, Bambi,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear. “Just stay.”

You try again, a small tug on his forearm, but it doesn’t move.

“Tommy—” you whisper.

“Ain’t mad,” he says softly. “Ain’t gonna yell like him. Just don’t want you runnin’ off when you’re already where you’re s’posed to be.”

Joel’s eyes flick to Tommy’s hand, then to your face.

Your breath is shallow now.

You stay seated. Not because you’re scared, but because something in his tone tells you there’s no danger here.

Just heat. Just claiming. Just… him.

Tommy’s voice hums near your neck.

“Let him be jealous a little. I’ve been patient.”

Your eyes flick to Joel—and fuck, the way he’s staring at you now, tight-jawed and hungry, makes your pulse jump.

“She ain’t a prize,” Joel mutters, but even he sounds unsure now.

Tommy just smirks.

“Nah,” he says. “She’s better. She’s ours.”

Then his thumb drags slowly over your inner thigh.

Joel swallows hard.

You do too.

Tommy’s thumb is tracing little circles into your thigh, warm and slow and possessive. His grip never loosens around your waist. You’re tucked into his lap, towel barely holding on, chest rising just a little faster now.

Joel hasn’t moved—but you feel him across the room.

His eyes are on you.

The silence tightens, thick with heat.

You shift and roll your hips in Tommy’s lap, something you can’t control, it just feels good, your body is calling for you to do that again. Tommy goes still beneath you, his breath stops, his hand freezes before it reaches your cunt. 

Your eyes meet Joel’s, soft and sweet and wide as always. 

Joel fucking moves.

He stands without a word, crosses the room, eyes never leaving yours. He sinks onto the couch beside Tommy—close enough to touch you, close enough to smell the heat still rising off your skin—but he waits. He watches. 

You shiver when Tommy’s thumb brushes your clit, rubbing circles cause you to move on his lap uneasy, the stimulation being too much for you to tolerate. 

Tommy dips his head, mouth brushing behind your ear, his voice low and warm. 

“Too much baby?” he asks softly, and you nod whining. He slows down the movements, and you seem to ease into his lap “‘s okay, baby, 'm gonna go slow and gentle with you.” 

Your towel threatens to come off once again, Joel’s fingers move the fabric that covers your lower body, trying to see what your pussy looks like, despite having seen it himself before. 

Joel shifts slightly, breath hitching at the view.

Tommy doesn’t say anything—he just starts to untie it completely, slow and careful, like unwrapping something precious. He watches your face, waits for the smallest sign to stop.

It doesn’t come.

The towel loosens.

Joel’s breath drags in. Audible.

Tommy eases the fabric open, just enough to let it fall, exposing your chest to the cool air, your thighs to his hands, your whole body to both of their stares.

You don’t move. You don’t even open your eyes.

And that stillness?

It wrecks them.

When Tommy inserts his fingers inside you, you gasp 

Your nails dig into Tommy’s arm as his thrusts get rougher, deeper. You’re whining on his lap, mumbling his name. 

“Doing so good for me Bambi, ‘s okay” 

“You’re such a good girl for us baby, Tommy’s just having a taste of you” Joel adds quietly, his gaze focused on you. 

You turn your head to look at Joel, breathing heavily as Tommy’s fingers work inside you and when you feel the warmth build inside you as you near your orgasm, you throw your head back against Tommy’s shoulder and shut your eyes, trying to relax just like you had done with Joel. 

Your whimpers and moans and the squeaky wet sound of Tommy’s fingers are the only sounds heard in the cabin. Joel watches intensely, not moving at all, letting you two have your moment. He swallows, shoving off any kind of jealousy or fear. If keeping you means learning to share you, he will do it, he will find a way to learn how to do so. 

You come undone in Tommy’s grip, wet skin exposed, the towel is on the floor by now. You stay like that and neither of them move you. Tommy brings his fingers to his mouth and you don’t see it but hear his groan at the taste. “God you taste so sweet, Bambi” 

You sigh. The softest, most broken little sound.

And Joel’s control snaps.

He reaches out finally. Slowly, hand hovering at first, trembling.

Then he touches you.

Just a palm against your bare hip. Warm, calloused. Gentle.

You don’t flinch. You don’t open your eyes. You just let him.

Joel’s fingers stroke up your side, slow and uncertain—until his thumb brushes the curve of your breast, and your lips part in a soft, shaky inhale.

“Bambi,” he breathes. “Tell me to stop if you want me to. Just say it.”

Still, you say nothing.

You just lean slightly into the warmth of his hand.

And Joel—fucking wrecked—lets out the softest groan.

Tommy chuckles low behind you, voice dark and knowing.

“Told you she wanted both of us.”

Joel’s hands cradle your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, then circling—slow and focused. When his fingers pinch the sensitive skin, you hiss, breath hitching, a whimper slipping free.

Tommy watches now.

Quiet. Patient. Letting Joel explore, letting him have that moment while your body arches under his hands.

They lay you down in Tommy’s bed for the night. You’re spent—worn out from the day, from the heat, from the way his fingers worked you open until you were too dazed to speak. He tucks the covers around your naked body and presses a kiss to your temple.

“We’ll be right outside if you need us.”

You hum, already halfway gone.

Sleep takes you before the door even shuts.

Outside, Joel and Tommy stand on the porch. Silent. The cool night air prickling their skin, still humming from what just happened.

Their bond was close. But never this close. Not “fuck a girl in front of you” close. Not “share her body and her trust” close.

This was new. A bond neither of them could name.

It wasn’t incest. They weren’t touching each other. But you were in the middle—soft, sweet, theirs—and they both knew you wanted both of them just as much.

Maybe more.

How long could they keep this going? Could something like this even last?

Only one way to find out.

They come back inside without a word. Each brother disappears into his own room.

Joel lies down alone. The bed feels colder now, quieter like it knows you’re not there. He stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched, fist curled tight at his side. A part of him aches to sneak across the hall, open Tommy’s door, and take you back. But that would break the arrangement once again. And they hadn’t even set the rules yet.

Still, he imagines your sounds—your face, your body—and jerks off in silence. He falls asleep with your name on his tongue.

In the other room, Tommy pulls off his boots in the dark. You’re already curled beneath the covers, soft breaths steady in sleep. He slips in behind you, as gently as he can. His arm slides around your waist, tugging you close. You stir, barely. Your body presses back into his like it’s instinct, and his lips curl into a satisfied smile. He buries his face in your hair and exhales.

This whole thing?

It would need rules. You’d need rules. They both would.

Because sharing something so good, so warm, so sweet, would never come easily.

⟡━━━ ✦ chapter ends here ✦ ━━━⟡

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[famouslyanonymous]

Last Week Tonight With John Oliver, 11x14

[famouslyanonymous]

A Mafia Marriage {Mafia!Oberyn Martell x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16k

Warnings: Modern AU, Mafia AU, arranged marriage, contract marriage, harsh feelings, cancer, verbal sparring, impetuousness, Oberyn is volatile, threats, violence, rough sex, harshness, dominant sex, unprotected sex, loss, death, grief, foursomes, wlw, mlm, oral (male and female receiving), group sex

Comments: Having worked for the notorious mafia family, the Martells, your mother is very sick and you are running out of hope. Until you are summoned by Doran Martell. He will pay for the best treatments and the finest doctors in exchange for one thing. Marrying his brother, Oberyn Martell.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Oberyn Martell MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The Martells are the most powerful family in the city of Dorne. The ability to ruin lives or enhance them with the power, control and wealth they have is immense. They control everything. Nothing happens in their city that they don’t know about and most would never dream of trying to cross the mafia family. The last time that happened, Elia Martell had been killed by the Lannisters and it had sparked a rivalry war that still causes tensions to this day. 

Loyalty means everything to them. Your mother has worked for them your entire life and because of that, you were exposed to things most were not. Living in Sunspear, the large looming tower that the Martell family had built as a symbol of their status. Now, that life is in jeopardy, your mother is sick and you have been summoned by Doran Martell to discuss her condition. 

“Come in, sweet one.” Doran ushers you in with a wave of his hand and you walk in. He gestures to the large chair on the opposite side of his desk and you sit down, wringing your hands together. “How is your mother?” He asks and you bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from crying. 

“She’s good. She’s - she’s not good.” You choke out, tears stinging in your eyes. “She’s- she’s really sick. Stage four breast cancer and we - we don’t have enough money to get her treatment. She has insurance but it’s not enough. They said they’d make her comfortable but we want to fight it.” You reveal, closing your eyes in pain.

Doran knew that the prognosis isn’t good, he’s spoken with her doctors and they believe that the best course of treatment was to keep her comfortable. She has less than six months to live. He taps his desk as he watches you, leaning forward to pull his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and offers it to you. “Then you must fight it.” He decides, knowing that it will be to his advantage to offer this to you. “Your mother has been a loyal member of our household for many years. We will cover the costs of her treatment and care. Hiring the best doctors and nurses.” He pauses. “If you will do me one favor.” Your eyes open, full of hope, ready to do anything and he delivers his demand. “You must marry Oberyn.”

You stare at him in shock for several moments before you laugh, your head shaking as you think about Oberyn Martell being married. The man is infamous for his liaisons with men and women across Dorne. He doesn’t want to settle down and you certainly don’t want to marry a man who can’t keep it in his pants for more than a day. “I don’t want - no. I don’t - why me? He is with Ellaria.”

“Ellaria has no interest in taming some of Oberyn’s….wilder proclivities.” Doran hums. “My brother is quick to fight, easily goaded and offended. You…you are sweet. Gentle.” He presses his finger tips together with his elbows on his desk. “You can temper that nature, I know you can.” You look doubtful, but he knows his brother and despite his insistence that he would never settle down, he would with you. “Marry my brother and your mother will have everything she needs and more. Hopefully to live a long and healthy life. If unsuccessful, you will have the security of being a Martell. Having our family to lean on.” 

You should say no. You should storm out and tell Doran you’d never marry his brother even if your life depended on it. But it’s not your life that depends on it. It’s your mother’s. You swallow harshly and nod, “fine. I’ll marry him. Does he - does he know?” You ask, curious if the man knows about this arrangement. Doran smiles, “he’s fully on board.”

****

“What the fuck are you thinking? Marrying me to that - to that mouse.” Oberyn growls at his brother when he storms into his office. Doran sighs and taps his fingers on his desk, “Oberyn…you need to calm down.”

“Absolutely not. I told you I was never marrying.” Oberyn reminds his brother, temper flashing in his dark eyes, making his swarthy complexion even deeper. The grey that is starting to thread through his hair doesn’t distract from his attractive, yet harsh, features and Oberyn still fights and fucks like a man half his age. Doran sighs. “As head of this family, I have the right to demand you marry, anyone I choose, remember?” He shrugs slightly. “I choose her and you will do it.”

“You want me to continue doing your dirty work? My dear brother, never getting his hands bloody. I do all the hard work. Killing who you order since you cannot. Yet you sit behind that desk and order me to marry a woman I don't want. She’s a mouse. She’s - she’s boring.” Oberyn growls and Doran shakes his head, “she will calm you. She will be good for you. If you do not marry her…I will disinherit you. No properties. No cars. No money. You’ll be out in the cold. You’re volatile. We cannot afford another war with the Lannisters, yet every day you take us closer to it.”

Oberyn hisses angrily at his brother, knowing that he could call his bluff, but the risk to his daughters would be too great. The Sand Snakes do not deserve to have their lives upended. “Marriage will not change me, brother.” He snorts, waving his hand dismissively. “Arrange the affair, the poor girl will be bored out of her mind as I continue to do exactly what I wish.” He turns around and strides from the room confidently as he gets the last word.

Doran shakes his head, knowing his brother is a hard nut to crack but he will try. He wants his brother to settle down before he takes over when Doran steps down. After the car accident, Doran ended up in a wheelchair and he knows he will not be able to lead the family when his body fails him.

****

“Don’t worry, mom.” Holding her hand, you rub the back of it gently, wondering if it’s just your imagination that her skin feels brittle. “Doran has agreed to pay for all the treatments.” You smile, hiding the anguish that you are feeling. This is for your mother, no price is too high. “You are going to have the finest doctors and nurses in Dorne treating you and you will be cured in no time.” Her weak smile is worth it. Reaching out with your other hand, you pull the covers up her body, knowing that she is cold and turning up the heat by another notch. She is cold all the time and luckily you don’t live in the north, Winterfel would be miserable for her. You squeeze her hand gently. “See? I told you that we shouldn’t give up.” 

Oberyn seethes as he watches Ellaria dance with a few other women on stage. His lover doesn’t know the news that he’s getting married yet and he plans to keep it that way. The ice in his glass of whiskey clinks as he grips it in his hand and he hates that he’s being forced into marriage. He vowed to never marry after his sister was killed because she married into another mafia family. The Lannisters killed her. He just can’t prove it. He sighs and Ellaria comes over, climbing into his lap to press her lips to his, “come on lover. Watch up. You rented this private booth for your enjoyment.” She reminds him as the rest of the club goers squeeze in below. 

**** 

You feel overwhelmed. Watching the wedding planner as he pulls out the linen options and cake options and you don’t even care. You’re being bought to marry a Martell and you don’t want to pretend like this wedding is of your own volition. “Where is the groom?” The planner asks and you bite your lip, “he’s-” Oberyn cuts you off with “right here” as he strides into the room with a cigar in hand, his orange shirt half unbuttoned and you hate how attractive he looks.

Awakening before noon is a rarity for Oberyn and despite the late night, he is finding himself to be enjoying the shocked look on your face when he strolls into the room. “Apologies for being late, you know how I hate to drag myself away from my….activities.” He quirks a brow and smirks as he eyes the wedding planner. “You should know that all colors will be Martell colors.” He tuts. “No need to pick anything else. After all, she is marrying into the most powerful family around.” 

You bite your lip to smother your scoff as his cockiness. You shake your head and look down at the plans, the colors you picked are obsolete now that orange and gold have been chosen by him. “What else would you like to have, darling?” You ask sarcastically. You know Oberyn. Your mother works for them so you’ve grown up with the family, watching Doran take over, have the accident, then Oberyn whoring around, killing anyone who dares to look at him the wrong way.

“Wine, lots of wine.” He snorts, tapping his chin as he pretends to contemplate the question even though it’s obvious you would rather he leave. “Perhaps some contortionists and burlesque dancers for the reception?” He knows that will offend your prudish sensibilities and maybe even make you mad enough to call off the wedding. If you refuse to go through with it, Doran cannot complain. 

You clench your jaw, you know what he's trying to get to you to do and you won’t let him. You need to make sure your mom gets treatment. You won’t allow him to ruin this. When your mom is better, you’ll divorce him and he can have his life back. “Whatever you want.” You hum, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of you arguing. “Perhaps we can have a vanilla wedding cake?” You suggest, wanting something simple and you know that’s your mom’s favorite.

Vanilla. Boring. Just like you seem to be. Oberyn rolls his eyes but he’s nodding. “The cake can be whatever you want it to be.” He promises, making it seem like he is being generous. “I also want cupcakes of every flavor.” He smirks at the wedding planner and sends him a small wink. “I like variety.”

You can’t refrain from rolling your eyes this time. “Yeah. Cupcakes. Every flavor. Of course, vanilla isn’t enough for him.” You tell the planner who glances between the two of you. You are struggling to even get through this but you will. Oberyn looks at the table layout and quickly moves people around, a glint in his eye and he frowns after a moment, “Ellaria needs a table.” He declares and you inhale sharply, unable to believe he has the audacity to invite his lover to your wedding. “She’s - I didn’t think- it’s a family affair.” You remind him and he scoffs, “she is family.” You sigh, reminded that he cares little for loyalty and a monogamous relationship.  You remember a few years ago the Martells were throwing a party for Doran and your mother was invited and you joined her. You overheard Oberyn proudly telling his friends that he could fuck who he wanted. Marriage was a ball and chain and he refused to be tamed. He wanted freedom to fuck who he wants. He also went on to say he hated women who didn’t know what they wanted from sex. Women who were timid or shy. That made you roll your eyes and stride off to search for a glass of champagne. Since you were a little girl, all you ever wanted was a loving relationship. A man who loved you and was loyal to you, dedicated and caring. Now, you’re marrying a man who couldn’t give a shit about you.

Oberyn is surprised that you aren’t pitching a fit, sure that you would be insulted. “Fantastic.” He murmurs, leaning close to unsettle you and he’s struck by how sensual your perfume is. He is not a man who restrains himself often, so he presses his lips to your pulse in a gesture that anyone else would find loving and intimate. “You and I will get along well, my sweet little Dove.” He coos in your ear. 

You resist the urge to shiver and recoil as he backs away and you want to slap him for kissing you. You don’t know what Doran coerced him with to marry you but it’s obvious he has no plans to change his lifestyle and you don’t care. You just want to give your mother a chance, if there is any hope of her beating the cancer. You won’t let Oberyn ruin this. You need to do this for your mom’s sake. “Whatever you want, baby.” You coo, reaching up to caress his cheek and the wedding planner smiles, “you make such a beautiful couple.” You lower your hand and thank him. “Let’s discuss the outfits. I have you booked to go wedding dress shopping on Saturday. Oberyn, you will have your tailor work on your suit?”

He hums, knowing that Doran will want him to have a new suit made for the event. “Do you want something traditional or bold and daring?” He asks, arching a brow at you and smirking. 

“Traditional.” You tell him, not wanting to look like you’re in Vogue even though you literally will be in Vogue with the man beside you. He looks disappointed with your answer but you don’t care. This isn’t a runway event, it’s a wedding. “Black tie it is.” Oberyn nods, although he will sneak in some orange and gold. The wedding planner makes some notes and claps, “very well. We have everything we need to get this wedding going. T-minus twenty days. I’ve never planned a wedding so fast.” He confesses, almost wondering why he needs to plan it so fast. His eyes drop down to your stomach but there’s no indication that you are pregnant. He had been told about your mother so that could be why it’s being planned so fast.

“I want my daughters there.” Oberyn tells you. “In the wedding or not, I will dance with each one at the reception.” He has eight daughters, eight bastards that he publicly and proudly claims as his own. He is a doting father and his own wedding will be no exception. “I don’t suppose you have decided on a ring yet, have you Dove?”

You know that Oberyn has lived many lives before you met him. You sigh and shake your head, “I don’t expect a ring. You know what this is.” You murmur, not wanting to take more than what you need for your mother. You need to help her and you don’t want the Martell money to wear on your finger as a reminder of your situation.

The wedding planner is not standing next to you, but Oberyn is offended. “Whatever this might be, you will have a ring.” He will not have someone talk about his lack of care for his bride, even if he does not wish to get married. “I will have the jeweler come tonight with a selection of rings for you to choose from.” He informs you. “Pick what you will like from them.”

You scoff, "how romantic." You roll your eyes and watch the planner gather his things while Oberyn is next to you. You hate how he seems to loom over you, his aura overwhelming you. He's always been that way. You look down at your bare left hand and try to envision his ring on your finger but it feels foreign and wrong.

“It is better than picking some monstrosity you hate.” He snorts. “I don’t think that you would like my taste in jewelry, you don’t seem to like my taste in anything, Dove.” Now that he’s seen your reaction to this, he feels that you are no more happy about the situation than he is. “Or are you hoping that your innocence will intrigue me?”

You snort, "I don't want to intrigue you. You are indulgent, quick to kill, and ostentatious. I am not. I have never killed. I have never been - been promiscuous. We are worlds apart and this marriage is for us to get what we want." You declare, knowing he would never marry you if it weren't for his brother.

“What I want?” He snorts, oddly insulted by your description of him even though you aren’t wrong. “Believe me, there is nothing in this arrangement that I want.”

His words sting even though you aren't remotely interested in a relationship with him but you don't want to show him how his words hurt. You stiffen and look at him, ignoring the way his dark eyes seem to burn into you. "The only thing I want is for my mother to live. I'll do whatever it takes to save her. Even marry you." You hiss and stride off, the wedding planning finished and you want to get home and pretend for a while that this isn't happening.

Oberyn watches you go, a frown creasing his brow and he has to admit that he admires that. You don’t want him, that’s obvious. You aren’t a good actress and he wouldn’t have believed you if you tried to seduce him. He pulls out his phone and calls his brother, even if the man is still in the same house he is. “Doran….tell me about the mother.” He demands.

**** 

You stare at yourself in the mirror, almost confused by the person looking back at you, and you don't recognize the woman standing there in the white dress. A bride. You look like a bride and you glance back at the iPad where your mom is on there watching you try on dresses. She was confused when you told her you were marrying Oberyn when you had been vocally disapproving of him. "You look beautiful, baby." She coos and you smile, tears stinging in your eyes as you wish you were marrying someone you loved instead of Oberyn.

“This is a beautiful choice.” The sales woman had been very attentive when she learned whose bride you are. The announcement had been made in the papers and on all the major Dornish networks two days ago. She knows that no expense will be spared on the Martell wedding and that means a hefty commission for her. “Would you like to try the shoes you picked out?”

You nod, chest feeling tight at how real this is starting to feel. You inhale shakily, watching the associate go to fetch the shoes and you lift your dress to try on the shoes that cost more than you’d spend in shoes in a lifetime. You turn to face the iPad again and your mom grins, clapping her hands and you hate how frail she looks. “Beautiful. Beautiful.” She grins and you offer her a weak smile.

“Oh I am so happy that I will get to be there for this.” She tells you, having feared the worst when her diagnosis was terminal. “The new doctors have been wonderful, they assure me that their treatment course has a better prognosis than before.” She beams tiredly through the camera. “Perhaps there will be grandchildren soon to help bolster my strength.”

You nod, swallowing down the hope that your mom could get better. She could beat this. She doesn’t know that this is fake. You told her that you fell hard and fast for Oberyn and he wanted to marry you before anything happened to your mom. She bought the story, the drugs clouding her judgment and you are grateful you can give her this happiness. You sigh and brush down the dress, looking at yourself in the mirror. You never imagined you’d be marrying for money but here you are. If your mom lives, it’s worth every second of misery being married to a man who can’t keep it in his pants.

“This arrived to the store for you.” The assistant brings over a box that is plain and sturdy. Obviously old. You frown slightly and take the small card that is with it and flip it open. “Dove, this veil has been worn by Martell women for over two hundred years. Wear it well. Oberyn.” There is no sentiment behind the words, but the thoughtfulness of it surprises you. Opening the box to find a stunning antique place veil that has small yellow and orange suns delicately embroidered around the edges of the throat length overlay and the twenty foot train. It’s an heirloom piece and absolutely stunning.

The sales associate comes over and gasps at the veil. “The last woman to wear this was Elia.” She reminds you of the last Martell woman who was killed by the Mountain on the order of the Lannisters. A man who still walks the earth today by some miracle because Oberyn has been very vocal about killing him. She carefully removes the veil from the box and secures it on your head. It’s so delicate but combined with the dress, you look like a princess. “Oh my God.” You choke as your mother says the same words but as a tearful coo. “You look beautiful. Like a Martell.” She cries happily and you stare at yourself in the mirror. A Martell. This is real. You’re marrying a man you do not love. You carefully touch the veil and take a moment until you turn to the sales associate and tell her you’re going to take the dress. It’s ridiculously expensive but Oberyn already has told the shop to let you buy whatever you want. You say goodbye to your mom and shut the iPad after you change into your clothes and you head back to your apartment to find it being packed up. “What the hell is this?” You ask the moving man who shrugs, “moving you into your new place with your hubby to be, sweet cheeks.” He declares and you clench your jaw. You knew you’d be moving in with Oberyn to keep up appearances but not so soon.

The man watching over the packing pushes off the counter where he was leaning against it as he eats a bowl of berries from your refrigerator and saunters over towards you. “Don’t worry, they won’t break anything.” He promises. He is Oberyn’s right hand man, handsome and just as quick to violence as the man Dorne had labeled the ‘Red Viper’ and ‘the Prince of Dorne’ due to his second in command status. This made Dario third in command in his mind. “Although maybe you should invest in some lingerie to entice Oberyn.” He suggests with a smirk. ��The drawer is a little….bland.”

You narrow your eyes, hating that Dario has looked through your underwear drawer. Hating that your life is being moved because of Oberyn. "I don't think I'll be enticing Oberyn at all. This is - you know what this is." You hiss at the cocky man who smirks as he stands in your kitchen. "I do. Which means you better make it worth his while since he's marrying you to save your mother." He hums, reaching out to cup your cheek and you jerk your head from his touch. "Shame as well. You're a pretty one. Stuck up but nothing a bit of anal wouldn't change." He chuckles and you wrinkle your nose, "you're disgusting." You scoff and turn to make sure the movers aren't damaging anything.

**** 

“Lover, where do you expect her to stay?” Ellaria’s body stretches out across the settee, head back as she tilts her head up to look into her lover’s eyes. Her smile is almost secretive, as if she knows something that Oberyn does not. She might, she’s been with the man for over a decade, birthed four of his children and has no issue sharing him with whomever catches his fancy. Oberyn huffs and shakes his head. “There are plenty of rooms. She can take up an entire floor for all I care, but she will live in Sunspear.” Doran had made it clear that you would be his wife and he would treat you accordingly. It was why he had sent the veil over to the dress shop. It was important you wear it. To show all of Dorne that you are his, a Martell.

You glance around the place you’ve been moved to. It’s beautiful and you look out across Dorne to the sea, blue and glistening under the hot sun. You sigh and inhale deeply now that the movers have left and unpacked. You didn’t need to lift a finger and you wonder if that is how the Martell’s live. Rich and famous for all the wrong reasons, you wonder what your life will become. Your mom is in the hospital, a private wing paid for by Doran and a reminder of your agreement. You don’t hear the door behind you open until Oberyn’s “hello” reaches your ears and you sigh, turning to look at your husband-to-be. He looks disheveled and it annoys you to no end that he looks hot yet you can tell he’s been with his lover. “I didn’t expect you to return.” You confess, “figured you’d be with your lover until the weddings

Oberyn smirks slightly at the comment. “You are not as innocent as you look.” He hums, walking farther into the room and picking up a crystal figurine that you have sitting on a table. “It is comfortable, no? You have everything you need?”

You nod, “it’s beautiful here.” You look out the window again, “I see why you are so…you. Being gifted this beautiful life.” You murmur, turning back to look at him as he sets the crystal down. “I know you are with Ellaria. I don’t - should we say I know about it or should we say it’s over?” You ask, wanting to know to react if you’re asked about it.

He arches a brow at the surprisingly mature take. He had expected you to make a snide comment about his lover of many years. “You can say what you wish. Even tell people she is your lover.” He chuckles, not even able to imagine that, although Ellaria thinks you are very appealing in a virginal way. “She would not mind.”

You roll your eyes, knowing this is a woman he has children with. “Come now, people won’t believe I am her lover. I need - I’ll tell people it’s an open relationship. Easiest way since you're unlikely to become monogamous.” You huff and walk over to the fridge to take a bottle of water out. “I don’t know what you get from this arrangement apart from annoying me at every turn.”

Oberyn snorts. “Perhaps I like to annoy you.” He muses, wondering how you are to temper his impulses when you can’t stand him. “You are free to have whatever lovers you wish.” Your mouth drops open in shock and he holds up a finger to silence you. “Two rules. No bastards and you don’t fuck my men.”

You think about Dario, how he eyed you, and you bite your lip, wondering if you can rile your fiancé up. “I can promise no bastards.” Which makes you chuckle internally considering he has eight daughters out of wedlock. “For your men…I don’t know if I can promise that.” You hum vaguely, liking the way he clenches his jaw.

Fury heats his veins and he is moving before you can react, grabbing your arms and hauling you closer, his nose nearly touching yours. “I do not hurt women, but I will kill every one of my men you touch.” He hisses. “I will not have them thinking to fight me for your cunt.”

You gulp, his fingers digging into your arms to give you a glimpse of the dangerous man he is. You nod, your nose bumping his as you say “I understand.” You don’t want anyone to die because of you. You have had boyfriends, lovers, but you refuse to have your image tarnished by taking a lover while married to Oberyn. You hope this can be annulled once enough time has passed and your mother is better.

****

“You look perfect.” The irony of having Ellaria help him get ready for a wedding to another woman is not lost on him. She smirks as she adjusts his bow tie slightly. “I will have to pick out quite a few lovers tonight to distract myself from missing out on your wedding night.” The pout she sends him is playful and he snorts. “I will be spending tonight in our bed with you and whoever catches our interests.” He captures her hands and holds them, his eyes serious and dark. “This changes nothing between us.”

You brush down your dress, your mom in a beautiful dress, sitting in her wheelchair with the IV connected to her arm. She’s so frail but her smile is beaming and your heart warms at her happiness. Even if she doesn’t quite understand this farce, she’s happy and you can give this day to her. If she doesn’t survive, you’ll know you did everything for her. “He’s going to be blown away.” She coos and you offer her a weak smile in the mirror. You have no bridesmaids, not wanting anyone else involved in this sham and your wedding planner helps you put the intricate veil on your head.

Oberyn stands next to the priest, sure that the Gods will be laughing as he professes to take this woman as his wife. The church is packed, everyone wanting to see the infamous Oberyn Martell marry. Some said it would never be done. He glances at his brother who is sitting in his chair on the front row, making sure that this marriage happens. He cuts his eyes towards the door and sighs.

The music begins to play and for a second, you want to run away and not look back. Then you remember your mother’s face and your chest tightens. You need to do this for her. You inhale deeply and nod, letting the ushers open the doors, and you grip your bouquet as you start your trip down the aisle to a man that doesn’t love you and you don’t love him.

Glancing quickly at Ellaria, Oberyn turns to watch as you start the slow, measured walk down the aisle that is covered in silk flower petals. Some might have believed that he had never married because Ellaria was deemed unsuitable to be his wife, but that was not the truth. The truth was, the part of Oberyn’s heart that loved - beyond his children - died the day his sister was savagely killed. Brutalized and cut down, the vision of her final moments and the loss of his favorite sibling had hardened his heart. Even now, he loves Ellaria in his own way, he cares for her and makes sure that she is provided for, but he does not hold her in an all consuming passion. He does not crave her like he craves air. Watching as your white clad body glides forward, he wonders if you will understand that.

You can feel his eyes on you and you force yourself to look up from the aisle to meet his dark gaze. His stare is intense and you wonder what’s going through his mind. He’s a mystery. He’s been with Ellaria for years on and off and never married her. He’s had eight daughters and never been married. Either he can’t commit or he doesn’t want to commit. You finally stand before him, handing your bouquet to the wedding planner and you take Oberyn’s outstretched hand to stand in front of the priest.

Despite your obvious dislike of the situation, you look beautiful and graceful. Your hand is soft and warm in his and your eyes meet his with a determination that pulls reluctant admiration out of you. This is for your mother, he knows that. The frail woman is here and that is a miracle because the doctors are trying every radical treatment they can to save her. He has known her most of his life and he has to respect this kind of loyalty to her. The willingness to do anything to save her. He pulls you close and starts to flip the veil over your head so he can see you clearly.

Your eyes meet his unhindered as he lifts the veil from your face and you inhale shakily as he reaches for your hands. You barely pay attention to the priest, letting him make his speech but Oberyn has to squeeze your hand to get your attention when the priest asks if you take Oberyn to be your husband. You hesitate for a moment, biting your lip and look over at your mother who is smiling with tears in her eyes. You can’t say no. She needs to have one last chance. “I do.” You declare and Oberyn’s grip on your hands loosens while he says “I do.” After your exchange rings and the priest finishes his speech, you’re in a daze until the priest declares you husband and wife. “You may now kiss your bride.”

His lips curve into a smirk. Not shy about gathering you closer to kiss you without any fear of you pushing him away or slapping him. Not that it would bother him, he doesn’t mind when a lover is rough. It’s exciting. He makes it a scene, dipping you down and kissing you thoroughly, his tongue sliding into your mouth to taste you and turning what should be a chaste kiss into something much more carnal.

Your cheeks burn when he finally sets you on your feet, lips glistening and the crowd cheers as he takes your hand and guides you down the aisle. You hate how your lips tingle and you would never admit it but he’s a good kisser. You stumble slightly but he keeps you upright and you make your way down the aisle until you’re in the hallway, your chest heaving as you let go of his hand. “Well that will certainly be in all the magazines.” You declare and Oberyn chuckles, “had to sell it, Dove. Can’t have people thinking I don’t satisfy my bride.” You scoff and make your way down the hall to the photographers that are waiting. “We both know it’s not going to be my bed you’re in tonight.”

“Disappointed?” He leans close, invading your space and to the photographers, it looks as if Oberyn is whispering sweet nothings in your ear. “You just need to invite me to your bed and I will make sure you have a wedding night you would never forget.” Despite his objections to marrying you, he has no issue fucking you. It would be interesting to aid in striping away your virginal facade and turning you into his own little whore.

You smile and turn to look at him, reaching up to cup his cheek, “I’ll never let you fuck me. You can take my hand, my life as your own, but you’ll never have my body.” You lean in to peck his lips and turn back to the cameras, almost blinded by the lights. Oberyn has had more lovers than you’ve had hot dinners and you refuse to give him that kind of power over you. You know he’d never let you forget it if you let him fuck you. Then he’d leave and go back to Ellaria’s bed. No, you’d never give him that hold over you.

Instead of being angry by your vow, Oberyn bursts out laughing, amused by the venom in your words. His cock twitches, imagining making you eat those words when you fall into his bed eventually. “Then you should not worry about who screams my name tonight.” He murmurs quietly. “Although I’m sure you will hear it.”

The irony of this situation is not lost on you. Doran picked you to calm his brother down but you seem to be riled up by his nature, leaving behind your normally gentle and agreeable personality in favor of defending yourself. His hand cups the back of your neck as per the shouted instructions from the photographer and you smile at him but say through gritted teeth, “rather them than me.”

“Temper, temper.” He muses, winking at you before he drags you closer for a kiss so the photographer can capture the moment. He finds your unrestrained hatred of him refreshing. He doesn’t like when people kiss his ass unless he is in the mood. “Then I will make sure I have a group of them.”

You let him kiss you and you wonder how you’re going to endure the reception when you’re only on the photos. After you take photos with your family, you and Oberyn enter the reception hall to applause and you let him pull you close for the first dance. You don’t say anything, leaning your head on his shoulder to make sure you look close without needing to speak to him and you close your eyes, not wanting to see the crowd watching you.

The moment would actually be considered sweet if there was some semblance of affection between the two of you. When the song comes to a close, the DJ that is setting the mood announces a dance between mother and daughter.

You are surprised but you go over to your mom who is in her wheelchair and she attempts to get up “no mom, don’t stress yourself. We can dance in the wheelchair.” Your mother shakes her head, “absolutely not. I will dance at my baby’s wedding, without being in a wheelchair.” You don’t argue with her, you just help her stand and guide her over to the dancefloor when the song begins and you gently sway with your frail Mother tears sting in your eyes when you try not show how sad you are, but she seems to be getting worse. You had hoped that the treatments at Martells would help her. You don’t see it in her eyes, but she knows that she is dying and she wants to enjoy every moment she has left.

Oberyn watches until it’s obvious that you are supporting most of your mother’s weight and he quickly steps in behind her. Shifting the weight off of you, he grins to the crowd watching. “I was jealous of two beautiful ladies dancing without me.” He jokes, making everyone laugh and making it seem like his impulsive nature is to blame instead of your mother’s frailty.

You can’t deny that Oberyn wrapping his arms around your mom’s waist makes you smile in thanks and the song plays as Oberyn sways you both. When the song ends, he playfully lifts your mom into his arms, carrying her over to her chair. “You’re supposed to carry my daughter.” She giggles and Oberyn winks after he sits her down, “that’s for later.” He presses a soft kiss to the back of your mom’s hand.

Your mother giggles again quietly, charmed by Oberyn’s flirtatious nature even though she’s aware of the man’s proclivities. Perhaps he has changed for you, the thought makes her happy to know that you will have a strong man at your side when she is gone. He winks at her before he stands straight and the DJ announces the first of eight dances with his daughters.

You settle down at your table to watch Oberyn dance with his daughters, each one getting their own dance and you watch him as he speaks softly to them, making them laugh and smile, and sends them to their table with a kiss on the cheek and a hug. It’s clear he adores them. You feel eyes watching you and you turn your head, your eyes meeting Ellaria’s as she offers you a soft smile. You’re surprised she doesn’t hate you. Isn’t glaring at you for marrying her lover.

When you don’t cut your eyes at her, Ellaria picks up her glass of champagne and stands up. Slinking across the hall in a dress that is a little too revealing to be considered proper, but she wears it well. “Dove.” She smiles, sliding into the seat where Oberyn will be sitting later to eat. “You look more beautiful than I imagined you would. You wear the Martell veil well.”

You know people are watching so you offer her a soft smile, “thank you. I was shocked when Oberyn gave it to me. I am sure he always imagined you’d be the one wearing this for his wedding day. I wondered before this charade why you never married each other.” You ponder out loud. “You know about our arrangement and why we are doing this. I have no malice towards you. You are his lover, the mother of his children. I do not know why Doran wanted me to marry his brother.”

She watches you for a moment before she laughs, a beautiful trilling sound of amusement, her head tipped back to expose her long neck. “Oh darling, I see why he wanted you to marry Oberyn.” She hums when she calms down. “And I would have never married him.” She admits causally, shrugging one elegant shoulder. “We do not have that kind of relationship.” She knows how Oberyn feels and she would have never tied herself to him with those things in mind. He was too free of a spirit and so was she, if the truth was told.

You frown, certain that Oberyn loves Ellaria more than anything, but maybe you don’t know the entire story. “I don’t expect him to stop sleeping with you. We aren’t - this isn’t a marriage of love. This is convenient.” You clarify and pick up your glass of champagne, taking a sip while Oberyn spins his daughter around.

“I don’t know if that is alllll true.” She murmurs, a small smile on her face. “And it is wise that you don’t expect him to stop being who he is.” She lifts a brow in irony. “We never want to change someone when we love them.”

You nod, “yeah. I don’t care what he does. I only want my mother to survive. Whatever Oberyn does is his business. I just don’t want him to make me look a fool.” You confess, setting your glass down and everyone claps as Oberyn finishes his last dance.

“Then don’t be surprised by anything that he does.” Ellaria leans forward seriously. “Oberyn might not love you, he doesn’t love me either. Not like you might think, but he is loyal….in his own way.” She cautions you. “You are now his and he will expect the same kind of loyalty from you that he gives you.”

Your frown deepens as she says he doesn’t love her. You’ve heard the rumors of how intense their relationship is. You assumed they were deeply in love. “I won’t make a fool of him.” You assure her, “I just want my mother to survive and after that? Well, that would be a miracle problem to have.”

The other woman glances over at the frail woman with a look of concern and presses her lips together. “I hope that you get your wish.” She murmurs, reaching out and taking your hand. “Let me know if there is anything I can do.”

You appreciate her not spitting in your face since you are stealing her lover as your husband. You squeeze her hand and she glides back to her table as Oberyn passes her. He kisses her cheek and makes his way over to your table, sitting down beside you. "Ellaria likes you." He declares and you snort, "You can tell from just one kiss?"

“My lover is not shy about things she likes.” He chuckles quietly. “Now, I am famished, and I think that we should eat.” He offers, nodding to the wedding planner to have the servers start bringing out the plates of food. The canapés had been good, but he wanted something more. “Eat up.” He winks at you. “You will need your strength.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and reach for your glass of champagne so you can down it. It’s going to be a long night but you are prepared to endure it when your mom looks like she’s won the lottery. She looks so happy so you force a smile and sit beside Oberyn like you’ve won your own lottery.

The party is still in full swing when you and Oberyn make your exit, ducking the handfuls of birdseed and confetti that all the party goers throw. Holding tight to your hand, he rushes you out, getting to the elevators before he drops your hand and pulls out his keycard to open up the access to the floors where your and his apartments are located. “The party will go on for hours.” He predicts as the car doors slide open and you step onto the elevator. “Pity we will miss it. It was a good one. The dancers the planner found were….limber.”

You lean against the wall of the elevator car, watching the floors pass by and you inhale deeply, looking at Oberyn. “You are welcome to rejoin if you wish but I suppose we need to make people think we consummated our marriage.” You hum and you know you won’t stop him from finding someone to warm his bed.

His brow arches and he smirks, leaning closer to you and pressing you closer to the wall. “Are you going to invite me between those pretty thighs, Dove?” He coos, reaching up to caress your neck, his thumb rubbing your pulse. Your scoff grates on his ears, irritating him when he has been flirty and kind to you. He has done nothing today to humiliate you or demoralize you and yet you are pushing him away like he is the gum on the bottom of your show. Him, Oberyn Martell. His piercing hot look turns cold and he hisses. “It does not matter.” He snorts. “I have people lined up to suck my cock if you have no desire to.” He boasts. “Any one I want. Why would I want you?” It’s petty and cruel, but he can be that way when he’s insulted. “You have the demeanor of a cold fish anyway. I like my partners to enjoy themselves.”

His words shouldn’t hurt as much as they do but you stiffen and when the elevator dings to announce your arrival, you stride out of the car into the apartment without hesitation. “Then go find your pleasure anywhere but my bed. I didn’t marry you to fuck you, Oberyn. I married you to save my mother. You need to remember that.” You hiss and slam the door behind you to your bedroom, slumping down on the bed. You listen to the elevator ding again and tears sting in your eyes until they roll down your cheeks. You married a man who doesn’t love you and you hate that you had to do this to save your mother. Your sobs come when you realize you can’t get out of your dress without help so you lay down, constricted by the lace, and cry for your marriage and your mother.

“Lover…” Ellaria slumps onto the bed, worn out and exhausted. “I need rest.” Oberyn chuckles, his wedding attire strewn over the floor as his hand slides over her sweat slick hip and he slaps the ass off the man who is laying beside her. “Then you watch.” He tells her, lunging forward to slide his tongue into the man’s mouth as he tries to forget about how your eyes had flickered with hurt before you turned that tongue on him.

**** 

It’s been a few weeks since you and Oberyn married and you’ve barely seen him. You are with your mother every day as she struggles to get through treatment and you know it’s a fruitless effort. She’s withering away and even selling your soul to the Martell’s won’t save her. You arrive back at the apartment after your mom fell asleep and you’re surprised to see Dario standing in your kitchen. “What - what are you doing here?” You ask, confused and looking around for Oberyn.

Dario smirks as he pops another piece of an orange that he had stolen from your fruit bowl into his mouth. “Checking on you.” He quips and flings the rind of the fruit onto the counter as he walks towards you. “Haven’t seen you around and wanted to make sure you aren’t……lonely.” He knows that Oberyn hasn’t been spending his nights in your bed. He has men and women parading out of the floor that he shares with Ellaria. He slides his hot gaze up and down your body suggestively and licks his lips. “Perhaps you prefer someone who knows what he wants.”

Your back stiffens and you realize he is alone with you. You glance around the apartment and he reaches out to caress your cheek. You freeze, unsure of what to do when you’re alone and you know what he’s capable of. “I’m not - Oberyn is - I’m not allowed to touch any of Oberyn’s men.”

“He won’t know.” He muses. “Too busy playing with his whore and everyone else.” He snorts. “Did you reject him? He’s fucking everything that walks like you did. Proving to himself that your cunt doesn’t matter, but I think it does.” He steps closer and smirks. “I want to have something he doesn’t. For once.”

You are frozen in place, your mind skipping and you know you should push him away but he leans in to press his lips to your cheek, a chuckle breathed against your skin, and your back hits the kitchen counter as he crowds you, his other hand on your waist.

Dario takes your non-refusal as acceptance. His body pressing against yours as his mouth moves from your cheek to your lips. Mindless to anything but you letting him kiss you. Not hearing the door to the apartment open or the quick steps towards you, anger lacing each boot strike. He doesn’t even know that anyone else is in the apartment, too focused on his victory over Oberyn, until a hand grabs his shoulder and he is dragged off you like a rag doll. A fist plowing into his face before his eyes even open to see who is there. “Bastard!” Oberyn shouts, kicking the man while he is down before he backs up. “You were warned not to touch her.” He roars.

You gasp, shuffling to get out of the way as Oberyn straddles Dario and his fist comes down on his face. "Oberyn. I - he didn't - he hasn't fucked me." You yell at him but he continues to hit his second in command.

“You want what is mine?” Oberyn rages, hitting him with one fist, then the other with alternating strikes. Dario had thrown his hands up to defend himself but the force of the attack renders him helpless as his boss beats him. He gurgles out an apology, barely heard and not acknowledged. “I let you have everything - anything - you want. But not her. I told you that you are getting too comfortable.” He had known Dario was jealous, thinking himself the better man. It was why he had told him that he couldn’t have you. No one could. If the man fucked his wife, he would start thinking he could replace Oberyn, and he would never let that happen.

You scream at Oberyn to stop. Dario might have been handsy but he doesn’t deserve to die. You watch as Oberyn hits until Dario goes unconscious and your husband’s chest heaves as he looks up at you, sweat on his brow and his knuckles torn up. “Holy shit.” You gasp, kneeling down, “I can’t - why did you - why?” You ask breathlessly.

Panting, Oberyn reaches for you as he leaps to his feet. He is still agile and deadly, making you gasp with the speed at which he moves. He growls as he shakes you slightly. “I told you not to touch my men.” He hisses, right before his lips slam against yours in a bruising kiss.

When you look back on the moment you kiss him back and you realize it was adrenaline. Your hands tangle in his hair and you moan into his mouth, pressing yourself against him. He slides his tongue into your mouth and you moan, sliding yours against his and you feel his cock hardening against your hip.

Dario doesn’t groan, still unconscious on the floor as Oberyn backs you against the wall and presses you into it. Completely taking control of the kiss as his hands grab your ass and he pulls you up into his arms and presses against your core as he carries you through the apartment to your bedroom.

You don’t reject him, hyped up on adrenaline and the feelings that have been haunting you since the night you got married. His dark eyes find you everywhere - in the coffee you drink, in the chocolate you treated yourself to, and you know you need to get him out of your system. Your back hits the bedsheets and he follows, kneeling between your legs and his lips press against your jaw. “Oberyn.” You gasp, tilting your head as you close your eyes so he can destroy you like you always knew he would.

His name on your lips is all the permission he needs. Hands pulling at the clothes you are wearing. Stripping them as efficiently and and quickly as possible. Greedy for every bare inch of flesh you reveal to him and his lips travel over your neck. His teeth leaving a trail of marks behind as he claims you as his own.

You want to see all of him. To know if the rumors of his beauty are exaggerated or if they are true. You unbutton his half buttoned shirt, pushing it from his shoulders and he shrugs it off, tossing it aside, while your hands caress his chest down to his stomach.

“You do not even look at my men.” Oberyn hisses, flipping open his belt and snapping it out of the loops of his pants, the gun holster dropping to the floor and sliding away. Reminding you of how easily he could have killed Dario. He grabs your hands, thinking to tie them to the bed, but he wants you to touch him. To be just as hungry for his body as he has been for yours. He’s never been denied, and instead of it making him indifferent, it has made him crave you. Tossing the belt aside, he holds your hands above your head, making your tits stick up in their lacy bra and he ducks his head to bite down on a nipple.

You cry out, arching your back and you wrap your legs around his waist, grinding up against him. “Fuck. I- I- shit. Baby.” You cry out, “I need you inside me. Now.” You beg, cunt aching with the need to have him stretch you out.

His pants disappeared, underwear was never a thing, so it isn’t a barrier between the two of you. His fingers twist under your panties and he rips them apart at the seams. Taking you at your word that you need him.

You gasp when he rips your panties off and you spread your legs for him without hesitation. You desperately want him inside of you. The way he defended what is his even if you aren’t his in heart, you are on paper, and the way he took out Dario has you ashamedly wet. “Fuck me, Oberyn.” You whine when he grips his cock and shifts between your thighs.

He loves the way you are begging him. His smirk is self satisfied and predatory as he shuffles close and swipes his cock through your soaked folds. “Gods, Dove.” He growls. “You will remember tonight.” He vows, lining his cock up and snapping his hips forward as he covers your mouth with his own.

You cry out into his mouth, the sound smothered by his tongue, and your hands find his back, scratching your nails down the golden skin as his cock stretches you out. There’s a sting but you love it.

Oberyn would never insult you to say that you are the best cunt he’s ever been inside. You wouldn’t believe him. However you are wet and tight, fitting him like a glove. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, drawing his hips to plunge back into you just as fast, eagerly setting a frantic pace.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he starts to fuck you. There’s no mistaking this for love making. It’s fucking, through and through. His hips hit your ass and you feel like you can barely breathe as he grunts into your mouth. It’s been so long since you had sex, focused on your mother’s health, and it's bliss to think about nothing except how you feel.

One hand braces on the bed below you, the other squeezes your tit. Pinching your nipple harshly to make you gasp and clench around his cock before he slides his hand lower. Finding your clit with precision accuracy and starting to rub tight, perfect circles on the bundle of nerves. Very practiced in pleasuring men and women alike.

“Holy shit. Oh - oh Gods, Oberyn. Baby. Oh shit.” You pant as he rocks into you, his fingers rubbing your clit, and you whimper as you scratch your nails down his back, marking him in the only way you can. “You’re gonna - shit. I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum.” You gasp, the feeling suddenly overwhelming you.

He doesn’t slow his pace down. His hips slapping against your ass. “Good girl, Dove.” He groans, kissing along your jaw. “Cum on my cock. Soak me.” He orders, feeling your body clench down around him.

The wail you let out is almost inhuman and you clamp down on his cock, a cry of his name barely distinguishable as you soak his cock with your cum. Your nails digging into his back and his cock working you through your orgasm.

He’s determined to make you never forget being in bed with him, fucking him. Wanting you to crave it every time your cunt throbs with need and your thoughts stray to having someone plunge into you. His men are off limits, unable to touch you like he does. You can have him, Ellaria and anyone else, but he wants you to want him.

You moan as he works you through your orgasm and you are sure he’s punching your guts with his cock as he pushes deep on each harsh movement of his hips. “Oberyn.” You whine when he pulls out of you and he flips you onto your hands and knees. You struggle to balance as he kneels behind you and pushes into you with a speed you never expected.

The weeks that you have been married and he’s been denied your body, they are being made up for right now. Every time he’s wanted to fuck you and not been able to is being taken out on your body. He groans when you clamp down around him again.

Your fingers tangle in the sheets and you moan his name as he rocks into you. He feels even bigger in this angle and you arch your back, your tits swaying as he fucks you with his entire body. “Yes baby. Shit. That’s - keep going. Don’t you dare stop.”

He chuckles at your demands, finding your bossiness in bed charming. Digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to leave bruises under your skin, he hisses out your name as he continues to pound into you.

You whine, head dropping down as he wrecks you, and you know why the Red Viper is so well known as a voracious lover. “Fuck. Fuck. You’re - I’m gonna - oh shit. Keep going. Right there.” You cry, eyes squeezed shut as he hits something incredible and it takes two more thrusts to unravel you.

Your orgasm is beautiful, your cry loud enough that anyone near your apartments would hear his name being screamed. Hissing in pleasure while the cream from your cunt soaks his cock, making obscene sounds as he fucks you through it. “That’s right.” He groans. “Fuck, you are happy now, aren’t you? Getting fucked like you’ve dreamed of. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“Fu- fuck you. I don’t - shit. I want - want to feel you.” You choke out, chest heaving as he fucks the air from your lungs. “You - you wanted my pussy. You’re the one who - who wants to fuck anything going and I- I tried to hold out.” You confess in gasps.

His fingers wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you up and wrapping an arm around your chest. His hand cupping your tit as he pumps up into you from a new angle. “Yes, I wanted this pussy.” He growls in your ear. “Craved it, fucked anything I could to take my mind off of it, off you.” He pants out the confession. “Nothing worked until I found you kissing my lieutenant.”

You lean back against him, turning your head so you can look at him. Sweat on his brow and his jaw clenched as he thrusts up into you. “It was yours on paper. Your wife. Your pussy. I don’t make it easy. You had to show me that I wasn’t going to be thrown out of your bed after you’ve gotten what you want.”

His eyes are dark and hot, boring into yours as he thrusts into you, rocking you towards another orgasm. His other hand slides down to your clit where he starts rubbing it again. “Mine.” He agrees. “My wife, my lover, you can be in my bed whenever you want. Have your cunt licked while I have my cock sucked. Bounce on my lover’s cock while I bury mine inside him. Cum on Ellaria’s fingers while I fuck her. Nothing will be denied to you.” He groans. “Except my men.”

Dario laying on the kitchen floor is proof of that. You know now that he will kill anyone who even looks your way and you should hate that but instead it has you clenching around his cock. He hisses and you moan, “I want to try it. I want to experience your lovers and you.” You moan, covering his hand on your breast with his.

Oberyn groans in your ear, loving that you will compromise with him. Not try to change him. “You won’t regret it, Dove.” He vows, his hips still slamming into your ass he fucks you. “Now, cum for me again.” He orders. “Cum for me and I’ll fill up your cunt with my seed and be satisfied.”

His words send you over the edge and you swear you black out as you clamp down on his cock and soak him. “Oh fuck!” You squeal, shaking in his arms as you fall apart pressed against his chest.

This time Oberyn lets himself follow you. Thrusting deep two more times, he buries his cock in your womb and starts to flood it with his seed. Groaning your name in your ear as he pumps you full. “Shiiiiit.”

You pant, squeezing your eyes shut as he works you through your orgasm and you whimper when his cock twitches inside you. “Shit.” You echo, closing your eyes as you relax against him. “Don’t push me away again. I don’t want to hate you.”

“I thought that was what you wanted.” Oberyn admits. “My brother is not happy that you and I have been living separate lives.” He admits, rolling you both to your side and lying down on your bed. “I had come to ask if you would have dinner with me.”

You sigh, shifting to curl into him. “I want to get to know you. We are in this situation for a reason and I want my mother to get better and to make this marriage work for us until it doesn’t. We have to at least try. There’s a reason why Doran chose me.”

“He said you would tame me.” He doesn’t mind this version of you, the one that isn’t spewing insults. His cock is still glistening with your juices and he knows you are dripping his cum onto the bed. Maybe he just needed to fuck you. “I don’t know why he would think that.” He snorts. “I nearly killed Dario. Still might.”

You tut, caressing his chest, “no. You don’t need to kill him. He was just trying his luck. Don’t let him get into your head. We need to stand solid side by side.” You declare and sigh, resting your head on his chest, “I just want my mom to have a chance.”

Oberyn sighs. “She has the best doctors in Dorne.” He reminds you softly. “Doran has asked for a few more to come from Winterfell and King’s Landing to make sure there is nothing else to be done.” Doran always kept his word and that meant your mother would receive the best possible care.

You hum, tears stinging in your eyes, and you swallow harshly. “I don’t want to lose her.” You choke, “she’s been all I have known. My father died when I was a baby.” You confess, “I’ll be alone if she dies.”

“You won’t be alone.” He reminds you. “You have a husband. My family became your family when we married.”

You sigh, pressing a kiss to his glistening golden skin, “thank you.” You murmur, knowing he means every word. He’s your husband and he will be there for you.

He lays there for another minute before he sighs. “I need to drag Dario out of your apartment.” He huffs, reminded of the fact the man is still unconscious on your kitchen floor. “Have the cleaners come in and clean up the blood.”

You snort and shake your head, “he needs a doctor.” You tell him but he ignores you in favor of sliding out of bed and you watch his back muscles move as he heads into the bathroom. He comes back out with a wet rag to clean you up and you sigh, stretching out on the sheets.

Oberyn can be a selfish lover with some. The people who float in and out of his bed clean themselves up, but for Ellaria, for you, he will take care of your needs. You bite your lip as he carefully runs the rag over your folds and he snorts in amusement. “I just watched your asshole pulse while I fucked you.” He reminds you. “There isn’t a part of your body that does not please me.”

You chuckle and stretch out with a groan, “that’s good to know because I have never felt this good before.” You confess, “holy shit, Oberyn. I can’t - wow.” You’re a little speechless as you snuggle into your pillow.

He hums, happy that you are pleased with how he fucked you. It’s important to him that no one leaves his bed unsatisfied, but especially the woman who is his wife. Now not just in name.

**** 

Tears sting in your eyes as you watch your mom struggle to breathe. She’s gotten worse and it’s only taken days for her to be bedridden and unable to breathe properly. The treatments aren’t working and you try your best to offer her a smile but your heart is breaking. She’s dying and there’s nothing more you can do.

The door opens and Oberyn comes into the room, pausing when he sees you in the chair and clutching your mother’s hand. The prognosis isn’t good and he had just come from talking with the doctor before coming to visit with the older woman. “Dove.” He murmurs softly before he walks over to your mother and kisses her papery thin cheek. Her skin has taken on a waxy appearance and feel, the underlying smell of death clinging to her. It won’t be long now. He says your mother’s name and gives her his most charming smile. “You are as beautiful as the day you came to work for us.” He praises, kneeling down on the other side of the bed. “You will be pain free in no time.”

Your mother offers him a weak smile, her hand shaking as she lifts it to cup his cheek. “Look after her. She deserves love and to be happy.” She tells Oberyn and you bite your lip to stop the tears from sliding down your cheeks.

“Don’t worry, my desert rose.” Oberyn covers her hand with his own, pressing it against his cheek. “Your daughter will be well taken care of.” He promises. “She will have joy and love. She will know happiness and that you watch her from your perch with the Gods proudly.”

You feel the sob work its way up your throat and swallow harshly, walking over to Oberyn to rub his back in silent thanks for him reassuring your mother in her final time. You lean down beside him, looking at your mom.” “We will be happy.” You promise, “Oberyn has been incredible.” You assure her, “he will look after me.” Your mom nods, her eyes getting heavy and you bite your lip to stop your sob.

Oberyn holds her hand with his, feeling her body relax and there is one surprisingly strong inhale that rattles through her frail body. The exhale doesn’t come, making Oberyn sigh as he knows that your mother has gone to be with the gods and you will be inconsolable.

You stare at her for several moments, your hand reaching out and that’s when you realize she’s gone. You sob and lean in to kiss her cheek, silently saying goodbye to her and you close your eyes, trying to not break down.

Pushing to his feet, Oberyn places your mother’s hand on her chest and steps back to let you grieve how you need to. “Her pain is gone, Dove.” He murmurs softly. He won’t leave you, knowing what you are going through. After you have your moment with her, he will arrange for your mother’s body to be treated with the utmost care.

You nod, lip quivering, and tears stream down your cheeks as you watch him treat your mom with so much care. “I can’t - I need you to - to help me plan everything.” You request and he nods, “of course I will.” He promises, leaning in to kiss your hair. You know he will, he promised your mom to look after you.

“She was a good woman.” He tells you quietly. “I would come sit with her, every afternoon, after lunch.” He had never told you that. Or that he had asked her not to tell you. After the arrangement had been made, and she had started the treatments, he had made time no matter what else was going on. Even when you weren’t speaking with him.

Your eyes widen and you stare at him in shock. “You came - every day?” You ask and he nods. Your heart pounds in your chest and he reaches out to gently wipe the tears from your cheeks. You reach up to grip his wrist and he freezes, thinking you’re rejecting his touch. “Thank you.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist after you let go of his wrist.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He promises. “At first, I came to see if I could talk her into getting you to change your mind, but when I saw her doctor, I knew I could never do that.” He explains, not wanting you to think that he was totally honorable. “But then I kept coming back for her, for myself. She had always been there in Sunspear but I had never gotten to know her.” It’s a regret he will carry, but he is happy for the time he has spent with her. “I see why you went to such lengths to save her.”

You are shocked to hear that he was visiting your mother. You never knew that and you swallow harshly, trying to stop the sob that’s working its way up your throat again. You bury your face in his chest and squeeze him, knowing that you want to make this marriage work. He’s your husband, your only family.

**** 

The funeral is a beautiful, somber affair. Oberyn had helped you through it all, guiding you through choosing a service and flowers, music and a dress for her to wear. He had insisted that she be buried in the Martell crypt, telling you that as his mother-in-law, she deserved to be there. Since it was housed in the basement of the building you lived in, you could visit anytime you wished. He had stood by your side, strong and comforting, opening up to you about his grief from losing his sister and how it had changed him.

After the funeral, you have grown closer to Oberyn and you are getting ready for dinner with him when it hits you. You love him. You have no idea when it happened because you didn’t want him, didn’t like him, but between the drama between you and the way he’s supported you during your mother’s death, you have fallen for the Red Viper. You stare at yourself in shock and Oberyn walks into your now shared bedroom with the towel around his waist, chest glistening from his shower. “I love you.” You blurt out, unable to stop yourself.

Oberyn stops, turning towards you with his brow dipping into a furrowed line. “You shouldn’t, Dove.” He tells you quietly. “I’m not a good man, a man who is content to live a quiet and simple life.” You know he still sleeps with others. Not just Ellaria. He comes back to you most nights, especially since your mother’s death, but it’s no secret that he isn’t giving up his ways. You look so crestfallen that he sighs, his hands dropping to his sides. “You know I care about you?” He asks. “Right? That you will be safe and find pleasure and comfort with me? That I will make sure you are happy?”

His answer shouldn’t surprise you. He’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t do commitment and love. You’d accepted that he shares his bed with others and you haven’t been in a mindset to think about trying that with him. “I do.” You promise, looking back at yourself in the mirror. “I just wanted you to know how I feel. Even if you don’t feel the same.” You assure him and he nods, stripping off his towel and you can’t help but admire his body in your reflection. “Oberyn?” You ask and he looks at you, “yes, Dove?” You bite your lip, “I want to share our bed with Ellaria and another. I want to experience more.” You announce, slightly nervous.

He’s surprised and cautious about your wants. “Are you sure?” He doesn’t care about his nudity as he strides towards you, picking up the bottle of wine that has been left by the maid and drinks straight from the neck. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” He reaches out and caresses your cheek. “You don’t have to change for me.”

You nod, “I’m not changing because of you. I want to try it. If I don’t like it, I’ll say so. I want to experience something different. Can you help me do that?” You ask and he nods, a smirk on his face as he brushes your cheekbone with his thumb. “It would be my pleasure.” You smirk, turning your head to kiss his palm, “our pleasure.” Oberyn chuckles and leans down to kiss you, the taste of the wine on his tongue has you moaning and he pulls back to say “fuck dinner. I want you.” You moan into the kiss and let him drag you to the bed. He tells you everything he wants to watch you do, growled in your ear while he fucks you from behind. Your dinner reservation ignored.

After you are sprawled on the bed, dripping his cum, Oberyn caresses your hip and chuckles. “Do I call Ellaria and her lover into our bed now, or would you prefer tomorrow?” He slaps a cheek of your ass playfully. “Did I wear you out?”

You chuckle, “you have enough energy for them to come over now, husband? Or are you too old to continue fucking through the night?” You tease, eyebrows raised as you look up at him from where you are laying on the bed.

He rolls his eyes slightly and sighs. “Too old?” He snorts. “You weren’t calling me too old when you were screaming my name in pleasure while you soaked my cock.”

You chuckle at his offense and you shift to curl into his chest, “call them now. I’ll clean up and we can host Ellaria and her lover. I want to experience them.” You caress Oberyn’s sternum as you look at him.

He chuckles and reaches for his phone that is lying on the bedside table. Opening it up, he selects a number from his contacts and hits call. His fingers caress your back as the phone rings and he smiles when the sultry voice of his lover is heard. “Darling.” He coos. “Are you entertaining a woman tonight, or do you have that lover who has such an impressive cock of his own?” He asks, as easily as he would ask about a dinner date.

You listen to him on the phone, lounging on the bed as he speaks to Ellaria. “The lover with the impressive cock.” Ellaria coos her answer and you smirk, “come over.” You say since he has it on speaker and Ellaria is surprised when she speaks your name. “I want to experience you and your lover with my husband.” You declare, wanting to let her know your intentions.

Ellaria hums, wondering if Oberyn has convinced you to try this, although she knows he is not one to force matters. “We will be down shortly.” The floor where his lover and his children live is above yours, he had never wanted to be too far from the Sand Snakes. Chuckling, he ends the call and smirks at you. “Will you entertain with my cum dripping from your cunt or will you clean up?” He asks. “I think I might wear your juices on my cock.”

You smirk, shifting to kneel on the bed, and you reach for him to wrap your arms around his neck. “Do you think Ellaria will wish to lick your cum from my pussy?” You hum, leaning in to kiss his jaw, “or will she want me to be clean?”

Oberyn hums, turning his head to press his lips to yours. “She knows the taste of my cum well.” He chuckles. “I know she would love to see how we taste together.”

You hum against his lips, caressing his chest, and you moan against his lips when his tongue slides into your mouth. Neither of you hear the door open but you hear Ellaria when she says “ah, what a gorgeous sight, lover.”

He smiles against your lips, his flaccid cock twitching as he thinks about what is to come. You have never had multiple partners, so it will be a treat to see if you like that.

You smirk, turning your head to look at Ellaria and gesture for her to join. “Come here.” You coo and wave her over with her lover. Ellaria kneels on the bed and you reach for her, pressing your lips to hers, your hand curling around her neck.

Oberyn groans at the beautiful sight and he feels Omar’s hand on his shoulder. Turning and pressing his lips to the other man’s easily. He has had him before and he knows you will be pleased with his cock if you take it tonight.

You moan when you pull your lips from Ellaria so you can watch Oberyn kiss the other man. His hand cupping his cheek and your stomach twists in arousal at the sight. You moan softly and watch him kiss another man. “It’s a gorgeous sight, isn’t it?” Ellaria coos in your ear and she caresses your back until she’s squeezing your ass. You nod, turning your head to press your lips back to hers, your tongue sliding against hers while you reach up to cup her breast.

Pleasure is all Oberyn ever strives for in a sexual encounter. He wants everyone to enjoy themselves. Most of all him, but right now, this is also more about you than him. To see if you are willing to slot yourself into this part of his world, to open up to the comfort that can be found in others arms and not let jealousy come between you. He breaks away from Omar’s kiss. “Ellaria.” He rasps out. “She wants you to lick my cum from her pretty little cunt.” He informs his lover.

Ellaria moans, kissing along your jaw, “you want me to lick your pussy, beautiful girl?” She coos and you nod, falling under her spell as her dark eyes burn into yours. She guides you to lay down on the bed and spreads your legs, admiring the creamy mess between your thighs, and your chest heaves in anticipation as she shifts to law down between your legs.

Omar’s hand wraps around Oberyn’s cock and he groans, making you look over at him. He flashes you a smirk and nods towards Ellaria. “She will eat your cunt while her lover sucks my cock.”

You gasp when Ellaria’s tongue slides through your folds, her moan vibrating through you and you watch Omar shift onto his knees, his hand squeezing Oberyn’s cock as he leans closer to take him into his mouth, making your husband groan. The sight has your stomach clenching and your pussy pulse against Ellaria’s tongue. “Shit.” You choke, reaching down to tangle your fingers in her hair.

Oberyn hums in pleasure and his hand cups the back of Omar’s head as he eagerly swallows down his cock. “You are a pretty sight.” He praises breathless, both to you and Ellaria and the man who is pleasuring him. “How does it feel, Dove? Knowing that a woman's tongue can know your body so well?”

You whine, tilting your head back against the mattress as Ellaria strokes your thighs, pushing them further apart. “You taste so good.” She coos and slides her tongue through your folds until she sucks your clit. You cry out and moan, back arching as you watch Oberyn take his pleasure, rocking his hips into Omar’s mouth.

Oberyn’s head tilts back, groaning loudly as he experiences the talented mouth of the other man. Only opening his eyes again so he can watch you rock your hips down onto Ellaria’s face. “You look so good like that.” He pants. “Spread out and indulgent. Both of you are so eager for more.”

Ellaria hums against your folds, moaning when you tug on her hair. She sucks on your clit a little harder and you whine, bucking your hips up into her face. She flings her arm over your stomach and Oberyn groans as he watches you. Your eyes meet his and you whimper, “so good.”

He caresses Omar’s cheek and feels where his cock makes the man’s throat bulge. “Make her cum, El.” He pants out, knowing how talented that tongue is. “Make her cum so she can taste your gorgeous cunt.”

His words send you over the edge and you cry out, thighs pressing against her head as you cum against her tongue. She moans and laps at your folds, wanting every drop, and you shake while you moan her name, your eyes closing while Oberyn watches you.

Tapping the other man’s chin, Oberyn pulls his hips back. His cock sliding out of the hot mouth that it had been buried in and he leans over to drag Ellaria up to taste you from her lips with a groan.

You watch Oberyn kiss Ellaria and you reach for Omar, pulling him close to kiss him. His hands grab your waist and he pulls you close while Ellaria and Oberyn kiss. It’s so erotic, your cunt drips despite you just orgasming from Ellaria’s tongue.

The kiss between lovers is long, easily something that could last all day. But Oberyn and Ellaria both are eager to witness the passion you share with the other man. Turning and moaning as the sight as your hand wraps around the thick cock attached to Omar’s magnificent form. “Lover, perhaps Omar should fuck her while she licks my cunt?” Ellaria moans. “I doubt you will object to filling his ass with your cock.”

Oberyn smirks, “you won’t catch me arguing about that, lover.” He coos and he reaches for you, “you want to have his cock, my wife?” He asks and you nod, “yes.” You’re breathless and you want to sample Ellaria. He chuckles and reaches out to squeeze your ass, “your wish is our command.” He winks and Ellaria shifts to lay down. You kneel on your hands and lean in to slide your tongue along Ellaria’s thigh.

Ellaria moans your name, her eyes sliding closed and there is a very pleased smirk on her face. As if this is the outcome she had been anticipating. “Gorgeous.” Oberyn coos as Omar pumps his cock and shuffles behind you. “Fill my wife with your cock and I’ll prep you to take mine.” He grunts. “She will experience the force of both of our thrusts.”

When Omar starts to enter you, you whimper against Ellaria’s skin. He’s thicker than Oberyn but not as long. You pant as he pushes into you and you let yourself stretch around him while caressing Ellaria’s thighs. When he’s fully inside you, you timidly lean down towards Ellaria’s pussy. “I, uh, haven’t done this before.” You confess and Ellaria smirks, “just do to me what you love to have done to yourself.” She instructs and you nod, leaning in to slide your tongue through her folds.

Oberyn shuffles off the bed, watching you take the other man’s cock from a different angle while he gets a bottle of lube. The sight of your tongue timidly sliding through Ellaria’s cunt is intoxicating. He grabs the bottle from the drawer and leans down, pushing his head beside yours and letting his tongue flutter alongside yours.

His tongue tangling with yours has you moaning and Ellaria pants, her fingers tangling in his hair and her hand on your neck. “Fuck.” She curses and you moan, lapping at her clit with Oberyn until he pulls away, kissing you on the cheek.

“You look so pretty like this, Dove.” Oberyn coos as he slides back behind Omar and opens the tube to squeeze some lube on his fingers. “Ellaria likes your tongue.”

Omar groans when Oberyn presses his slicked up digits against his ass and your husband chuckles at his pleasured groan when he’s not even got started yet. You lap at Ellaria’s folds, sliding down to push your tongue into her and Omar slowly rocks into you, taking one of Oberyn’s fingers inside.

Despite having fucked Omar before, Oberyn takes his time to work him open. Knowing that he needs to be stretched so he doesn’t tear. His ass is tight and he groans when the muscles clench down around his finger. Pulling back and adding more lube before working a second finger inside him. “That’s it, lover. Open up for me and you will have my cock buried in your ass soon. You’ll like that, impaled on my cock while fucking my wife. You’ll be in heaven.”

Omar moans, dropping his head as he tries to stay still. You whine against Ellaria’s folds, wanting more but he doesn’t move until Oberyn has stretched him out. You slide your tongue up to suck on Ellaria’s clit and she watches Oberyn move to lube up his cock, spreading more lube on Omar’s ass as he kneels behind him.

“Fuck.” Oberyn groans, pressing the head of his cock against the grasping ring of muscles and starts to breach the man. Sliding his hips forward until the head is inside and he hisses, sliding his hand down Omar’s back. “Start moving.” He orders the other man. “Fuck yourself back onto my cock as you fuck my Dove.”

Just his words are enough for Omar to twitch inside you but he nods, gripping your hips as he starts to move. You whine in delight, the vibrations making Ellaria moan in pleasure as you lap at her clit. It doesn’t take long for you all to have a rhythm established and you are moaning at the way Omar pushes into you.

Once Oberyn feels the way Omar is pushing back against his cock, he knows he can ramp up the pace. The man is begging for him to hammer into his pretty little ass and wreck him from the way he is squeezing his cock like a vice. Gritting his teeth, Oberyn digs his fingers into Omar’s hips and snaps his own forward harshly, making the other man cry out in pleasure as he strikes against his prostate.

Omar is pushed into you by Oberyn and in turn, you moan into Ellaria’s cunt, making her whine. The motion back and forth continues, building up as the four of you seek pleasure and pleasure from one another. It’s intoxicating and you can understand why Oberyn loves it so much.

Leaning over Omar’s shoulder to watch you and Ellaria. Loving how eagerly you are devouring his lover’s cunt. As you hear her moans, it spurs you on, wanting to hear more from her. Ellaria paws at her breasts and tugs on your hair as she rocks her hips down, greedy for your tongue. “That’s it, Dove. Devour her. Make her cum on your tongue and then that thick cock will fill your cunt. After you cream all over him.”

Oberyn’s words make you clench around Omar who hisses and bucks into you a little harder. You slide your tongue into Ellaria and you barely need to move your head, pushed into your pussy by the two men behind you.

Oberyn chuckles, continuing his harsh pace as he spears into the other man. “That’s right, fuck. All of us are going to cum. Every one of us. Ellaria is loving that tongue in her cunt, aren’t you?” He growls.

Ellaria moans and nods, tangling her fingers in your hair to push you even further into her cunt. You lap at her clit and she meets Oberyn’s eyes. “Your wife is not as innocent as she seems. She’s going to make me cum.” She confesses breathlessly and Omar feels you clench around his cock.

Oberyn’s filthy chuckle is low, heated. “Good girl, Dove.” He praises. “Make her cum. Show her how filthy you can be. Cum on Omar’s cock. Fuck, you fit in so well. We will all fuck you until you are covered in cum. Until you are full.” He rambles as he plows into Omar, so incredibly turned on by how erotic his once prudish seeming wife is being right now. “Fuuuuuck.”

Oberyn’s words have your cunt fluttering around Omar’s cock but you want Ellaria to cum first. You suck on her clit and snake your hand along her thigh until you are pushing two digits into her weeping pussy. She cries out and you moan victoriously when she clamps down on your fingers and her back arches.

Ellaria cumming is always a beautiful sight. The gorgeous woman is enthralling when she shakes in pleasure and it’s made even more intoxicating by the knowledge that you made her cum. His wife devours her cunt like you are born to do it and makes his lover cry out in bliss, making him think that this could be a regular occurrence.

You work her through it, making you moan into her folds until she’s pushing your head away. You whine but Omar’s hands grab your tits, squeezing them, and you are sent closer to your orgasm. His hips hit your ass and you whimper when he gets the angle just right. “That’s it baby. Cum for us.” Ellaria coos, watching your face.

Oberyn can tell from the way your breaths are catching in your chest that you are about to cum. You must be squeezing Omar’s cock because the other man’s ring of muscles is pulsing around his cock. “She’s close.” He bites out.

Your hands grip Ellaria’s as she coos to you, “cum for us, lover.” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut, and you gasp when you feel Oberyn’s fingers rubbing your clit. You are pushed over the edge and moan your husband’s name as you fall apart on another man’s cock.

Oberyn twitching inside you, the pressure against Omar’s prostate makes the other man cry out. His hips lurch forward and he starts to throb. Painting your walls with ropes of sticky cum while his puckered hole spasms around your husband’s cock.

You pant, collapsing forward and Omar follows you, Oberyn shifting his knees to follow and you moan when his hand squeezes your hip while he fucks Omar harder, making the man inside you twitch despite his softening cock. “Fuck. Cum for me, baby.” You demand and Ellaria smirks, “cum for your wife, lover.”

You are pressed under the weight of the other man and Oberyn doesn’t hold back. Pounding into Omar to make the man wail in pleasure as his orgasm is pushed past the point of overwhelming. Hisses out your name as he drives into the tight hole again and again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He roars, pushing deep and flooding the man’s ass with his cum. Panting as he works himself through the intense pleasure.

You sigh, Ellaria stroking your hair as you relax under the weight of the men. It’s blissful and something you never imagined before. Omar pulls out of you as he’s soft and you shuffle up to lay beside Ellaria, turning your head to capture her lips while you spread your legs to show your husband the other man’s cum inside of you.

“Fuck.” Even though he hasn’t caught his breath, after pulling out of Omar, Oberyn ducks his head down and swipes his tongue through your cum covered folds to taste you and the other man’s combined juices.

“Fuck.” You pant, throwing your head back, and Ellaria chuckles, turning her head to pull Oberyn up so she can kiss him, wanting to sample the combination herself.

Oberyn lands next to Ellaria, tangling his tongue with hers easily and chuckling when she moans. Knowing that the other woman has become intoxicated by the taste as he has. Pulling away from his lips is a struggle but he reaches for you as well to kiss you softly, his other arm reaching for Omar to pull him closer as well. “Fuck.” He murmurs against your lips. “How do you like my way?” He asks.

You chuckle, reaching out to caress his cheek, “I love it.” You confess, “I want to do this again.” You admit and he smirks, knowing he wants to do this with you too but also keep you to himself sometimes. You know he’s going to be difficult to tame but you don’t want him to be anyone but himself, even if you were bought and paid to marry him for your mother’s sake.

[famouslyanonymous]

every Tommy Miller scene [ 2/? ]

+ bonus "I thought we were having pancakes!"

[famouslyanonymous]

[famouslyanonymous]

me when Elon leaks all of the info he has on the Trump admin and gets deported

[famouslyanonymous]

Bambi ~ Part one

series masterpost here pedro pascal masterlist

a/n: this is quite long, I hope it keeps you fed while I prepare the next part!! feedback is always welcomed!! i will be gnawing at the bars of my enclosure ok bye!

mentions: post-outbreak / apocalyptic setting, dubcon/coercion themes, blood mention, obsession/possessiveness, power imbalance, reader is of age (above 18), naive reader (soft/innocent/inexperienced), fingering, non-explicit violence & threats, gun use, manipulation & emotional control, possessiveness, praise kink, possible other kinks, punishments,, “daddy” kink, shared reader (Joel x Reader x Tommy), pet names (Bambi, sweet girl, good girl, our girl), domestic elements turned dark, mental confusion & emotional overwhelm, morally gray to fully unhinged dark Miller brothers

Reader discretion strongly advised. Dark themes throughout. Minors DNI ❌ This is a work of fiction and does not reflect healthy or ideal relationships!!! 

Do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own. 

⟡━━━ ✦ 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗳𝗶𝗰 ahead ✦ ━━━⟡

The forest is quiet at night, too quiet for its own sake. There used to be more life out here. Crickets chirping. Frogs croaking. Birds or bats darting through the dark sky. Now there’s nothing. Just still trees and dead air, like the whole forest is holding its breath.

“You know what I miss the most about the woods?” Joel asks, voice low as he walks beside his brother, their shotguns slung across their backs.

 Tommy turns to him and huffs, waiting for his brother to respond to his question.“Deers” Tommy hums in approval, “Used to see ‘em all the time, this time of night.” 

“You miss watchin’ ‘em or huntin’ ‘em?”  Tommy snorts, Joel huffs a quiet laugh—

—and then it happens.

A sudden flash of motion cuts through the trees. Small, fast. Barely there.

Both of them stop. 

Silence. 

Alert. 

They are quick to grab their shotguns and scan the shadows with their guns pointed, expecting another movement. Eyes sharp, bodies tensed. 

Joel’s voice drops, almost amused. “Well, speak of the devil…”

Tommy steps forward, eyes narrowed. “You saw that?”

Joel is already scanning the brush. “Yeah. Could’ve been a rabbit. Could’ve been somethin’ else.”

Another motion. Left this time. Farther.

They both turn, guns half-lifted.

Joel mutters, “Whatever it is, it’s movin’ smart.”

Tommy nods. “Too smart.”

A beat passes. Then Joel speaks.

“Split?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, already turning to flank. “We circle the woods. If it’s still out here—we’ll find it.”

They part in silence, each splitting through the trees like they already know the drill, they’ve done this a hundred times by now. 

Joel moves through the right,  slow and deliberate, each of his steps deliberate. Meanwhile, Tommy veers to the other direction; his steps are lighter and his eyes cut through the dark like a blade, scanning everything in sight.

You’re out there moving fast, barefoot and running out of air. Your legs are tired and bruised from all the times you’ve tripped. You don’t know how far you’ve gotten by now, but you can’t risk it, you can’t risk being found by him. 

You’re trying your best, but panic keeps you clumsy, and every snap of a branch is louder than it should be. The leaves rustle with every move you make, which guides Joel closer to your location. 

You don’t know they are close. 

They don’t know if you’re a wild animal, a person, or just an illusion. 

They’re not here to hurt you, but you don’t know that. They are just as curious as you, and just as cautious. 

They keep circling you, it’s like a never-ending game. They move, you move, they move again. Joel on one side, Tommy on the other. Each move draws the noose tighter, but they don’t know how close they are yet; they just feel it. 

You’re not trying to be found, but you’ve been on the run for long enough now. Your body aches, and your vision is blurry from the adrenaline and the fact that, along the way, you had lost your glasses. You weave through the trees, ducking under branches and trunks of trees, your hands in front of you leading the way until your foot catches around thorns. 

You don’t scream or cry, but it’s evident you’ve fallen due to the solid thud of your body hitting the ground. The game is over; they’ve found you. Joel turns and runs in your direction. Tommy, though a bit further, hears the sound as well and freezes. 

Branches hit Joel’s body as he pushes forward through the forest, deeper into the darkness, with only his flashlight in hand, his shotgun lowered in his other hand. 

And that's when he finds you curled on the ground, legs smeared with dirt as well as your clothes, and your hair is a tangled mane with leaves. You stare at the figure of Joel like a deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes are wide, frozen. 

He just stands there looking at you, neither of you says a word. A part of him relaxes, you’re just a girl. His eyes then trail over your shape, too small, too soft, too human. 

“Huh, not exactly what I expected to find.” He murmurs mostly to himself. 

Joel keeps the flashlight on your face just enough to keep you stunned, your eyes don’t leave the light, too afraid to move, and quite honestly, too blinded to know what to do next, but your body remains tense, muscles twitching like you’re ready to bolt and run in any direction.

You watch him as he moves two fingers close to his mouth and lets out a specific whistle, alerting someone else that he has found you. Low and controlled, he repeats it for Tommy to hear and waits for his response. 

Tommy whistles back as he makes his way to Joel, and to you now as well. 

Joel crouches slowly as if he were face to face with a wild, wounded animal. You don’t move at all. You don’t know who or what he is or what his intentions are. Joel is checking to see if you were infected. Thankfully, your short dress allowed him to inspect your body without getting too close. He’s seen enough infected people by now to know what to look for and how they look alike. He also looks to check if you carry any weapons on you, investigating what kind of girl you are. 

Were you a savage? 

Were you running from danger? 

Were you lost? 

“You gon bite me if I touch you?” he asks in a low voice. You don’t answer, just shake your head, barely breathing. “Alright then, let’s see what you are.” 

He gets slightly closer now, you can feel his breathing close to yours, and the warmth that radiates from his body. Joel kneels right in front of you, flashlight set on the ground gently. He scans your body, not touching yet. 

“Were you hurt?” he asks softly, afraid to scare you off. “Can you tell me your name? Where you come from?” 

You don’t make a sound, just blink up at him slowly, your chest rising and falling like the adrenaline is coming down. He watches your face, tight with fear and filthy with dirt, and he reaches out to you with his arm slowly. His fingers are rough, but he remains gentle nonetheless. 

He moves the hair from your face, gently cradles your chin as he looks into your eyes, before lowering his sight to check for scratches.

Your eyes are clear. Not infected, checked. 

Lips are dry, but no blood or foam in sight. 

No signs of a bite. 

Joel shifts closer, now checking your arms, elbows, and shoulders as he scans for any wounds or shivers. You don’t move at all the whole time. Too scared to try anything or make him think you would do something. 

“My name is Joel,” he says, meeting your eyes again, “I’m not here to hurt you, understand me?” 

You stare at him for a beat too long, Joel wonders if you can even speak at all. 

You nod once, small but enough for him to catch. 

Joel exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. Encountering you feels like an encounter with a deer, wide-eyed, silent, frightened and too delicate for this kind of world.

Yet still alive, and perhaps willing to be led. 

The moment is interrupted by the appearance of Tommy. 

Branches crack under his boots as he pushed through the brush, eyes sharp and his gun still raised. His flashlight lands on Joel, then on you. 

“What the hell?” 

Joel lifts a hand. “Easy. Put it down Tommy” 

Tommy doesn’t move at first, his gaze set on your dirt smeared wide eyes as you stare back at him. 

“She infected?” he asks, voice low. 

“No” Joel says “Not infected, not hurt either. I checked” 

Tommy hesitates and Joel asks him to put down the gun again. He obligues, slow and careful like defusing a bomb. 

Joel turns back to you “C’mon sweetheart, let me help you up” 

He reaches for you, carefully. You hesitate and after a pause you take his hand.

Tommy watches your legs tremble as you rise, body sluggish, muscles weak from exhaustion but you don’t stumble. It’s like watching Bambi trying to stand. 

You move behind Joel. 

Your hand curls tight around the fabric of his sleeves, fingers digging into his forearm enough to anchor yourself. You watch Tommy as you hide behind Joel’s shoulder. 

Joel doesn’t flinch but Tommy watches you closely. 

“You trust him already?” he asks. 

You don’t respond, but Joel does. 

“She doesn’t know me,” 

Yet still you stand right there, behind a man you just met.

Joel feels the way your figure warms his back, looking for warmth yourself, your fingers digging into his arm and hears your staggering breaths. 

You don’t know him at all, but you know he’s not the one you’re running from. Neither is Tommy, although you’re just as skeptical as him. Your nose twitches slightly catching smells. The men scent, wood, sweat, trees and dirt.

They smell like the woods, like safety in a way that confuses you. 

You don’t know why you lean into trusting them, but you do. 

“Well shit, what did we just find?” Tommy mutters finally “What do we do about her?” 

Joel doesn’t answer. His hand rises, steady and low and rests over yours on his arm. You feel the calloused rough palm set on top of your frozen hand. 

It’s not spoken, but they both seem to have agreed to take you back to their cabin. 

They lead you through the forest path, Joel at your side while Tommy walks behind watching the two of you. His gun is still lowered but his arm remains tense. 

The flashlight leads the way and cuts forward, flickering over roots and moss. The arm that’s not gripping Joel presses against trees, guiding yourself through your senses like you don’t trust the flashlight enough. 

Joel keeps a close eye on you, glancing over in case your legs give out and he has to carry you himself at any given moment. The two of you are silent, but Tommy though, he’s certainly not quiet. 

“So where do you come from?” he starts, voice firm as he asks a thousand questions. “You got family out here? Camp nearby? You run off from someone?” 

You turn your head to look at him, your lips parted but you don’t emit an answer. You neither shake or nod your head. 

Tommy keeps asking questions. 

“Why were you running?” Still nothing. “You look like you’ve been out here for a while, someone chasing you?” 

You swallow hard, your steps falter and you almost trip. 

You turn your head forward, focusing on your steps that you barely see. 

“I’m talkin’ to you” Tommy says now louder. 

You flinch at the tone of his voice. Head ducking and your body curling to Joel’s looking for a sense of protection. 

“I–” you don’t remember a single thing, memories blur as you try to think of what to say. “I– I don’t know” 

“You don’t know?” He scoffs and stops walking. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You don’t know?” 

You shrink back instantly. His tone, the pressure of his questions and the rapid fire of them banging at the door. If you weren’t holding yourself so tightly to Joel right now, you’d flee like a scared deer. 

“Enough questions now, Tommy” Joel cuts in, exhausted from the scene. “Let’s get her inside and we can keep going at this there” 

“Oh so we’re bringing complete strangers into the cabin now. That’s great” 

“Tommy–”

“What if this is a trap, huh? What if she’s not alone? What if there’s a group of people expecting for us to be at the door and storm in? What if they’re waiting for us to drag her inside?” 

Joel hesitates. 

He doesn’t want to believe a word he says, he doesn’t think any of it its true. 

They both turn to you. You’ve gone silent again with the tone of Tommy’s voice. 

Their flashlight catching your face again. 

Lips parted. Eyes glossy filled with fear. Trembling breaths.

Not the kind of fear you feel from hiding something, rather the kind of fear when you’re about to break. 

You’re a deer caught in the headlights. Too scared to breathe, lie or even run away.

If you knew anything or had any kind of information, you’d spill the second they push harder. 

“Let’s just get her inside first.” 

The door creaks open and you step into a bubble of warmth. Your leggs stutter as you cross the threshold. Fire crackles somewhere in the corner, inside a black box. 

Their scent is so much stronger inside the cabin, it smells of pine, smoke and whiskey. 

There’s a couch sitting under a large window, it’s covered with a few worn in blankets and a jacket lays in the arm rest. There’s a small kitchen good enough for both of them to make use of it  and a wooden table with four chairs. 

Tommy shuts the door behind you and stays near it. Joel on the other hand, moves slowly, guiding you over to the couch. 

“You can take a seat” he offers “You’re safe” 

You hover over to the couch but you don’t sit just yet. You’re not sure what to do with all this warmth, the cushions, the blankets. 

Joel sighed and heads to the kitchen, you watch as he takes a can and sets it on the surface. He pours into a bowl and brings it back to you. The smell of stew becomes more intense with every step he takes in your direction. 

You stare at the bowl in his hands like it’s a test. What even is it? Is it really for you?

“You should eat something” he says gently. 

You look up at him, then back at the bowl, then at him again before taking the bowl from his hands slowly. 

Tommy watches the whole scene and mutters under his breath. “Yeah, totally not suspicious” 

“Tommy” Joel shoots him a look, “She’s probaby  in shock” 

“She’s in something”

You flinch again and Joel catches it. He takes the bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

“Alright, you can eat when you’re ready” he murmurs “We will give you space.” 

He backs away, nodding toward the kitchen. Tommy hesitates, then follows—just a few meters, not far. Not out of earshot. Definitely not out of sight.

Joel opens the fridge with a soft creak, pulls out two beers, and offers one wordlessly. Tommy takes it, eyes never leaving you as he brings the bottle to his lips.

No one speaks.

The fire crackles quietly, casting dancing shadows along the floor. Somewhere outside, the wind brushes against the cabin walls like a whisper.

You hear your own breath, and then – your stomach growls. Loud. Desperate.

The sound feels foreign, you hadn’t heard it in a while and it seemed your body just remembered it needs something. 

Legs folding beneath you as you sink onto the edge of the couch, cautious and unsure. Your fingers reach for the bowl Joel left behind. 

You inspect the bowl before you take a bite, stirring the thick mixture—bits of potato, carrot, some kind of meat. You don’t care what any of it is. The stew hits your tongue, a warm salty flavour that seems to wake up a memory. It’s so distant in your mind that you can’t reach it. 

They both watch you as you eat from the bowl, Tommy leans on the counter, his expression unreadable. Joel is less obvious as he drinks his beer.

You finish the last bit of stew and the spoon clinks softly against the bowl. You set it back on the table and Joel takes it as a signal to move closer, perhaps you’re ready to talk now. 

You clean your mouth with the back of your hand and rest it on your lap, anchoring yourself to the couch. 

Joel’s boots step closer, slowly through the wooden floor. He crouches down beside you at eye level while Tommy watches from the kitchen. He’s still suspicious—but something in his gaze shifts. Just a little. Less predator. More puzzled. Curious.

“You remember anything yet?” 

You stay in silence and shut your eyes tightly. As if you could squeeze the memories, look through your skull for any piece of information. And it does, but its not what you want. It’s far too painful to open that door inside your memory lane. 

There’s a shotgun, your mother screaming, crying in pain and lots of blood. And then running endlessly. Your breath tearing through your lungs, your barefeet raw agains stone and soil. Your glasses fall somewhere in the middle of the road. 

You gasp and your eyes open – wide and glassy. 

Joel doesn’t move an inch. 

Tommy straightens, his jaw tightens. 

“What was it?” he asks gently. You shake your head. 

“I don’t…I don’t know” you whisper, your voice hoarse from not having spoken in so long. 

“Try” Tommy says from the kitchen, you both turn your heads to him and you nod. 

“There was…blood. And someone crying. I think—I think it was my mom” 

Joel’s gaze darkens but his voice stays at the same level as before. “You remember a name? Yours? Hers?”

You shake your head again, frustrated at the lack of memory. 

Tommy shifts his weight and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Jesus, what happened to you?” 

You look down at your lap, Joel interrupts. “You’re safe now, that’s what matters”

But are you really safe? With them? 

You want to feel safe, a part of the warmth allows you to. 

But there’s something left unsaid, something you quite haven’t figured out yet. 

Joel takes the blankets without saying a word and moves slowly over you. You’ve curled yourself on your side, he set a cushion under your head. He tucks the edges so the blanket doesn’t slip when you turn. 

You don’t move at all. 

Not when his hand pauses near your shoulder, not when he lingers too long watching your face in the soft flicker of firelight. Joel pulls back, leaving you alone on the couch and you heard the floorboards creaking under his boots. He turns to Tommy and signals to go outside to talk in private.

You can’t sleep. 

You should be exhausted due to all the running and the adrenaline rush, but your body remains alert. You hear them talking somewhere near the window, their voices low like the things they’re saying are not meant for your ears. 

Your eyes stay shut, breaths slow and steady. 

“What are we going to do with her?” Tommy murmurs. 

Joel doesn’t answer right away. 

“You saw her,” he says after a beat “She’s got no one. Not a memory, not even a name” 

“Yeah, not even a single survival instinct” he scoffs. Joel nods slow, agreeing with Tommy. 

The silence stretches long enough for both of them to sigh. 

“We’re keeping her” Joel says after a beat. 

“You serious?” Tommy turns to him “Joel, this isn’t some dog we found in the woods” 

“No, it’s not a dog, it’s a deer if anything. You saw her wide-eyes staring at our flashlights like a deer caught. She’s lucky we found her first” 

Your chest tightens as you listen to Joel’s voice. 

“The way she followed me, grabbed my arm. Like i was hers, like i was her anchor if something bad were to happen” he pauses “It means everything” 

“You like her?” Tommy turns to Joel, their eyes meet. Joel doesn’t answer. “I do too”

More silence. 

“We’ll take care of her” 

Joel flicks ash off his cigarette and says nothing, he turns to look at the cabin as if you could hear them through the walls. He wishes you could. 

You curl deeper under the blanket. The fabric still smells like firewood and soap and something faintly like him.

And behind your eyelids, all you can see is that shotgun again. The blood. Your mother’s scream.

And their voices now too. 

Eventually your body gave out. Not from safety but pure exhaustion that had clawed its way through your body. You didn’t dream of anything. Didn’t make it to the edge of a nightmare. 

Just completely blacked out. But before sleep took you, you’d felt them. 

The cabin door opened and you could hear quiet steps across the floor. You remained still with your eyes closed. Joel stood near you, close enough to feel. Then Tommy did as well. Neither of them touched you but you could feel their gaze before they each went to their rooms. 

Next morning 

You wake up to the smell of bacon. 

Salt and smoke and something almost sweet. Maple perhaps? Your eyes flutter slowly, vision still clouded with sleep. 

Joel is in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, a pan sizzling in front of him. The morning light cuts through the window in long slats casting a golden color over the room. 

Tommy is already awake. He’s sitting at the table, leaned back in the chair, a mug in hand. He’s not drinking, just holding it. Watching you. 

You sit up slowly and the blanket slips off your shoulder, pooling down your side. His eyes follow and look at your bare skin. He doesn’t look away, just looks harder. He’s not being subtle in the slightest and he knows it. 

Your throat tightens and you shift, you pull the blanket back like an armor and Tommy watches as you do. 

Joel glances over his shoulder as he serves the bacon in three different plates. “She’s up” 

“She sure is” Tommy’s gaze lingers for a moment before taking a sip. 

You feel uneasy, not unsafe but the way he’s staring at you like he could eat you right there and then was disturbing.Just yesterday, he didn’t want to let you inside the cabin. Now, you can feel it in his silence:He wouldn’t be able to let you out.

Joel, on the other hand, moves like nothing’s wrong.

He sets two plates on the table, one in front of the empty seat—yours. He nods at it casually, then looks down at you with a faint, unreadable smile.

“Here you go, Bambi.”

Your brows pull slightly. “What?”

“Figured since you don’t remember a name,��� he says, setting down a mug of something warm—tea surely—“we might as well call you somethin’.”

You blink at him. Bambi. You should protest. But you don’t.

“That alright with you?” Tommy smiles at you. 

You just nod, slow, your stomach fluttering in ways you can’t explain.

The nickname clings to you like smoke. Innocent, sweet—and completely theirs.

You pull out the chair with a soft scrape and sit down, directly across from them. Tommy starts eating his plate of bacon while you stare down at yours as if trying to figure out what it is. 

“So we talked last night,” Joel starts as he takes a seat and relaxes back into the chair, chatting like its an everyday breakfast. You glance up at him, his voice is warm and calm.

 “You’re going to be staying with us,” he adds “if you want to, of course.” 

He lets the words sit there, lets you feel the kindness in them. Like you have a say.

But the truth seeps in anyway.

Where would you go?

Who would you find out there? Would you have food? A warm place to sleep? Would anyone keep you safe the way they would?

You hesitate.

Not because you’re unsure of the answer.

But because you know you’ve already lost the choice.

Joel watches you with a steady, comforting gaze—like he knows you’re working it all out. Like he’s giving you time to accept the truth.

And then Tommy speaks.

His voice is quieter this time. Measured. Different from the way he barked at you in the woods.

“Look,” he says, leaning slightly forward, elbows braced on the table. “I know I was... rough yesterday.”

You don’t meet his eyes.

He notices. He softens further.

“I get it. You’re scared. That’s fair.”

Tommy’s voice is lower now, softer than you’ve ever heard it. No edge, no sharpness—just quiet understanding. He offers the faintest smile. 

Trying to shape himself into something gentle. Something safe.

“But you don’t gotta be scared of us,” he says, eyes fixed on yours. “Ever.”

You glance away, uncertain.

He leans in just a little, voice dropping further—soothing, almost tender.

“We just want you to feel safe. That’s one of the many things we can offer you, if you let us.”

You swallow.

The words settle deep. Deeper than you want to admit. There’s no threat in them—but somehow, they still hold weight.

If you let us.

As if there’s a choice.

As if you haven’t already been folded into the center of their world without even realizing it.

Joel stays quiet, letting Tommy do the talking. But his eyes are on you, steady. 

The air feels thick.

You grip your fork tighter. Your eyes burn, but not with tears—just heat, tension, exhaustion.

And still—something in you wants to believe him. Wants to believe it could be that simple.

You nod, barely.

And your voice—quiet, hoarse, uncertain—slips out before you can stop it.

“...Okay.”

Just one word.

But Joel shifts when he hears it.

His eyes flick toward Tommy, then back to you. There’s something unreadable in his expression—something settled.

Tommy leans back slightly in his chair, but not far. Like he’s giving you space, but not too much.

Like he’s proud of himself.

Joel speaks next, quieter than before.

“Good, Bambi,” Joel says, voice low and easy. “Happy to have you on board.”

You give him a small smile—tight, unsure. But you offer it anyway.

And that’s more than enough.

He sees it. Feels it.

That flicker of willingness, of trust—however faint—is all he needs.

His hand brushes his thigh as he stands. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast,” he says, gesturing to your full plate, “and we’ll find you something clean to wear.”

You glance down at your clothes—mud-streaked, torn at the hem, dried blood in places you don’t want to think about.

You nod, quiet again. “Okay.”

Tommy stands too, stretching his arms, voice light. “Reckon we got some stuff she can use in the back. Closet’s got a few things.”

Joel takes his and Tommy’s plate and heads to the sink to clean up while you dive into your bacon and eggs. 

“How’s the taste, Bambi?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You pause, blinking at him. Chewing.

“It’s good,” you say softly, then add—because it feels expected—“Thank you.”

His smile deepens. Not smug. Not proud. Just… satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmurs under his breath as he turns back to the sink.

You’re not sure if he meant for you to hear that. But you do. And it settles deep.

Tommy returns from the hallway with a modest pile of clothes in his arms—folded, clean, and smelling faintly like cedar and something deeper beneath it.

“There weren’t many options,” he says, setting them down neatly on the couch, “but it’s more than I thought we had.”

You glance at the stack. An old flannel. A plain black hoodie. Two shirts. Pants. Sweatpants. Even a pair of underwear—too big, but clean.

You blink. It’s more than you expected. More than you’ve had in a long time.

Tommy takes a step back and gives you a quick once-over—not leering, but assessing. His gaze lingers just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Think you might wanna get cleaned up first,” he says, tone still easy. “When’s the last time you took a shower?”

You look down at yourself—dirt-streaked skin, dried blood on your arms, your clothes stiff with sweat and earth. Your face grows hot.

You’ve been so focused on their scent. So taken by the safety, the fire, the comfort of not being alone—

You forgot your own.

Do you stink?

You shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious. You don’t meet his eyes. You just shake your head slowly.

Tommy nods once and gestures down the hallway. “Bathroom’s the first door on the right. Hot water still works. Use whatever you need.”

Joel speaks up from the sink. “We’ll keep your breakfast warm.”

You stand, hands curling around the blanket at your chest.

Still watching. Still being watched.

The hallway is dim, the floor cool beneath your bare feet as you move toward the door Tommy pointed out. You clutch the pile of clothes against your chest, the blanket slipping away behind you.

The bathroom is small but clean. A mirror above the sink, fogged slightly from earlier use. You can still smell them in here—soap, cologne, cedarwood.

You lock the door.

Not because you think they’ll barge in.

But because it’s the first time since arriving that you’re alone.

You exhale shakily and set the clothes on the edge of the sink. There’s a towel waiting for you, neatly folded on a stool. A bar of soap. A bottle of shampoo that smells vaguely like pine and smoke. And draped carefully over the hook behind the door— a shirt.

Too big. Soft cotton. Joel’s, clearly.

You know it before you even touch it. You’ve smelled it on him, in the air, in the kitchen. It's clean, yes—but it carries him.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the hem of your shirt. You strip slowly, peeling away the days-old clothes, layer by layer, like skin that no longer belongs to you.

You avoid the mirror.

You don’t want to see yourself like this—hollow-eyed, bruised, thin.

You step into the shower.

When the water hits you—hot, real—it almost breaks you. You brace a hand on the wall, forehead pressed to cool tile, body trembling under the weight of heat and memory.

You don’t cry.

You just breathe. Shallow, shaky. Like you’re still hiding in the woods.

When you finish, you dry off and reach for the clothes. You pull on the underwear—too loose. The sweatpants—soft, drawstring pulled tight. And then…

Joel’s shirt.

It slips over your body, down past your thighs, sleeves hanging low. You wrap your arms around yourself instinctively, inhaling the scent baked into the fabric.

You step out of the bathroom, warm skin wrapped in softness—Joel’s shirt, pulled from the hook behind the door. It’s not the one Tommy had folded for you. It’s not even one either of them offered.

You just… took it.

It hangs loose over your frame, the sleeves swallowing your hands. Paired with the sweatpants—drawstring cinched tight at your waist—you feel strangely small. Hidden. Safe.

You walk barefoot into the main room, fingers tucked into the hem of the shirt. Your hair is still damp, clinging to your neck.

Tommy’s sitting at the table, lacing up his boots. Jacket already on. About to leave.

Joel is leaning back in his chair, cradling a mug in one hand. His gaze finds you the moment you walk in—and stays there.

Not moving. Not blinking.

Tommy glances up at the sound of your footsteps. 

You hesitate, arms tightening around yourself just slightly. “It’s… all a bit big but…” you say quietly, eyes flicking to him. “Uhm… thank you, Tommy.”

His gaze dips over the outfit—familiar fabric. Joel’s shirt. “No problem, Bambi,” he says with a soft smile. “We’ll find you proper clothes real soon.”

Joel doesn’t say anything.

But you feel his attention settle on the shirt. The way it drapes over your frame. The way you picked his without being told. Something shifts in his eyes, he’s got that look again—like you’re already his, and now you’ve confirmed it.

He sets his mug down and rises to his feet slowly.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice calm. “We kept your plate.”

You nod.

And when he walks past you to reheat the food, his hand brushes gently along your back. Barely there.

You eat slowly, the warmth of the food grounding you more than you expect.

The cabin feels quiet this morning. Still. The kind of stillness that hints at routine, at repetition. You watch as Tommy zips up his jacket, slings a rifle over his shoulder like it’s second nature.

He moves with practiced rhythm. Comfortable. Like he’s done this a hundred times before.

And you wonder—what is this?

What do they do all day?

How far do they go?

Where do you fit into that rhythm?

You swallow your bite, fingers tightening slightly around your fork.

“Tommy?” you ask, voice quiet, gentle—like it’s not even your place to know where he goes. 

He turns, halfway to the door. “Yeah?”

You hesitate for a moment.

“Where are you going?”

He pauses, then lets out a small breath, turning fully to face you.

“Just out on a run,” he says. “Checkin’ the perimeter, makin’ sure the traps are still set. Gotta keep this place safe.”

You nod, looking down again.

It’s not the answer that matters. It’s the fact that you asked.

Joel glances at you from across the room, something flickering in his expression. You don’t see it—but Tommy does.

“Joel’ll stay with you,” Tommy adds after a beat. “You’ll be alright.”

You nod again, smaller this time.

Joel, still watching, sets your reheated plate down in front of you and murmurs, “You can ask things like that, y’know.”

You blink up at him.

Joel’s voice is warm. Steady. But there’s a weight under it.

“You live here now, Bambi,” he says. “That makes this your place too.”

And something about that… feels final.

The door clicks shut behind Tommy, and for the first time since last night—it’s just you and Joel.

The quiet returns, thicker now. It settles in the cabin like fog.

Joel clears his throat as he moves to the sink, rinsing your empty plate. “You eat good?”

You nod. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He glances at you over his shoulder. “You’re polite. That’s good.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

He dries his hands and leans against the counter, just watching you for a moment. Not in a way that makes you shrink—more like he’s thinking something he’s not saying.

Then, his voice lowers slightly. “You look better.”

You blink up at him.

“In clean clothes,” he adds, gesturing to the shirt you took. “In mine.”

Your face warms. You hug your arms across your stomach.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it.”

He shakes his head, stepping toward you. “Don’t be sorry. I like it.” 

Joel’s closer now, only a few feet away.

The fire cracks gently. Rain starts tapping at the windows. The outside world dulls, disappears.

“You tired?” he asks.

You shrug. “A little.”

Joel nods toward the couch. “Wanna rest? I’ll sit with you a while. Won’t talk if you don’t want me to.”

You hesitate.

But you nod.

He sits first, leaning back on the cushions, legs spread. He pats the space beside him.

“C’mere.”

You sit beside him slowly, careful not to brush too close. But the couch is small, and your shoulder rests against his bicep.

His warmth seeps into you.

His scent as well.

You don’t speak. You just sit there, soaking in the quiet.

And then—Joel shifts slightly.

His hand lifts. Not fast, not forceful. Just rises and curls gently over the back of your neck. His thumb brushes the edge of your jaw.

You turn your head slightly, looking up at him.

“You okay?” he asks, voice lower now. Almost a whisper.

You nod. “Mhm.”

And you mean it.

For the first time in a long time, you feel okay.

Joel leans in just enough that you feel his breath against your temple.

“You don’t ever have to be scared with me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. Barely.

And it lingers longer than it should.

Joel's hand remains at the back of your neck, thumb brushing absentmindedly at your hairline, slow and steady. The kind of touch meant to soothe. But it does more than that.

It roots you. Tethers you. Pulls you closer to something you don’t quite understand yet.

You don’t think about it when you shift. Just a soft movement—turning into him, resting your temple against his chest.

You didn’t mean to invite anything.

But Joel took it as one. 

Then his arm wraps around your waist, firm and deliberate, pulling you the rest of the way in until you’re practically in his lap.

Your thighs straddle his. His palm spreads across the small of your back.

You freeze for a moment—not out of fear, but surprise. Your hands rest flat on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath them.

Joel doesn’t move.

He just watches you. His eyes low. Lidded. Dark.

“You okay?” he asks again, voice like gravel and smoke.

You nod, slower this time.

“Good,” he says.

His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye. His gaze flicks across your face—your lips, your throat, your lashes. He’s not pretending to be subtle anymore.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You swallow.

His fingers trail along your jaw, then down to your collarbone—his shirt hanging off one shoulder, slipping just enough to expose skin.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push, but his grip on your waist tightens.

And when he leans in again—closer this time, his nose brushing your cheek—he whispers,

“Feel good, don’t it? Bein’ taken care of?”

You nod before you realize you’re doing it.

Joel smiles at that, knowing what he’s causing you while you’re sitting on him. The second your body suddenly starts reacting, he clocks it. 

Not to mock you or shame you. He uses it to train you. 

You feel… safe. Anchored.

But also— Something else.

A pressure. A warmth that’s begun to build under your skin. Between your thighs. Inside you.

You shift again, just a little.

And that’s when you feel it.

Him.

Hard. Solid beneath you.

Your breath hitches, and your thighs instinctively press together over his. Your body feels strange—hot, sensitive, like it’s humming. And you don’t understand it fully. But it’s there.

Joel doesn’t move. 

His voice cuts through the silence,  his voice—low, rough around the edges- curls into your ear like smoke. “Somethin’ bothering you, Bambi?”

You blink slowly, your brow furrowing.

You don’t want to lie.

So you nod. Just once. Tiny.

Joel hums quietly as his palm strokes slowly down your spine.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I thought so.”

You shift again, uncomfortable, but not wanting to leave. Wanting something else. Something you don’t have a name for.

Joel tilts his head, eyes dragging over your flushed cheeks, parted lips.

“Need me to take care of that, Bambi?”

You glance up, eyes wide, searching his face for the answer—because you’re not sure what’s happening to your body, only that it feels overwhelming.

You’re hoping he knows the answer.

Because you surely don’t.

So you nod again, causing Joel to smile.

He takes your hand gently and guides it down, resting it over the hard line straining beneath his jeans. The heat of him throbs through the fabric, solid and undeniable.

“Feel what you do to me?” he asks, voice low, roughened with restraint.

You blink, fingers twitching slightly against the pressure. You can’t speak. You just look at him—uncertain, dazed.

Joel’s hips roll up, slow and heavy, grinding against your palm as his grip tightens on your wrist.

You gasp—sharp and surprised—and immediately drop your gaze, cheeks burning.

He catches your chin with two fingers, tilting your face back to his.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs. “No shame in that.”

You look up at him, breath shaky, and he smiles again—gently, reassuring.

“Your body’s reactin’ the same way to me. That’s a good thing, baby.”

His hand drifts lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers tracing over your bare stomach. Then lower past the waistband of your sweatpants.

“You’re not doin’ anything wrong. You’re just learnin’. I’ll teach you everything—nice and slow.”

He moves slowly. 

And when his fingers slip past the edge of your panties, you tense—not from fear, but from something deeper. Something pulling.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “That’s it. Just let me.”

His hand finds the warmth between your legs—already sticky, slick, and aching. And he groans under his breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You really needed this, didn’t you, Bambi?”

You whimper. Your hips twitch without your permission.

He strokes you slowly, just enough to build the pressure. Drawing circles with enough pressure.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers against your temple. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Your hands clutch his shoulders, and your voice breaks on a breathy plea:

“Please—Joel—please…”

And god, he loves it.

His lips curl against your skin.“There she is,” he murmurs, picking up the pace just enough to make your thighs shake. “Beggin’ so sweet. Didn’t even have to teach you.”

You press your face against his neck, trying to stay quiet, but every touch burns. Every movement tightens something inside you that you didn’t know was waiting.

Joel keeps whispering.

“That’s it, Bambi. Doing so good for me” 

His fingers slide lower—slick, wet, so sensitive that your hips jolt. He strokes you slowly, gently, like he’s memorizing your every twitch.

“There you go, baby,” he whispers, “You just stay with me. Let me feel how good you are.”

You make a sound, quiet and shaky at first. But when his fingers circle just right, a soft moan escapes before you can stop it.

Joel groans at the sound. “Goddamn.”

You press your face against his neck, biting your lip, but the sounds keep slipping out—wet, breathless, desperate little whimpers that only make him touch you deeper, slower.

And outside—

Tommy freezes halfway up the porch steps.

He hears it.

Muffled, but clear.

Your voice.

High and soft and needy.

A moan. Then another. The kind of sound no one makes unless someone’s got their hand deep between their legs—and Tommy knows exactly what Joel is doing with you

He stands there, jaw tight, heart pounding. Heat spreading beneath his ribs… and lower.

Joel beat him to it.

He fucking knew it would happen. Knew Joel was soft on you the moment you stepped out in his clothes, all wide eyes and soft thank-yous. But he didn’t think Joel would take it this soon.

And now, standing on the other side of the door, Tommy hears you cry out softly again.

He presses a hand against the wall beside the door. Breath heavy. His cock throbs behind the zipper of his jeans.

Fucking Joel.

A growl curls in his chest, low and frustrated. He wants to be the one inside. He wants to see your face. He wants to hear you say his name like that.

And next time— He will.

⟡──────────────⟡

Guess next time it's Tommy's turn...

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[famouslyanonymous]

Green flag meets green flag!

Pedro and Keanu during the London premiere of ballerina.

[famouslyanonymous]

caged in silk (5) — one month anniversary

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ the three men finally use you at the same time.

warnings ➝ dark!fic, explicit smut, stockholm syndrome, gangbang (3 on 1), triple penetration (mouth, pussy, ass), rough sex, unprotected vaginal and anal sex, blowjob, creampie, mean!marcus, submissive!reader, deepthroat, breeding kink, breast and nipple play, praise, degradation, pet names, daddy kink, sir kink, explicit language, dirty talk, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 5.207

author's note ➝ hello! finally i wrote an update. i'm sorry for the delay and the awful long time it took me to write this i've just been super busy and also i didn't have much inspiration for this really but i did it. hope you like it! 🥰

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

the bacon sizzles in the cast iron pan, the sound crackling like firewood. a rich, greasy warmth fills the kitchen and mingles with the scent of coffee and something subtly floral; your shampoo, a cheap, powerful mix of chemicals that's so useful you need to wash your hair every two days and makes your hair feel caked up with dirt.

you hum under your breath as you flip a pancake with care, like this is a normal sunday morning in a house that isn't your gilded prison.

javier's already seated at the island, shirtless, hair messy, lean biceps and forearms on full display. he watches you with a lazy suspicion and a cigarette between his fingers. the other hand's spinning a butter knife.

joel walks in, still tying the string of his sweatpants. "the fuck is this?"

"good morning to you too," you reply with a faux-sweet smile.

joel stares at you like you've grown another head. "you... cooked?"

you turn, settling a steaming plate in front of him. "scrambled eggs, bacon, toast. and pancakes for marcus — he likes it sweet in the morning. remembered."

"since when do you care what marcus likes?" joel steps closer. "what's your angle, babygirl?" he touches your waist.

"i'm being good," you answer too quickly. "i mean — i am good. i've been trying. i deserve a reward."

marcus enters, buttoning up a black shirt, hair still damp from the shower. he looks around the kitchen slowly until his gaze lands on you like a blade. that's when joel parts from you and has a seat at the table.

marcus says nothing at first, just picks up his fork and cuts into the pancake. chews. swallows. watches.

you clear you throat, and suddenly you're that girl again — the one who used to scream and claw at locked doors. but not this morning. no. this morning, you're soft, sweet and compliant.

"i want to go out."

marcus tilts his head. "out."

"just for a little while," you say, trying not to rush. "to the store. maybe the bookstore? or the farmer's market. i want to pick my own shampoo. and candy. and maybe a dress. i've been good, haven't i?"

"define good," marcus murmurs.

you step closer, barefoot on the cold tile, looking marcus in the eye. "i haven't run. i haven't even tried. i let joel have his way with me. i listen when you give an order. i don't cry anymore when javier fingerfucks me in the living room."

joel shifts in his seat, jaw flexing. his fingers curl around his mug, knuckles white.

"i cook now," you say softly. "i sleep in joel's bed without being forced. i do the chores around the house. i even say thank you."

"you're not a prisoner anymore?" marcus asks.

you smile just a little. "i don't feel like one. isn't that what you wanted?"

javier leans back, arms crossed behind his head. "so let me get this straight — you wanna play housewife now?"

"i am playing housewife. you're just not giving me all the perks. i've earned a walk around the block. supervised. leashed, if you want," you meet javier's gaze. "i'd look good on your arm, wouldn't i?"

he chuckles darkly. "you're a menace."

"but a pretty one," you twirl, letting joel's shirt ride up your thighs. you pause just long enough to flash the band of lace panties underneath. "you could cuff my ankle if it makes you feel better."

joel scrapes his chair back and stands, moving toward you. you still at the way he stalks close — muscle, heat and heavy presence that makes your belly coil.

he brushes his hand along your jaw, his thumb over your lip. "if you run..."

"i won't."

"if you try..."

"i know what happens. i haven't forgotten," you say softly as flashbacks of marcus' rough hands landing on your ass appear in your head, making you stir slightly uncomfortable where you stand. your butt was sore for days. no numbing cream could wash away the shame and comfort the hurt.

joel looks at marcus. "your call."

marcus watches you, long and cold and assessing.

"javier goes. full escort. gun stays visible."

javier stretches and grabs his leather jacket. "fine by me."

you try not to let your relief show, but joel catches the flicker in your eyes. "you really think this is freedom, sugar?"

you grin. "it's a start."

joel leans down, whispering in your ear. "don't mistake a longer leash for wings."

you shiver. "maybe i just like the leash now."

javier throws you a pair of shorts to put on and grabs the keys. "let's go, muñeca. we'll see how long this good girl act holds up when you smell the street."

you get dressed and grab your coat, stumbling and bouncing lightly on your shoes. "i'm eeexciteed!"

marcus' voice cuts through the room, sharp and final. "if she so much as breathes funny, bring her back. naked. collared. in the trunk."

"understood," javier says coolly.

and just like that, the door opens, and the chance to a normal day playing pretend with the freedom you used to have in your life before them feels unreal; but it's happening. finally happening.

hope and excitement await for you up front.

but behind, three wolves are watching.

and they wonder if you're finally tame.

---

the mall hits like a drug.

bright lights. crowds. the air-conditioned chill of freedom. the scent of burgers and perfume. you blink under the sheer vastness of it — so many people; toddlers and distressed parents, teens, couples, elderly women with huge hats — none of them knowing who you are. who you're with. what's waiting for you if you step out of line.

what took for you to get here.

you throw these thoughts of self pity in the back of your head. you cried for too long feeling wronged and pissed off at the universe for dumping you in these psychos' arms and leaving you to deal with it. screams, curses and fights never got you in a good place. never ended well for you. not when they have so much patience. not when they have already decided that you're theirs and only death will separate you from them.

acceptance is the only way forward. live like a caged animal for the rest of your miserable life or gain control and take advantage of their twisted obsession with you and turn this nightmare into a dream.

so today, instead of trying to lose javier in the crowd and escape only to struggle to figure out how to get off the streets later...

you'll behave. like a princess.

"javi," you breathe, turning in place, eyes wide. "can we go everywhere?"

he grunts, sunglasses low on his nose, watching your hips sway as you dart toward the perfume shop. "don't make me regret this."

"you won't!" you call over your shoulder, already vanishing into the boutique.

you go wild.

you spray perfumes on your wrists, layering sweet vanilla over heady florals, moaning softly as you test each one. "smell this. smell this. tell me it's not fucking delicious."

javier sniffs your wrists, jaw tight at your foul language, thinking about scolding you, but he doesn't. "you're gonna kill me, muñeca."

next stop: books. you grab romance novels, thrillers, some weird indie poetry thing in a pink cover. you shove them in a bag javier's already carrying. one of many.

"reading makes me smart. you like your pets educated, don't you?"

"only if they know how to sit and beg."

you twirl around and drag him into a home decor shop. throw pillows, candles, fairy lights. you run your fingers along soft rugs and say you want the kitchen to smell like cinnamon again. like the night marcus almost kissed you before making you cry.

javier watches, amused and silent. he's not used to seeing you so alive. drenched in stimulation and freedom.

next, you dive into the body care store. new hair care, finally. and lotions, body butters, oils. shimmering, softening, hydrating. you rub a sample over your collarbone and make sure he watches the way it gleams on your skin.

"bet joel would like this one," you say.

"he'll like whatever i tell him to like," he replies.

you blow him a kiss and disappear into the makeup store.

by the time you reach the clothing store, javier's arms are full of bags, and you're bouncing in glee, grabbing sundresses in every shade. baby pink. lemon yellow. white with little embroidered daisies.

"try them on. all of them," he commands, dropping into the changing room bench so exhausted like he ran a marathon.

you do. and every time you step out in a new one, he stares harder. until you slip out in a white cotton sundress, thin and fluttery, hugging your curves just enough, delicate straps threatening to slide off your shoulders.

"fuck me," he mutters under his breath.

"want to?" you tease, twirling. "right here?"

"don't tempt me," he growls. "not unless you want me to bend you over in that cabin and make you scream loud enough for security to show up."

you bite your lip and disappear again, leaving him to groan and press a hand to his thigh, trying not to get hard in public.

you buy everything you like. dresses, tops, shorts, even stupid novelty socks with strawberries on them.

then —

you see it.

across the hall. lit up like a siren.

the lingerie store.

you gasp and break into a light jog, bags swinging from your arms. "JAVIER!!"

he sighs like a man walking into the gallows, trudging behind you with every bag you've bought.

"wait, coño, wait — let me at least — damn it — "

you're already inside, eyes glazed over with lust.

"slow down, princesa. i'm not your damn pack mule."

"you're my sugar daddy today. shut up and be pretty."

lace in soft peach and lavender. silks in emerald and ruby. black mesh, red satin. straps, leather, chains. there's a whole section of barely there things meant for private eyes only.

he watches you glide past thongs, bras, bodysuits, harnesses.

"this one," you say, holding up a red lace set. "and this one — fuck — look at this leather one."

"you want it?" he asks, voice rough now.

you nod eagerly.

"take whatever you want. it's your reward, after all. don't know when you're gon' get another chance like this."

you pause in front of a soft white floral set. so innocent and fragile, the king of thing a girl might wear to her first date for someone real special. not at all for her captors who wouldn't blink twice about shooting you in the damn leg if it meant keeping you where they wanted.

javier sees you zone out. he steps forward and brushes the lace between his fingers. takes the set into his hand with the ones you previously gave him and seemed much more confident about.

he goes to the cashier and pays for them all. in cash. just like everything before. undetectable, untraceable.

he glances behind at you to see you playing with your own fingers, waiting for him to finish. obedient, like a little puppy who's finally learned her lesson.

you behaved well out in society today for your first time. a part of him expected this from you, really. to go wild on their money and live the dream. feel like a spoiled princess while occasionally behaving like a little brat with nasty remarks here and there. with him being younger than his brothers and a little closer to your age, he understands your fire a bit better. maybe because he shares the same fire. wants to see it fuel and explode and melt with his own before he takes it out.

which is why he let you go wild on these innocent sundresses and bold, seductive lingerie.

plenty of options for the boys to choose from.

let's see if you'll keep the same fire, confidence and excitement when they make you try what you picked. in front of them. piece by piece. inch by inch.

god, he feels like he'll burst out any moment. been dreaming of this. for the first time he'll stuff you full with more than just his fingers.

joel had his turn with you. hell, marcus had barely touched you since he spanked your ass raw. and you've been in their care for a month.

exactly a month.

javier's good at keeping track of things. actually, all of them are. especially when it comes to you.

to take you on a shopping spree wasn't exactly what him and the boys had on their bucket list for your one month anniversary.

but hell, if you decided to play obedient little housewife on this exact holy day? who was he to judge? actually, it makes him think it was no coincidence. somehow, it's all become symbolic.

you're not just getting used to them. you're becoming one of them. slowly but surely, they'll corrupt every inch of you and consume the last bit of disgust and resentment you feel for them until all you will feel is their love.

---

the house feels too quiet. too dim. too heavy with expectation.

as soon as you cross the threshold, you feel it. the shift. the giddy blur o shopping fades. the freedom of public space disappears behind the front door.

you're back. back under their roof. their eyes. their rules.

you hesitate. but javier, still behind you and sweating under a mountain of bags, nudges your hip with his. "go on. they're in the living room."

you nod once, tight-lipped. the confidence you wore at the mall starts to slip off your skin like static. it was easy out there. easy to play the spoiled girl, the center of attention, the one calling the shots.

but here?

they're the ones who hold the leash.

you walk into the living room. marcus is the first to lift his head. he's sitting deep in the couch, arms spread across the back. imposing, intimidating, masculine. his dark eyes land on you first, then flick to javier, laden down like a damn beast of burden.

joel is beside him, legs wide with one arms slung over his knee and a beer in his hand. his gaze crawls all over you, slow and patient, like he's counting your heartbeats.

two incredibly gorgerous and infuriating handsome beasts of men who look like they want nothing more than to devour you whole and eat every part of you alive.

"what's all this?" marcus asks.

"she went a little wild," javier says, dumping the bags at your feet with a grunt. "i told her to take whatever she wanted."

joel smirks. "is that right, babygirl?"

you nod, voice soft. "i... i got some things for the house. and sum clothes."

marcus tips his chin. "tell us how today went."

you swallow. "it was... it was nice," you say quietly. "i forgot how loud it is. how crowded. i missed it... really much. but i was good, i didn't talk to anyone. i stayed close to javier. i — i behaved."

"she did," javier says with pride. "she was as sweet as she can be. polite. grateful. obedient."

you expected him to say that you were a bit bratty and mischievous too. but he keeps it a secret, locked with a small wink so his two older brothers can't see.

joel leans forward, elbows on his knees. "what'd you buy, sweetheart?"

you shift on your feet. "clothes, perfume, books. some decorations. candles for the kitchen."

"show us."

your hands shake slightly as you kneel beside the bags, pulling out a few items. a sundress. a tank top. a sheer robe in soft pink. you hold them up one by one.

marcus whistles low. "that dress is gonna be real pretty tangled 'round your waist."

joel nods at the robe. "that one's almost too innocent. didn't know our babygirl had such taste."

javier lets out a laugh as he lights up his cigarette, taking his seat next to joel on the couch. "just you wait."

you blink, a little breathless. not sure whether you should continue or stop.

javier cuts the silence. "tell them what else you got."

you hesitate. you glance at him and he raises a brow. a silent command.

you reach into the glossy bag with the black logo and their attention switches to full focus now. like they're a predator who's just seen their first meal wandering through the woods.

you pull out one set. black lace full of straps. vulgar, trouble, maybe even dominant and bold. used correctly, it could bring these three men to kneel and make them beg for a touch.

another. red mesh, sheer as fog. seductive, provocative, naughty. the kind who yells submission won through conquest.

then, the last one. the one you hesitated to pick. white, soft lace with tiny pink flowers embroidered into the cups. satin ribbons. sweet, almost bridal. an innocent virgin sacrifice to the gods.

you don't dare look up and see their gazes.

"show us," javier says. your fingers twitch on the delicate fabric.

"i — what if you don't like it?" you ask, voice small and unsure.

marcus leans forward. "put. it. on."

you nod. close your eyes for a bit, hoping to regain some of that damn nerve and confidence from earlier you so evidently lack now. where's security, where's control? self-respect, independence, conviction? was it... was it ever there in the first place?

when did the leash become a rope strangling your neck once again?

you don't go upstairs. because they didn't tell you to.

they don't want to see the result. they want to see the full process. the humiliation, obedience, submission. fear.

you reach for the hem of your shirt — joel's shirt — with your breath trembling, and you begin to undress right there, in the middle of the living room. before their very eyes.

eyes who do not look at you like a statue worth worshipping. eyes who do not yearn or know the concept of respecting a woman for her mind, her soul, her being. no. eyes overwhelmed with lust, greed and need. need to control, to overtake, to conquer and to break. to feel a pulse hammer, a hope shatter, a mind break.

your shirt lifts. you hear the faint shift of fabric as one of them adjusts in his seat. your gaze wanders anywhere but over them. anything but them.

your shorts are next. then your bra and panties.

you stand naked before them. nipples perked up from the chill, skinn prickling with nerves, clit throbbing, thighs rubbing.

your hands instinctively go to cover your private parts but you remember what you're here for. the show must continue until they're satisfied.

you start putting the set on. slowly. you hook the white lace bra, the cups soft against your skin and unexpectedly comfortable. the panties are high-cut, thin satin strings sticking to your hips. the garter belt clinches around your waist like a collar for your body. the ribbons dangle, useless without stockings, but you think that's the point.

you finally gather the courage to look up at them. and you see them all frozen — watching, starving.

joel's jaw is tight. marcus is staring like he's already imagining you on your knees. javier's tongue runs over his teeth wondering how that set looks from behind.

you clear your throat. your voice barely holds. "d-does it look okay?"

marcus speaks first. "looks like you need it ripped off of you."

"fuckin' damn right she does," javier says.

joel leans back, spreading his legs wider. "come closer, darlin'. let us see you proper."

you step forward slowly, arms folded over your chest.

"arms down. you don't hide," marcus warns and you immediately obey.

joel lets out a breath when you finally make your way and stop between his thighs, looking down at him. "bought this for us, babygirl? needed us to see how pretty you are? what a beautiful body you got?"

you nod, lips parted. "yes, sir."

he tsks. "no, baby. that's what you call marcus over there. what do you call me?"

"...daddy?"

"yeah, good girl. veery good girl," he drags his fingers up and down your thigh, stroking it gently.

"now, you listen to me carefully, babygirl," joel sits up, his huge frame making you stumble one step back. you don't take your eyes off him, don't break the eye contact, no matter how much it hurts keeping it. "we take you to the bedroom, okay? you be good 'n obedient 'n you let us have our way with you the way we want, alright? whether we take turns fucking your brains out or do it all together, you behave nicely and we'll make you the happiest girl. ever. okay?"

you nod. eyes wide. lips pouty.

may they have mercy on you.

---

the walk to the bedroom is slow. your bare feet move across the hardwood like you're walking towards your death sentence. white lace clings to you with every step.

you feel their presence behind you. three men pacing you like wolves. too patient and too silent.

by the time you reach the doorway, you're trembling.

joel steps in further and smoothes the bed. marcus shuts the door. javier stays right behind you, hands warm on your hips, lips brushing your ear.

"you wanna be ours, hermosa?"

you nod.

"words."

"yes, javi. wanna be y-yours."

he hums, satisfied. "good girl."

joel takes your hand and guides you to the bed. "on your knees, sweetheart. right in the center."

you crawl onto the bed slowly, heart pounding, the garter belt pulling snug against your waist as you move. the lace pantiest cling to your soaked core, and when you settle onto your knees, you know your ass is on full display behind you.

you don't dare look back as you hear the rustle of belts, the heavy sound of booth thudding to the floor. shirts pulled off, pants unzipped. the mere thought of having them rock hard just for you without even touching them feels so unreal it makes you arch your back more.

hands. hands everywhere.

marcus' fingers tilt your chin up and you meet his eyes. "so fuckin' pretty. all soft and obedient. you didn't used to be."

"i know," you whisper.

joel steps behind you. "but look at you now."

you feel him behind you, thick fingers stroking up your thighs, toying with the edge of your panties. he doesn't pull them down yet. just lets his knuckle press against your wet slit, making you jolt.

marcus brushes a kiss against your lips. the gentlest touch you ever got from him. it went by so sudden you didn't even get the chance to slip your tongue past his lips and into his mouth, making you pout slightly. "think you can take all three of us tonight?"

you whimper. "yes, sir."

"good girl."

he parts your lips with his thumb, and just as you open your mouth wider, he slips it in slowly, forcing you to suck and watching the way your tongue curls around it.

"you're gonna open all those holes for us. let us in," marcus murmurs. "just like this, just as sweet."

javier kneels beside you, pushing your hair back from your face. "wanna be used by us, hermosa? wanna be our little plaything?"

you nod desperately. "yes. i want — i wanna be yours. please."

marcus chuckles, low and dark. "hear that, boys? bitch finally knows where she belongs. wants to be ours."

that's the marcus you know.

joel finally pulls your panties down your thighs, slow enough to make you squirm. "then lets give our girl what she's been waitin' for, huh?"

he wastes no time.

his tongue takes a big, long and cruel drag from your clit all the way up to your ass, lapping at the excess of your juices which were on the edge of dripping down the bed. you moan loudly as you close your eyes and feel the men shift their positions around you, choosing their hole like it's a lottery.

you feel hot spit land on top of your pussy and cover your folds and before you know it you feel the blunt head of someone's cock pressing to your vaginal entrance, sliding through the slick with no obstacle. you're already soaked through and throbbing painfully, and when he pushes in slow, long and so enormously thick, your arms buckle and you drop to your elbows with a moan.

this isn't joel. you open your eyes to see it isn't javier either, as he now stands in front of you with a longer, slimmer and slightly curved dick, with a head so red it borders on painful. hard, dripping, and when he presses it to your lips, you open without question, keeping eye contact all the way.

"that's my girl," he growls. "eyes on me. shit — don't look away. show me how grateful you are."

your mouth wraps around him, taking him in deep. his hands tangle in your hair as you suck, your eyes never leaving his.

joel moves. taking his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly at the sight of you being used like a doll by his two brothers, one in the front and the other from the back. "you ready for all of us, babygirl?"

you choke around javier's cock while nodding. "mmhm — yes."

behind you, marcus has already set a delicious rhythm. deep, brutal strokes that drag your body forward into javier's cock with every thrust. the bed creaks. your moans fill the room as he fucks you harder and faster, his fingers digging into your hips like a man who never wants to let go as your body trembles between the two brothers.

marcus groans. "she's already fucked dumb on me, joel. might need help holdin' her up."

"i got her."

joel climbs onto the bed, kneeling next to you on the bed as marcus slowly pulls out of your pussy. joel takes his place under you as marcus helps him mold you to their will, your tits dangling in his face like gems.

joel's thick cock nudges against your wet entrance that's already been stretched out by marcus. he slides home very gentle, way gentler than his older brother. the familiar feel makes him moan in relief as he feels your pussy walls flutter around his shaft, recognizing and accepting him into her.

marcus spits on your asshole, smirking darkly at how your puckered hole tightens up. "gonna stretch that pretty ass next, darlin'. can you take it? yeah, i don't give a fuck if you can't. not a single. fuckin'. fuck. oh, shit," he pushes in, not even giving you enough time to prepare with his fingers or even more spit. you moan loudly around javier's cock as you struggle to take marcus' fat cock that's stretching your ass inch by inch while joel pounds into your cunt and sucks your nipples, easing you into orgasm, helping you relax and accomodate to marcus' dick seeing he doesn't care enough about making you comfortable.

you cry out, muffled, nearly sobbing from the fullness.

"shh," joel soothes, gripping your waist. "you're doing perfect."

javier fucks your mouth gently now, holding a steady rhythm as he holds your jaw open and moans at the way you swirl your tongue around the head as more spit dribbles down your chin.

the rhythm builds.

joel grunts with every thrust up into your cunt, nudging your sensitive cervix each time he slides in too deep. he's made you cum more times than you can count. made you roll your eyes in the back of your head as he pistoned in and out of you while sucking and mouthing greedily at your tits.

javier holds your face with reverence as you choke and gag around his cock. whispers spanish praises and chuckles in awe each time you gag a bit louder when the tip of his dick hits the back of your throat at the same time you cum on joel's cock.

and marcus? marcus is having the time of his life. having both your holes in the same night after waiting for you to come to your senses for a whole month. your pussy is a warm haven but your ass is completely something else. so much tighter and sensitive from the lack of preparation. he doesn't even care. didn't even bother. just uses you for what you were made for. doesn't miss the fact that you've been moaning and screaming a little louder since he started violating your ass. the image of you probably crying because he's so, so rough and mean makes him pound you impossibly harder with no remorse for your feelings.

you're gone. floating. fucked open and split wide and so full you can't think.

you moan, broken and wet. "yours, yours, fuck, i'm yours — fuck, so good, p-please don't stop, please n-never stop..."

"fucking dirty bitch. went dumb on cock she rejected in the first place. feel what you were missing on, hon'? huh? thinkin' bout leaving now? you fuckin' answer me when i talk to you," marcus snaps from behind you, taking a rough grab of your hair as he pulls you off javier's cock.

"no! i'm s-sorry — i'll, i'll never leave again! i promise, i promise, sir. only yours, only yours."

one by one, they finish.

javier fills your mouth. orders you to stick your tongue out as he fists himself and paints your tongue, lips, nose and cheeks with his cum, whispering praises all the way. "that's it, cariño. doing so well for me, bebe. doing incredible. what a good little girl you've become."

joel comes deep in your cunt, shuddering with a growl that rattles your bones. "ohhh, fuck, babygirl, that's it. thaaat's it. let daddy fill you up, put some kids in that womb of yours. want that, baby? wanna be our cute lil mama?"

marcus spills deep in your ass and grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using your hole to its best efforts as he watches his cum drip out of you. "finally did what you were told. see? you can be an obedient little whore when you want to. jus' needed sum training, that's all. sluts like you need a strong, capable hand leading them. show' 'em the right way of things."

they leave you there, trembling, dripping, shaking and gasping for air with a dizzy head, a trembling body and three holes filled to the brim and utterly spent.

joel and javier assist each other in helping you come down from your high and bring you down to earth. stroke your back, brush your hair, wipe you clean before taking you in the bathroom for a nice, well deserved shower.

you never stood a chance against them. it was always gonna end up this way. and now that it finally happened, now that you've finally been consumed by all three of them, you'll never leave.

you're theirs. and they are yours; and that, you'll realise soon.

happy one month anniversary, darling. cheers for the future and the more many months to come.

---

if you enjoyed this chapter please leave your thoughts in the comments down below or even be kind enough to reblog. i have a praise kink and it would make me very much happy 🥰

[famouslyanonymous]

caged in silk (4) — false alarm

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ after a false dissapearance gave them quite the scare, joel loses control in his task to teach you a lesson.

warnings ➝ explicit smut, dark!fic, dubious consent, unprotected p in v, rough vaginal sex, missionary, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, breast & nipple play, hickeys and marking kink, posessive and dominant joel, submissive reader, sub space, daddy kink, heavy makeout session, crying kink, praise kink, pet names, pussy pronouns, aftercare, manipulation, dirty talk, swearing and other explicit language, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 4.111

author's note ➝ hello again! it took me more time to motivate my lazy ass to write this chapter than actually finishing it. i hope you like it and if you do please leave a comment or motivational reblog 🌸 if i missed any warnings let me know.

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

it was almost midnight when the men realized it has been quiet for far too long. they were so deep in their thoughts and work that they hadn’t realized just how fast time has passed. 

joel was fixing the dripping, rotten faucet in the kitchen. marcus was cleaning some rifles, tending to them as if they were the most precious pieces of porcelain. he was so very focused as he tried hard not to lose count on the ammunition. javier sat on his laptop, chain smoking and looking up surveillance cameras in the DEA office in medellin. the only pause between drags of smoke was when he lifted the glass of whiskey and brought it to his lips while listening very carefully on what the american ambassadors discussed – debating important classified cases, blissfully unaware of the hidden microphones javier placed right under their noses before resigning from this god forsaken job almost 3 years ago. 

joel glanced at his watch and scoffed when he realized just for how long he’s been working on fixing the faucet. he muttered a low good night to the boys, his voice grumpy and heavy with sleep, before making his way to his bedroom, already dreaming about how good he will sleep tonight with you in his bed.

he expected to find you under the covers, maybe reading, maybe already curled into your pillow like you usually were by this time of night. but when he pushed the door open and found the bed untouched, the lights off, and your scent faint in the air — not warm and recent, but old, like you hadn’t been there in hours — something in his chest coiled tight.

“sweetheart?” he called. 

nothing. 

he checked the bathroom next, knocking once, pushing open the door. empty. no sound of water. no used towel. 

he paused, brow furrowing.

“marcus?” he called out, already stepping back into the hallway. “you seen her?”

marcus freezes his actions entirely and puts the rifle on the couch next to him, his expression already serious. “i thought she was in your room.”

“no,” joel said, jaw beginning to grind. “she’s not.”

footsteps echoed on hardwood as javier came from the kitchen, still holding a half-empty glass of whiskey. “what do you mean she’s not?”

joel turned to face him, voice edged now. “i mean she’s gone.”

the silence that followed was sharp — thick with tension, panic, anger. 

javier placed the glass into the sink without looking. “check everywhere. right now.”

they split like shadows in motion — no yelling, no chaos, just the kind of cold, calculating urgency born from fear.

marcus hit the basement first, flashlight already in hand. he searched every corner like he was clearing enemy territory — eyes sharp, movements efficient. no sign of you.

joel moved through the rest of the first floor. he checked the pantry, the garage, the laundry room. doors were still locked. windows undisturbed. “nothing,” he muttered into his radio to the others.

javier moved fastest, pacing the perimeter outside barefoot, his phone already out, checking security cams and motion sensors. “no alarms triggered,” he hissed. “no movement out here in the last hour.”

joel stopped in the hallway, hand gripping the molding beside the doorframe like he needed to steady himself.

you wouldn’t try again, he told himself. not after last time. 

he closed his eyes, trying to focus on regulating his breathing and stop the panic from building his heartbeat rhythm until the point of explosion. he tried to think. to bring reason to light – to convince himself that you wouldn’t be so stupid and naive to run away during the night.

why would you want to run? what did they do to you this time? was the picnic too much? have you learned nothing from your last mistake?

his instinct dared to snap his own self out of the building panic and overwhelming thoughts. a wandering, fleeting thought which almost left his brain as quickly as it entered.

the last door in the hallway which led to a guest bedroom none of them ever used. 

the door was not even shut. it was slightly cracked. joel pushed it open with slow fingers, the old brass hinges creaking. and there you were.

fucking. sleeping.

your chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, soft little exhales brushing the pillow. the blanket was wrapped around your body, one arm tucked underneath it and the other loose at your side. a book you never finished reading lay on the nightstand. the lamp was off. you’d gone to bed hours ago — quiet and unbothered.

joel didn’t say a word.

he stepped back into the hall and leaned against the wall for a beat, rubbing the heel of his hand over his face. relief poured over him like a wave, heavy and thick. he called it in over the radio.

“guest room.”

a few seconds later, marcus appeared, and behind him, javier — barefoot, heart pounding, eyes wild. they stopped in the doorway and stared.

“she’s fine?” marcus asked, voice hushed.

“fast asleep,” joel said. “like she didn’t just take five years off my life.”

javier ran a hand down his face. “fuck.”

you stirred, a little frown tugging between your brows as if you sensed their presence even in sleep. you turned onto your back, hair fanning across the pillow, lips slightly parted, still unaware.

joel walked in quietly and knelt by the bed. his hand reached out and brushed your cheek gently, thumb ghosting across your temple.

“jesus,” he whispered. “you don’t even know what you did to us.”

your eyes fluttered open, groggy and dazed. “…joel?” you murmured, blinking slowly at the sight of all three men surrounding the bed.

javier’s brows lifted, and he huffed a short breath. “you scared us shitless.” 

“i — what? why?” you asked, throat rough.

“why did you have to fall asleep here, sweetheart? you know we never enter this room,” javier asks.

“tired. jus’ wanted quiet…” 

javier knelt beside joel, his hand resting over your ankle beneath the blanket. “you could’ve said something, cariño. we tore the damn house apart.”

“yeah. thought you took off again,” joel added.

you blinked, then winced, voice still sleepy. “s’rry. didn’t mean to freak you out.”

marcus crouched on the other side of the bed, his gaze hard and unforgiving despite the quest to find you turning out successful. “we’ll lock every fucking door in this place from now on. don’t pull a stunt like that again, sweetheart.”

joel leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and tight. “he’s right, baby. you gave us one hell of a panic attack.”

you mutter one last tiny apology in joel’s ear before he lifts you off the bed and gently carries you to his bedroom, the place where you’ve been sleeping every night since they kidnapped you. each time was more comforting than the last; joel didn’t present himself as a threat and always kept a respectable distance between you two, although he always ached to touch and hold you tight against his chest. 

after he places you on the mattress, you notice marcus giving him a suggestive glance. 

joel leaves your side and makes his way to his brother’s side. out of your eavesdropping range.

“teach her a lesson. know you got a soft spot for her, but she needs to learn," marcus whispers in joel’s ear, his instructions clear. joel hesitates. doesn’t say anything for a couple of moments. he isn’t a fan of his older brother’s demands. he doesn’t want to break you in. not like this. 

marcus senses joel’s second thoughts and scoffs at his brother’s weak spot for you. “if you don’t, i will.”

that made joel’s eyes darken. not with thrill or hunger, but with the overwhelming need to protect you from marcus’ roughness. he failed to do so after your escape attempt and had no choice but to let marcus punish you. this time, he’ll carry the burden himself, in the only way he knows how. 

joel nods his head once and gives marcus a look of reassurance and cooperation. once marcus is convinced that joel will keep his promise true, he steps out of the doorway and shuts the door behind him. 

joel turns slowly towards the bed, watching the curiosity in your eyes mix with a potion of anxiety. you can tell. his tense stance. the way he won’t look you in the eye – not quite. his mind races. his hands tremble slightly, and you’re not sure why. is it because of anticipation or the tethering loss of control?

“take off your clothes.”

the order makes you flinch, your instincts telling you to back away slightly. your mind is fully alert now. the exhaustion and gentle yearning for the comfort of a warm and soft bed have been gathered together and thrown out the window. 

“i won’t ask again.”

shivers crawl up your spine at his intimidating tone. if he was trying to inflict fear upon you, to make you forget about all the times he was gentle and careful with you as if you were a porcelain doll — he has done it. with minimal effort. 

you carefully lift yourself off the bed and stand in front of him. there were only a few feet between you. he could take two large steps and you’d be done for. clothes ripped off, a hand wrapped around your throat while he did as he pleased. 

you try to banish these thoughts out of your head and presume it’s best if you try to hurry up slightly. you don’t want things to come to that. you still believe that if you cooperate, he’ll be gentle. a part of you tells you that he doesn’t want to do this. 

but that part of you is so wrong, my dear. because while joel doesn’t want to scare you away and force you into submission like marcus wants, he is still, at the end of the day – a man. 

a man who has built a life out of butchering people for money since his daughters died. a god among men who ripped the soul out of living and well breathing creatures and never felt sorry for it.

until the day you came into his life. when he saw you for the first time and figured you are not a thing to be broken and burned alive. but to be molded and carefully guided into a lifestyle he and his brothers crafted specifically to force you to accept them as your new reality.

in conclusion; he wants you. oh, how much he wants to give into his carnage and tear you apart with his cock. only when he remembers the way your moans filled his ears like a melody when your orgasm flooded his mouth the last time…

god, it’s maddening. infuriating. 

but he must not act on primal instincts and think with his cock. no matter how painful it feels. no matter how the majority of the blood in his brain now flows in his cock right now. and he can barely resist anymore. 

he watches your lip tremble and eyes grow heavy with tears as you quietly do as instructed. 

you start with your socks, quickly discarding them on the floor so you don’t keep him waiting. so you don’t let him think you’re dragging this out to think of an escape.

your loose sweatpants come off next. when you reveal your bare thighs to him, he swears he feels like a medieval man who saw ankles for the first time. 

skin so soft. flesh so plump and glowy. his mind drifts off to when his head rested in between them to devour your pussy. how good it was when he felt the pressure of your muscles against the sides of his skull. an orgasm so intense he was worried you’d crack his head like a watermelon. but he loved it so much he made a promise to himself he’ll experience the same pain again when he made you ride his face and smother him with your thighs.

your t-shirt was next to drop on the floor. it belonged to none other than joel. he felt a sense of pride and ownership each time he saw you wearing his clothes around the house. knowing your scent mixed with his drove him crazy because he yearned to inhale directly from the source. 

tonight, he would achieve this and more. 

the sight of your bare breasts made his heart skip a beat.

he has never seen such work of art in his life. your full chest looking as if it’s been crafted by the gods themselves. like aphrodite chose you as her avatar.

he doesn’t wait for you to take your panties off. in two long strides, he breaks the barrier between you two. his hands immediately jump at your breasts, cupping them in earnest. 

he weighs and plays with them in his calloused palms. he is not being a gentleman at all – rough fingertips graze over your buds until they swell. the moment they rise to angry little peaks, his mouth latches onto one while the other is being tended to vigorously.

you quickly grow overwhelmed by his lustful attack. his warm, wet tongue lapping hungrily at your nipple, sucking and drinking as if the elixir of life itself courses through it. 

the other poor, tortured nipple – red and aching from the relentless pinching and twirling between his thumb and index. you squirm in his hold, hands grabbing a tight hold of his salt and pepper hair. 

you moan, but you don’t think it’s because of displeasure. yes, there is pain. but there is also beauty.

beauty in the way he makes you feel so wanted. so worshipped. he kisses and bites and marks every inch of your chest. he groans in both relief and pleasure when his mouth runs a path upwards on your body and finally stops at the nape of your neck. 

not only does he pull a bit of flesh in between his teeth to paint your skin in bruises – he also inhales deeply at the same time as he sucks. 

your natural scent – finally flowing through his nostrils. so sweet and musky at the same time, with notes of a warm sleep and the masculine scent of his t-shirt.

when he is satisfied with his work over your neck, his lips trace a path towards your jaw. not once do they depart from you.

you’re both breathless when he pulls you in for a kiss. he didn’t even look at you before he claimed your mouth. he needed to do this before he could stop himself.

his hands are everywhere on the lower half of your body now. he keeps you flushed against his chest, your nipples grazing uncomfortably against his blouse. he grinds and ruts himself against your thighs like a stray dog. makes sure you have nowhere to go too – his hands presenting themselves as a tight and sure anchor over your buttcheeks; smothering, kneading and occasionally slapping the tender flesh until it jiggles like jelly in his palm.

you give up on trying to put space between you. no matter how much force you channel into your hands and wrists, you can’t move this brute wall off of you. 

instead, you accept him. pull him closer, even. the act makes him moan into your mouth, deep and rough. 

the kiss bruises you. makes you shake in his grip and you’re sure that if he wasn’t holding you now, you’d fall. 

he is not here to make love to your mouth. at least not yet.

he kisses you as if he’ll never get another chance to. he needs to explore your hole and claim it with his teeth and tongue before he can soothe the ache he caused.

it’s possessive. controlling. desperate and needy. you don’t bother fighting for control and dominance. you just let him take what he wants in order to indulge himself in the pleasures he has been denying and ignoring for too long.

he shocks you when he takes you into his arms. gathering a handful of your asscheeks before using his sheer power to lift you in his lap.

he drops you both onto the mattress. your back pressed between a soft cloud and a massive brick.

not even once does he break the kiss. he swallows every moan and gasp that comes out of your mouth and greedily licks every corner with his tongue, teeth occasionally lathering attention to your bottom lip to drag and nip it.

his hands move from your ass to fumble with his own sweatpants. he is so thankful to just drag them down his thighs along with his boxers; his cock finally having enough room to breathe.

you try to break the kiss to get a look, but to no avail. he keeps your head in place with his free hand resting on your neck. his fingertips firmly pressing into the sides, a silent command to stay still. his mouth still makes out with yours hungrily as if he’s trying to keep you busy and not allow any anxiety creeping in your pretty little head. 

the hand he used in order to free his cock from his boxers moved directly to your clothed pussy. his index ran one trail up your slit to feel the cool wetness sink into the material before gathering it in between his fingers and pulling it to the side.

he didn’t waste any more time. as soon as he cleared the way, he grabbed himself by the base of his cock and gathered your juices on his own leaking head before sliding home in one smooth thrust.

you both broke the kiss at the same time to fill the room with your own moans. once he bottomed out and felt the dangerously addicting way your walls squeezed him, he didn’t know how to stop. he just lost every last drop of control he thought he had and unleashed all the pent up desire he felt for you.

“oh god, babygirl,” joel chanted as he threw his head back, eyes shut in bliss. “fuck, i can’t stop. i’m so sorry.” 

he moved his hand from your throat to the back of your head, gently lifting it a few inches to bring you closer to him. his other hand made its way under your knee. making sure to keep your legs as open as possible for him to fuck you as hard and deep as he liked.

“joel, n-no! oh my god – fuck!” 

the burning sensation left your tight channel as quickly as it came. it was soon replaced by complete and utter pleasure as your already soaking wet pussy gushed and clenched around him as he pistoned in and out of you. 

your walls presented no restraint. your pussy greedily welcomed him as if she has waited her entire life for this moment. to fulfill her duty as nothing more than a cocksleeve – a hole to serve him warmth and pleasure. 

your broken moans ambitioned him to sink deeper inside you. he plunged in deep, hard and fast, not giving you any time to adjust as he took whatever he wanted from your willing body. god, he hoped it wouldn’t come to this. he hoped his restraint and control would not shatter so quickly. but when he saw your beautiful naked body and felt you soaking wet through your panties, he knew you were made for him. he knew this pussy had a mind of her own. 

“atta girl. pussy knows what she wants, huh? t’be fucked and destroyed by a nice, big cock. fill her up with cum and never let her go.”

he tears his gaze from your swollen pussy to your face and really looks at you. 

blabbering, crying, moaning and utterly ruined. 

pink sore eyes filled with glossy tears. flushed cheeks. mouth slightly open in a round shape with a string of saliva dripping in the corner. your own finger resting on top of your tongue. a physical guardian to stop more moans and pleas from making their way out.

“fuck, look at my girl,” joel praises. he presses a soft plump kiss in between your eyebrows – an unusual contrast to the way he ruts roughly between your thighs, assaulting your poor pussy as she gushes her release all over his cock and the sheets beneath. he lost count of how many times he made you cum until now. he’s more than convinced you never actually kept count, your mind too blank and pliant to bother yourself with too much thought.

“what’s wrong, baby? cock so good it fucked ya stupid?”

you shake your head in approval, your eyes wide and glossy like precious pearls and diamonds. there’s no coherent thought behind those eyes – he scared them all away. no insecurities or anxiety in the way to stop you from feeling him at full intensity. 

and he’s so proud. so so proud he made all the voices in your head shut down for once. his heart swells with how much trust you put in him to break you apart and put you back together.

“that’s a good girl. mhm, the best girl in the whole damn world. my good girl gon’ let me cum deep inside her? hm? swell her belly full a’ babies?”

you nod in earnest, a big bright smile creeping up your face like it’s the best deal in the world. like it’s your whole life purpose.

“y-yes, d-daddy. p-please fill m-me up. wan’ your babies!”

your innocent little plea does it for him. his rhythm wavers as he buries himself to the hilt and cums deep inside you, filling your belly up with a big load. 

he stays attached and connected to you both physically and spiritually. he swears he can feel your hearts beating in sync as he holds you close to his chest and soothes your nerves by placing a few wet gentle pecks on your cheeks and forehead. 

“shhh, baby. my sweet baby. gotcha now. did so, so well for daddy. my perfect lil’ girl.”

he forces himself to remove his softening cock from between your legs. once he does, he makes sure not to leave you alone and sweaty for too long. he takes off his damp blouse and uses it as a makeshift rag to clean you up. he soothes every cry and unintelligible word that comes out of your sweet mouth.

“here, honey. drink. you did perfect. so proud of ya," he praises as he helps you drink a much needed glass of cold water. 

after he’s done cleaning both of you up, he joins you under the blankets. his fingers trace the side of your arm as he looks at your relaxed form. so obedient, full and content. 

“bet ya enjoyed your lesson, huh?” joel murmurs, aware of how close you are to drifting off to sleep. “don’ ever scare us like that again, sweetheart.”

“mmmm,” you nod while keeping your eyes closed, although you’re not so sleek in hiding your small grin of mischief, “no promise."

he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement at your little attitude. “you’re trouble, sweetheart. what are we gon’ do with you?”

oh, he knows exactly what they will do with you. 

and in the bedroom next door and the living room respectively, javier and marcus have figured out a few plans in their mind themselves. 

because you may not realise it yet, but joel had just paved the way for his brothers. made their life easier. broke you in and gave you a taste of what your future will be with, under and on top of them. 

without needing to even speak to each other, they all know you’ve just become addicted. soon enough, one man will not be enough to satisfy the burning hunger inside you; you’ll need all three to satiate your needs and take care of you.

and honey, they will. in each of their own, unique ways – they will make you forget why you even fought them off in the first place.

[famouslyanonymous]

caged in silk (3) — picnic date

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ a nice picnic during a perfect sunny day is turned into something unexpected when javier starts to seduce you. and when he is done, it's joel's job to clean it up.

warnings ➝ explicit smut, soft!dark content, fingering, oral (f!receiving), pussy eating, squirting, overstimulation, heavy praise kink, breast play, nipple play, pet names (especially good girl), guiding and talking reader through orgasms, kissing and making out, all of this happens out in the open in their backyard so it's immoral public behaviour, dirty talk, swearing, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 4.900

author's note ➝ hello everyone i'm back with another update on this story! never thought i'd make it lol. i've been busy with college and my inspiration dimmed but i finally gathered the time necessary to write another chapter. it's a bit on the longer and more descriptive side. i tried my best to incorporate every detail i had imagined and i hope i didn't confuse you. if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or repost! my heart fills with love every time i read your supportive reactions 🩷

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

it had been a week since your failed escape attempt. a week since you had fought tooth and nail, trying to slip away from them, only to be caught and dragged right back where you belonged. 

you had been defiant, full of fire, spewing curses at them and threatening to make their lives hell. but now? now, you peacefully sat between them in the backyard. 

a picnic. their attempt at smoothing things over, at making you comfortable. 

the checkered blanket beneath you was soft, and the spread they had laid out was impressive: lemonade, fresh fruit, cheese and pastries, along with some beer bottles for them to enjoy. 

it was domestic, almost normal. if someone looked from the outside, they’d think this was just a group sharing a lazy afternoon together.

but you knew the truth. 

javier sat on your left with a protective hand resting on your thigh, thumb lazily tracing circles over your bare skin. marcus was across from you, sitting comfortably on a folding chair, reading a newspaper through his sunglasses with a beer in his hand. and joel was just a few feet nearby, tending to a couple of pork ribs on the grill.

it was almost laughable how much they tried to make you feel content here. it’s absurd how they went back to playing house after filling your mind with honeyed threats. don’t try to run again, sweetheart. it won’t end well for you. your place is with us. you belong here, you just don’t see it yet. 

“you’re awfully quiet, sweetheart,” joel said, turning his head towards where you and javier laid on the blanket, studying you.

you stabbed your fork into a piece of fruit, shoving it into your mouth before responding. “what am i supposed to say?” 

“attitude,” marcus warned.

“looks like someone’s feisty today,” javier teased, and you could peak with the corner of your eye just how smug and amused his smirk was displayed on his stupid face.

“why don’t you try an’ relax, hm? it’s a beautiful day, baby. sunshine ‘n all,” joel suggested. and he wasn’t wrong. today’s weather is indeed the only reason to smile. the grass is greener, butterflies are in the air, the sunrays are glowing upon you, making your eyes hurt a little. the colours are vibrant and the ocasional breeze makes it a little easier to breathe through the smell of barbecue and smoke.

too bad the company’s ruining everything. this would’ve normally been the perfect day for you if you hadn’t been in the presence of your captors who changed the course of your life drastically and expected you to fall in line quickly. bend and mold to their every decision and routine while learning to not cross their boundaries.

“what’s in that pretty little head of yours, darling?” javier interrupted your train of thought, his hand smoothing over the plump flesh of your thigh, a bit too uncomfortable for your liking. “i don’t like seeing that frown on your beautiful face,” he added, his words almost genuine. with his hand still warming your thigh, his other hand came up to brush a stray hair off your face and lock it behind your ear, revealing more of your cheek to him.

“eres tan hermosa, mi amor,” he whispered sweetly, and you just realized how close he got to you.

you slightly and carefully turn your head in his direction, and your nose almost brushes his. his gaze immediatelly follows your mouth and studies your anxious breathing. the way your throat barely constricts when you swallow. how you try to make yourself seem unaffected by his presence; not only the warmth and confidence he emanates, but how he’s so open with his desire and admiration for you just by the expression of his eyes alone.

his eyes slowly rise to meet yours, and before you can shy away from the overwhelming eye contact, he gently cups your cheek and brings your lips to his.

your shock comes to life through a light squeak, a sensible moan, and javier proudly swallows it whole. he doesn’t wait for you to give him permission. the moment his tongue breaks the barrier of your lips and meets your own, his chest fills with lust.

he kisses you like he’ll never get another chance; greedy, passionate, posessive. he makes love to your mouth, worships your tongue and ocasionally moans shamelessly at how warm and familiar you feel, like you’ve done this a thousand times before. he laps at every inch you didn’t willingly give; teeth crashing, lips burning, noses touching – and before you can stop yourself, your hand unconciously grabs his shirt, and his body moves itself by instinct, scooting impossibly closer to yours, searching for more. demanding more.

he forces himself to break the kiss, and he does it so annoyingly slow. his teeth drag your bottom lip with him as if daring you to seek his touch further. his lips completely depart from yours and create distance between you.

his eyes run over your every feature, taking in your shaken state. you’re obviously dizzy and flustered, your glossy eyes and slightly red cheeks giving you away to his predatory gaze.

“seems like someone’s having fun,” marcus breaks the silence, the deep, intimidating tone in his voice snapping you out of the trance javier put you in.

you can see in the corner of your eye that joel’s attention shifted as well, from the preparation of the meal on the grill to the heated situation between you and his younger brother.

you search for a glimpse of jealousy and posessiveness in his gaze, but you don’t find any. he looks… interested. amused. curious to see if you will let your guard down again.

his eyes roam over your body and analyze the slight tremble in your naked thighs. you silently curse them for the creativity they put into choosing the delicate sundress for you today. yellow, thin… questionably short.

you realize the choice for your attire is no sudden coincidence. they planned on making you give in. how much, you didn’t know. it was up to them to decide on how many bricks they were going to knock out of your walls. their games of seduction were limitless, and if you weren’t careful… if you let them have their way with you – you know they’ll absolutely ruin you. and you didn’t want that. didn’t want them to have that power on you.

you snap out of deep thought and carefully shimmy away from javier’s body. but he’ll have none of that.

“where are you going, princesa?” javier asks, placing his hand on your thigh. he doesn’t need to apply any pressure to let you know you can’t go anywhere further.

“nowhere,” you fake confusion in your voice, trying to hide your true intention. trying to hide the fact that you indeed wanted to get away from his overwhelming attention.

of course your lies couldn’t get past him. he’s a former agent, for fuck’s sake. if you’re searching for a master manipulator in this house, first person you think of is javier peña. you play his games; he doesn’t play yours.

“now, now, hermosa… you gave me a taste, you know you can’t leave me like this,” he taunts, his intentions clear.

“what would you want me to do?” you question, your irritated tone making it clear you won’t break easily. that you’re not his puppet, his personal hooker that he payed for in order to forget about his problems.

“attitude, sweetheart. watch your tone,” marcus warns. of course he had to lecture you.

“it’s alright, brother,” javier excuses you. he is being suspiciously sweet. “i don’t think our sweetheart meant any harm. did you, baby?” his question is a test. a subtle dare – act impulsively on your frustration and feel the consequences. play his game, by his rules – and maybe you’ll have a shot. maybe you’ll rise in his eyes; make him proud. make yourself worth accounting for next time marcus wants to teach you a lesson.

“no. i meant no disrespect,” you comply. and you don’t miss the growing smile on javier’s face.

“good girl. very good girl,” he appreciates, running his hand through your flowing hair as gentle as possible. a gesture of kindness. a praise. a glimpse of what could happen – what could be – if you choose to submit. “why don’t you come sit between my legs, hm, baby? you’ll be more comfortable here.”

his invitation makes your stomach turn in disgust. you know what he wants, what he seeks. he moves his legs apart to make room for you and you don’t let him wait, moving carefully in the space he created. you’re grateful he didn’t demand you to straddle his lap.

you place your ass as far away from his crotch as you can while you gently lay the weight of your back on his chest. you position your head on his right shoulder, urging him to cradle you, which he does. he removes the barrier your hair created between your faces, guiding it on the opposite side. his breath is heavy and heated on your cheek, and as if the situation couldn’t get more overwhelming, he sneaks his left arm around your waist, circling it, sticking your body to his, making it harder to breathe, to move, to escape him.

you need some means of grounding. a way to cope with the anxiety buzzing in your bones and boiling your blood, your patience. how dare he touch you this way? make a show of your submission and compliance in front of his brothers, for the first time ever? what does he hope to accomplish?

you gather in fists the material of the dress which innocently rests on the side of your thighs, right below the delicate curve of your hips. it’s a way supposed to help you calm down and stop anticipating what’s to come next. to sway you from the overthinking train of thought which is threatening to keep rising your panic.

javier notices the way your body tenses, and he frowns. he doesn’t like it – doesn’t enjoy the fact that you’ll think he’s going to hurt you, violate your privacy and independence. he merely wants to take care of you and help you relax. he quickly figures that maybe this isn’t the best place to do it – in front of the watchful and hungry eyes of his brothers. but he can’t take it back now. all he can try is to make the pain go away. to coax you into opening up and become vulnerable for him – for them.

“shh, baby, relax. relax,” he whispers while carefully massaging the length of your arm with the unoccupied hand. gentle strokes of his fingertips rise goosebumps in their path while going up and down, up and down, doing a better job than you expected. “don’t be afraid, i won’t hurt you. i could never hurt you,” he promises, but his words feel empty to you. meaningless. deceitful.

you feel the wet press of his lips right on your temple and you shiver. he is so gentle, too gentle. treating you like a fragile piece of ancient, romantic sculpture. he surely must think of you like that – consider you something, someone, worth protecting and appreciating. worthy of love.

“you smell divine, mi amor,” he inhales ocasionally, taking deep breaths of your scent – the floral detergent in your dress, the remnants of the shampoo and conditioner in your hair. even the natural scent of your skin, though subtle, is enough to make javier’s head spin.

his hand removes leaves your arm and trails dangerously lower, tracing the line between the bottom of your dress and the inside of your thigh. the occasionally cool breeze flows in your direction, bothering your thin dress and lifting it merely an inch off of your legs. each time that happens, you’re sure that marcus can see the center of your panties and the way they stick like second skin to your pussy, squeezing your throbbing clit.

javier struggles to hide his amused smirk each time he touches you, teases and plays with your imagination by threatening to dip his fingers lower. to enter new territory and sink between your legs to where you want him most.

“so soft, baby. soft as silk,” he murmurs into your ear, his praise followed by a gentle peck to your earlobe, “can’t believe something as sweet as you rests in my arms. you like that, baby? feel safe?” he urges you to answer, to respond in kindly to his advances so he can take your pleasure as a sign to go further.

you shudder at his honeyed praise and force to swallow a lump down your throat so you can speak. “yes,” it’s more of a moan than a proper word, “feels… nice.”

“good, baby. i’m glad you like it,” he nips at your earlobe, and the unexpected distraction presents an open door for his hand to quickly trail further down your dress and dissapear right between your legs. you only notice the sudden intrusion when you feel your body moving without your own accord – your legs slightly parting, making room for him to graze the tip of his index down the center line of your pussy, nudging your clit, and then pressing on your hole, through your panties.

you gasp in both pleasure and anxiety at the gesture, so you try to protect yourself. to shield what little dignity you have left by ending things before they progress into something worse, more serious.

in a pathetic attempt to close your legs, he intervenes by syncing the tight hold his arm has around your waist with the quick move of his feet rising from the blanket and surround your own from the inside, preventing you to close them further.

once you’re securely caged between his frame, he nudges your feet to open up more. encouraging them to move, little by little, towards the edge of the blanket. towards the exterior.

you saw this coming. and that’s even worse than being clueless and not anticipating it – because you knew what he would do, and you did nothing to stop it.

“please, javi. you said you won’t hurt me,” you pleaded, and you hated the inevitable tremble in your voice.

“poor baby, no. this isn’t what you think it is,” he reassures, his words matching his attempt at grounding and soothing you in his hold by kissing all over your temple and massaging the inside of your thigh, backing away slightly from your dripping pussy to make you feel less threatened. “i don’t want to hurt you, baby. i swear. if you let me, i’ll make you feel so, so good.”

you feel the way his heart beats against his chest, the rhythm vibrating in your backbone. he is equally anxious too; he really wants you to enjoy this. to not view it as a punishment. because even if you did nothing extraordinary to earn this treatment, you deserve to feel good too.

“i’ll make this pretty pussy so happy, sweetheart. make you happy too, happiest you’ve ever been. if you’ll just let me…” his promise ends with a pause, giving you time to think if you really want to give in.

the question is – are you stupid enough to refuse, or so weak you just approve?

is it really a sign of weakness, though? to just give in? to let yourself be caressed by him and feel the pulsing desire of his brothers who are desperately waiting for their turn?

all of this is under your control, if you think about it. they punish you for your dissapointing behaviour and shower you with affection as a reward for behaving like a proper lady. like how their proper lady should behave.

you don’t need a gun to assert dominance or make them listen. you hold their wills in the power of your hands.

“yes, javi. please,” you whisper.

“what did you say, baby? please repeat, i didn’t hear it, i swear,” he pleads with you, sounding desperate, not taunting, like before. he genuinely didn’t hear you – or he did, but he just didn’t expect you to comply so easily. so willingly.

“please, javi. wan’ you to make me happy,” you lick your lips, turning your head so your lips ghost his earlobe, and he shudders slightly at the brief contact. “make my pussy happy. pretty please?” you plead innocently, the tone of your voice rising slightly, sounding as if you’re the spoiled daughter of a rich man. pairing your encantation with the submissive doe eyes you present, you give him an impossible deal to refuse.

“good girl, baby. the best girl,” he lets out a ragged breath in relief, his fingers making quick, delicate work of arranging your panties to the side, moving the obstacle out of the way. “don’t have to ask me twice, babygirl. would do anythin’ for you and your pretty pussy.”

a surprised gasp leaves your lips as he guides two fingers through your slit from bottom to top, gathering the wetness he encountered at your entrance to the surroundings of your clit. “oh, mierda, cariño. you’re soaked. is it because of me, hmm?” he presses a kiss to the corner of your eye while rolling your clit between his index and middle finger.

“ah, yes javi. yes,” you admit shamelessly, moans blessing his ears each time your little bundle of nerves receives additional stimulation when he pinches your clit.

“that’s right, baby, sing for me,” he urges you, his patience slipping with each passing moment as his resistance crumbles. the resistance implies forcing your legs even wider, making your knees bend abruptly before shoving you full of three fingers and making you scream while squirting all over his hand and the blanket below.

your eyes go wide when he eases his middle finger inside your tight hole. you’re both surprised that the act itself met not one single obstacle; his finger just made its way in like your walls were invisible, like your pussy saw it coming and decided to expand itself to make room for him, to accommodate everything he had to give.

“please, oh fuck yes,” you moaned shamelessly now, not bothering to hide the building pleasure javier caused right in front of his brothers in their own backyard. he responded in kind, loving the way you felt so comfortable letting yourself go – letting him know you love the way he touches you.

“such a tight pussy, baby. see how she hugs my fingers? hm? imagine it was my cock instead,” another finger joins in, making it two – stuffing you full, yet you can’t get enough. “would you prefer my cock, sweet girl? do you think it’ll fit?” his teases are back, but you pay them no mind. in fact, you love them. paired with the expert moves of his fingers fucking your vagina until your eyes roll in the back of your skull – it’s fucking amazing.

a soft laugh escapes his lips when you don’t bother to answer his question. you actually can’t seem to, really – he can tell you’re on the brink of orgasm by the way your chest rises and falls and your abdomen constricts along with your toes curling.

“no, i guess it won’t fit, cariño. not when you’re this fucking tight, sweet girl. jesus fuck,” the hand which was previously surrounding your waist changes its location to your right breast, squeezing it through the fabric and causing your soft nipple to rise to a little peak. it wasn’t enough, though. he needed to feel the softness of your skin and properly pinch your nipples. so his hand makes its way to your neckline and shimmies right underneath it in a desperate hurry to cup your naked breast and feel the angry little nipple in the palm of his hand. he gives you a squeeze which is a little rougher than intended before caging your nipple between his thumb and index to give it a proper rub and twirl, making you choke on your own moan.

“yes, javi, yes! please, more! don’t stop, don’t ever stop. gonna cum so hard…” you sob, feeling your vision blur and your cheeks getting wet a second after that.

fuck, you went feral. him and his brothers are so grateful they all witnessed the fact that you’re visibly into nipple play, and not only – breast play entirely. he makes quick note of that and stuffs it deep into his memory before continuing his rough administrations to your nipple compared to the loving strokes and poundings of his fingers in your cunt.

“then cum, sweetheart. go on. go on, little dove. thaat’s right, give me what i want. let go, let go. such a sweet little girl, lettin’ me take care of her. wanna see your poor pussy cry too, baby, not just your eyes. come on, baby, soak my fingers.”

he didn’t have to tell you twice. even though the rhythm of his fingers did not (thankfully) change, keeping you right where you’ve been all along, on the bridge of bliss and orgasm, his words were enough to send you over the edge as you closed your eyes and came around his fingers violently, your whole body trembling in his careful hold in contrast to your throbbing pussy pulsing out your release, gushing around his fingers and wetting the blanket with splash after splash as he guided you all the way through it, his arm tightening around your breast, making sure you never leave this safe heaven.

after you came down from your high, your body gradually relaxed and his fingers sadly parted themselves from their home. he let you close your legs and he even pulled the bottom of your dress as low as he could afford it, since most of the material was bunched underneath your bare ass sticking embarasingly to the wet blanket.

you open up your eyes to see marcus turning his gaze from you and back to his newspaper, trying his best not to seem affected by what just happened. but you know better, and judging by the immense bulge he unsuccesfully hides from you, you just know he wants nothing more than to make his way between your legs and stuff you full of his cum until you’re left shaking. he wouldn’t even need to take down his pants all the way through from how quick it would all be over. he practically witnessed how javier struggled to fit two fingers inside your cunt – his cock would basically choke.

joel was none the wiser. he was struggling to hold back even more than marcus; his fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw clenched, mouth closed shut along with a voluminous jugular vein pulsing furiously right beneath the tanned skin.

but you caught the red in his cheeks. he was visibly flushed, nervous and needy. eager to get a taste of you.

and so he did.

you stop breathing the moment he stalks towards you with a predatory look on his face, determined to dull the curiosity, grasping for something to claim from you.

all air is suddenly knocked out of your lungs when joel kneels in front of you and manhandles your legs apart, revealing your glistening pussy to his own gaze once more. she was all puffy and a bit swollen from before, the walls around the entrance pulsing and clenching around nothing as the opening looks much more evident and even wider than a few minutes ago.

“javier treated ya well, babygirl. took care of this lil’ girl jus’ right,” joel says, his deep, dominating tone making shivers crawl up your spine. “should clean her up. can’t leave her all messy.”

it’s all he says before diving head first into your cunt and licking all the juice dripping down your thighs and pussy. your ragged moan urges him to press on, despite your desperate attempts at begging him to take it slow on your overstimulated pussy. he doesn’t give a damn about your hands tangling and pulling his hair; he thinks it’s so fucking hot and it turns him on impossibly more, his cock aching for release in the confinement of his annoying boxers.

“mmm, ‘s right. goood girl,” he moans into your pussy, the vibrations adding more intensity to your building orgasm.

“you’re gonna cum on joel’s tongue, cariño? make a mess all over his face just like you did on my fingers?” javier whispers into your ear, the hand that warmed your breast starting to stir over the plump flesh to gather attention to your tortured nipple once more.

“yes… mmm, fuck yes. p-please, feels so, so… ah!”

“shh, that’s right, babygirl. let go. give it to joel, niiice and slow, thaaat’s it.”

your second orgasm practically makes you see stars. it comes fast and unexpected, crashing over you in the blink of an eye and lasting so long you wonder if you’ve gone blind. joel’s tongue fucks in an out of you, your poor hole trying to clench onto the thick muscle in an attempt to grab him and never let him go as he patiently laps up all your release with a content hum.

he presses a gentle kiss to your clitoris when he’s done. you can’t, won’t, open your eyes again. you don’t need to look at him to know the painful look he probably has on his face because he wishes he could do it all over again. never depart his face from between your legs.

his mind races to various ways and possibilities of making you cum on his face. next time, he’ll definitely make you ride his nose while making love to your pussy with his tongue and mouth. bringing you to several orgasms until you beg for him to put you out of your misery and sink himself into your tight warmth until you’re nothing but a whimpering toy.

one day, he thinks. one day, you’ll succumb to all of their wants and desires.

because you’ll be addicted. to how they make you feel, how they take care of you. to their smell and touch. to them. it’s all just a matter of time, which you and them have plenty of. because you’re never leaving them again.

[famouslyanonymous]

caged in silk (2) – escape attempt

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ your escape attempt fails. after they bring you back, marcus punishes you himself.

warnings ➝ smut, spanking, dark!fic, manhandling, aftercare, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 2.940

author's note ➝ hi again! came back with a longer chapter for this series. hope you like it and if there are any warnings i forgot to include, please nudge me 🩷

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

you don't know when you started planning it. maybe it was after one of joel's suffocating lectures about how dangerous the outside world is, or after javier kissed your forehead and whispered a honeyed threat in your ear, "don't run, cariño. it won't end well for you." maybe it was when marcus gripped your wrist just a little too harshly, his cold eyes telling you that resistance was pointless.

but you refuse to accept this life with these sick men.

so, you wait. you watch. you memorize their schedules.

the way joel double-checks the locks but gets sloppy when he drinks.

the way javier smokes out on the porch at night, lost in his own thoughts.

the way marcus dissapears for hours at a time (thankfully – he's the hardest and scariest to deal with).

then, finally, your chance comes.

joel's passed out on the couch, whiskey bottle loose in his grip. javier is in the backyard, smoking a cigarette and distracted by a phone call. marcus is gone.

now or never.

you move quickly, heart hammering as you unlock the front door, slipping barefoot into the night. the cold air bites at your skin, but you don't stop. you run; past the old fence, the trees. past the point where they ever let you go alone.

and for a while, you feel free. but not safe.

you make endless plans for when you arrive in the city. where it's safest to go, who to approach, how you should behave in order for someone to take you seriously.

you follow the road religiously. you run, and when your legs almost give out, you stop running and instead walk as fast as you can. always looking back, checking your surroundings and hoping for a car to stop by and save you.

you do hear a car. a truck engine, roaring in the distance. tires kicking up dirt. headlights slicing through the darkness.

your stomach drops.

you push yourself harder, lungs burning, but it's useless. the truck skids to a stop in front of you, cutting off your path. the door swings open, and joel steps out first. he looks... devastated.

"goddamn it," he breathes, raking a hand down his face. "why'd you do this, baby? why'd you make us come after you?"

javier is next. he doesn't say anything at first; just leans against the truck, watching you. when he finally speaks, his voice is too soft.

"you really didn't think this through, hm? did you, cariño?" he pauses to light up a cigarette, the stress evident on his furrowing eyebrows and tense stance. he looks like he held his breath the entire trip and finally relaxed when he saw you in flesh and bone.

and then there's marcus. he looks so fucking angry, dissapointed. he looks at you, slow and deliberate, like he's already planning your punishment.

when he takes a few more steps towards you, you shake your head, turn around and make a useless run from it. tears fall when joel grabs you, his arms caging you in, crushing you against his chest as he shushes your frantic cries.

"shh, baby. it's over now. we got you. we always got you."

javier moves in next, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. his fingers are gentle, but his eyes burn.

"tell me," he murmurs, "who put these stupid ideas in your pretty little head? hm? who made you think you had a choice?"

you don't answer. you can't.

"you see, sweetheart, you broke joel's heart tonight. you dissapointed me too. but most importantly, you made marcus very, veeery angry," he points a finger towards him and your lip trembles in fear as your eyes follow. "and you know what happens when marcus is angry, don't you?"

as you close your eyes and more tears fall on your cheek, you barely flinch when javier hesitates before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

he remains at your level as he whispers, "i can't promise he'll be gentle, sweetheart. but i can promise that next time, you'll think twice about running away."

---

they don't take you back right away.

joel is still holding you, his grip tight enough to bruise, his heart pounding against your back. javier is standing so close you can feel the heat of his body. and marcus hasn't stopped watching you, his sharp, assessing gaze taking in every little shake, flinch and desperate breath.

you feel cornered, trapped. because you are.

joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening around your arms. "you scared the hell outta me," he mutters, his voice shaking. he turns you around, forcing you to face him. his expression is tight, his jaw clenched.

"you coulda got yourself hurt. you coulda died. or worse – someone else, a bad man, coulda taken you 'way from us. do terrible things to ya. that what ya wan', doll? don't we treat ya good enough?"

"fuck. you." you snarl before spitting in joel's face.

you don't get a chance to see the anger on his face because he hauls you over his shoulder so suddenly it makes your head spin.

you scream, thrashing against his hold, but it's useless.

javier laughs, "guess we're doin' this the hard way, huh?"

---

the ride back is suffocating. you sit between joel and javier in the back of the truck, your legs trembling and your hands curled into fists. marcus drives, his grip steady on the wheel, saying nothing. he doesn't even glance back at you. not even once.

joel keeps an arm around you, pressing you against his side, his other hand resting on your thigh.

javier says nothing. keeps his mouth shut for once and decides to glance at the surrounding views through the window.

when you get inside the house, the atmosphere shifts. it's heavy. tense.

javier clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "now what do we do with you, cariño?"

joel sighs, dropping on the couch and rubbing his forehead. "she needs to learn."

marcus finally speaks. "she will."

that's the only warning before you get shoved against the wall by marcus. your head got hit so abruptly you felt like your conciousness was slipping between your fingers. there's no sweet talking your way out of this. no escaping.

"what were you fucking thinking, huh?"

"marcus," javier warns carefully.

"no," he bites back at his younger brother. "she needs a fuckin' lesson."

"i... i just wante-"

"to leave?" marcus interrupts.

you swallow. nod.

marcus lets out a humorless laugh. "that ain't ever gonna happen, stupid girl. you're ours," he ranks a hand through your hair, his touch so soft it almost makes you want to lean into it. but this guy is a fucking psychopath, worse than his two brothers. he barely talks, but when he does, he switches between different personalities so quickly you can barely process his intentions.

"you should be thankin' us. we gave you an escape ticket from the shithole you called living, and brought you to fucking paradise," he leans in towards your ear and practically screams the last two words, his voice hurting your brain. "ain't that right, boys?"

joel rises from the couch and comes next to marcus to graze his thumb from the apple of your cheek to your bottom lip, stroking it carefully and not liking the way a small amount of blood seeps through the chapped borders of your pouty lip. his eyebrows are furrowed in concern but his gaze remains stern. "he's right, doll."

a short moment of infuriating silence occurs. you study marcus' gaze and by the look of it, he's most likely thinking of all the possibilities to hurt you. punish you for your disobedience and trying to decide of a way or more on how to make you behave. because if there's one thing marcus hates, it's disobedience.

"what are we gonna do with you, hm?" he hums dangerously, cocking his head to the side. his tone seems mocking, inhuman. as if you're a stray dog in urgent need of taming.

"please," you try to beg, hoping for mercy. he fucking laughs in your face.

"please? no, baby, begging won't do. it just... won't do. you wanna act all innocent? you should've thought of that before trying to fucking escape," he is sincere. straight to the point. unyielding. his eyes are following your trembling eyes, glossy with tears you fight holding back. he sees right through your failed attempt to hide the regret of your unsucceeding plan.

"you wish your plan worked, huh? you wish i wasn't here, leavin' you to play the victim card with joel. hell, he might've even believed you, baby. he's the only one keeping me from choking you right where you stand."

you take a slow look at joel and you let a few tears fall free on your cheek. he looks dissapointed, broken. he was the only one who tried to make your stay as comfortable as possible. he held you tight at night and kept you warm, dressed and fed. and you failed him.

marcus taps your cheek twice with his rough hand, turning your attention back to him. "he ain't gon' save you now, sweetheart. he knows you fucked up. and now, he's gonna watch you get disciplined."

"no!" you let out a broken yell when marcus grabbed you by your arm and hurried you towards the couch. you try to slow him down by tugging on his arm and putting all your weight upon your feet, pressing the soles straight on the wooden floor, but his strength outranks yours.

he sits down on the couch and wastes no time in molding your body to his will to succesfully manhandle you over his knees. your abdomen presses painfully over his big thighs while your head hangs down beside the couch, your left cheek barely grazing the soft cover. marcus contorts your hands behind your back and locks your wrists together using his left hand while the other one tugs harshly on your sweatpants, revealing your ass.

"oh, would you look at that piece of cake," he groans in pleasure, his calloused right hand coming down to massage the plump flesh of your buttcheeks. "and this little string," he tugs at your panties, pulling them upwards and then quickly releasing the material so it slaps against your pussy. "looks so good, baby. beautiful body you got on ya. such a shame to ruin it."

he pulls your panties down in one brutal move, the cool air of the room hitting your bare pussy and making you shiver. marcus spreads your asscheeks and brings his face closer, staring between your legs. you can't see him, but the way your smell invades his nose makes his head dizzy. he fights the urge to bury himself in your cunt and absolutely devour you like a man starved. but tonight is about making you feel sorry, not good.

"come here, boys. look at this fuckin' treasure." he gestures to joel and javier and they both come behind you to glance at your wet cunt. all the stress, thrill and danger left not only a traitorous transparent spot in the center of your panties, but also evidenced your swollen pussy in the light of the room. you feel their hungry gazes staring directly in your center, and you have never felt more ashamed. you try to shield your dignity by clenching your asscheeks and thighs together, but marcus had none of it. he swatted your right cheek as a threat, the abrupt and fast contact with his hand forcing you to instantly relax and let him spread you apart even further.

"don't you fuckin' do that again, sweetheart. we have every right to see what's ours."

"jesus, cariño. you're fucking soaked," javier sighs.

"i know, right? barely touched her and she's drenchin' my lap," marcus mocks, and you roll your eyes in disbelief, wishing you had the guts to throw the snide remark that sits on the tip of your tongue. definitely not soaked because of you, fucking old creep.

"but this ain't 'bout makin' you feel good, darlin'. no. tonight i ain't gonna take care of your pussy. but that bratty attitude you got goin' on..." he slowly massages your ass, warming up the flesh, preparing you for what's to come, "oh yeah. now that's a fucking problem, huh? you gotta know your place."

his hand rises up from your flesh and before you can even think about bracing yourself for the impact, his hand comes down just as fast and brutal, making the soft skin ripple in waves from his touch. your body slightly shifts forward but the tight grip he has on your wrists holds you still. a warning. a threat. the more you move and struggle, the longer this will take.

he repeats his assault on each asscheek. his strikes are quick and they fucking sting. he doesn't hit you with his entire hand yet. his fingers are enough and prove to be very efficient.

you wonder that, if his fingers leave such a pain in their path... how much would his entire palm hurt?

it will surely leave marks. red hot and bruising. so painful they will remind you of the aftermath of your punishment for days to come.

and as if he can hear your thoughts, he makes them come true.

he swats three more speedy slaps on your left cheek, one after the other, leaving you no time to recover. and then, as you barely caught your breath, his palm connects with the right cheek so hard the sound vibrates against your ear.

he massages the tender area in a soothing manner, but it is useless. in fact, what he considers as a tender action, actually makes the pain worse; incorporating it into your entire fiber. making you bite your lip, flowing your head with high hopes that this will be over soon. if you behave, he might take pity on you.

joel comes forward and kneels on the ground in front of you, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. you can tell he feels sorry for you.

"good girl," he coos softly, "such a good girl. just take it," his free hand wipes the tears and the hair off your face. he tries to distract you while marcus' unrelenting assault never ceases to stop. his soothing voice does nothing to stop the horrifying feel of being completely held down, helpless and used like a rag while marcus keeps his promise to the very end.

after what feels like a long time, you slowly drift towards unconciousness. your lower half goes completely numb as your body accomodates to the pain and perceives it as normality. all you feel is an immense amount of warmth enveloping your asscheeks and an irritating, disgusting feeling of a slick liquid dripping slowly from your cunt and making their way down your legs. imprinting on the rough material of marcus' jeans.

your head is dizzy and you can barely form coherent thoughts inside your mind. joel's soothing words fade like background noise, and the awful smell of javier's cigarettes becomes your only source of oxygen. marcus hits, and slaps, and swats relentlessly until he's utterly pleased not only with his artwork, but the way you become soft and pliant underneath him.

you didn't even notice how he let go of your wrists so long ago. yet you still keep them in place as if he still holds them.

if you had eyes in the back of your head, you'd scream in agony at the sight of your ass. the colour of your skin is unknown, overshadowed entirely by a sea of red which marcus carefully crafted with the skill of his hand.

he isn't oblivious to the river pooling down your legs either. but you don't deserve to be satisfied yet. he isn't pleased with joel's weakness for you anyway, and the fact that you will be sleeping in his protective embrace tonight is enough of a reward for you. if it were marcus' choice, he would have you sleep on the wooden floor all night. no blanket, pillows, or even clothes to keep you warm.

when joel notices that his brother is finally done, he immediatelly sweeps you into his arms and carries you to his bedroom. he is careful in maneuvering you into the mattress, arranging you on your belly so that your ass is protected. he brings a small bottle of aloe vera gel from the bathroom; he collects a small amount on his fingers and warms the content in his hand before applying it featherly soft on the affected areas. you shift and sniffle in pain, and he comforts you as best as he can.

joel joins you in bed after he's done tending to your wounds. he notices the way you reach for him in your sleep and mumble inaudible words from your dreams. he hates how soft he is for you and how you have succeeded in affecting him so much in the short time you've been around and you don't even know it.

he dreams of a near future where you are happy and content in their presence. where you cook and tend to their every need while they take turns in worshipping your body and building your happiness.

he wants to spoil you so bad. hell, all of them do. but you have to earn it. you have to accept your new reality and the fact that they're never letting you go.

once you do, you'll be their queen. and they will do anything for you.

[famouslyanonymous]

caged in silk (1) – introduction

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ introducing you to your captors.

warnings ➝ dark content, brief mention of alcoholic parents, homelessness, guns and drugs, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 442

author's note ➝ hello everyone! i've been obsessed with this idea that randomly popped up in my head a few days ago and i wanna act on it as quick as possible so i don't lose interest. hope you like it.

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

you: an innocent young woman in her 20s navigating through life and its never-ending obstacles; your parents were abusive alcoholics and you consider the day you ran away at 16 years old to be the best day of your life. the rest didn't matter. the eventual homelessness and working 3 different jobs while balancing a smoke addiction was a thousand times better than what you had to endure before. as time passed on, you could afford rent and even dream of getting an education. it didn't matter that you had no friends whatsoever; your goal was financial fulfillment, not being a social butterfly. you could have created some lifelong connections with your coworkers, but as you ended up switching so many jobs, you figured good things never last. and heartbreak is best to be avoided.

so, in conclusion – you had no one. you meant nothing to anyone, and if you'd dissapear (once again), nobody would care.

that made you an easy target.

introduce:

marcus acacius: a man with discipline and precision. his background as an army general has not only conditioned him to assess, control and dominate any situation – but it earned him important connections with gun dealers, spies, armies and even the government. marcus operates with a quiet, calculated intensity; he sees everything. processes every possible outcome before making a move. but underneath the iron grip lies a dark obsession: a deep-seated need to possess, protect, claim. he justified his obsession with logic: you were struggling. you had no one. you needed a better life. he was the man for the job.

javier peña: javier is seduction and danger wrapped in silk. he's a very adaptable and unpredictable individual – former DEA agent turned cartel associate. he knows best how to make people trust him and how to keep them wanting more. but beneath his irresistible charm is something ruthless: a man who switched sides without hesitation, who plays the long game and always comes out on top. he has an insatiable hunger and addiction for you – he doesn't just want to own you. he wants you to want to be owned.

joel miller: joel is violence disguised as a man. he doesn't believe in morality, he views survival as a necessity. that's what makes him the perfect mercenary. if someone needs to die, he'll end their life with no hesitation. he doesn't justify or explain, he just acts. his obsession with you is primal and territorial; but there's also something softer beneath it, something dangerously close to love. he doesn't care that what they did to you was wrong. after losing two daughters, he'll tear the world apart to keep you.

[famouslyanonymous]

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 7

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 7.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas, discussion of money/finances.* Family talk, nostalgia, fluff. Summary: Javi encourages you to reignite your dreams with a trip to a sewing supply shop, and you find something far more precious than fabric and thread. Notes: I love this little family so very much, and I hope you all do too! Precious Javi is just out there loving with his whole heart.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

Sunday, May 18, 2025

The afternoon spent picnicking and walking around the winery ends with you making a reservation to take their more in-depth tour when it is offered again next month, and eventually you and Javi hop back in the car to head back towards home. The sewing supply shop that you wanted to visit is in Burbank and Javi is excited all over again about the idea of having a shirt made by hand by his soulmate.

“Now, I want you to buy whatever you need.” He tells you as he watches you drive carefully. He loves that you are a safe driver, even if the urge to speed comes naturally to him. “We can set you up a room for your sewing. Or you can always share the office with me. There’s plenty of room.”

“I can set up in part of the living room for now. I like to listen to music or watch movies while I sew, and I don’t want to disturb you while you’re writing.” Parking the car outside Sew Far, Sew Good and looking up at the enormous warehouse-style building, you flash Javi a grin. “Maybe the new house has room for a sewing room?”

He grins back at you. “Maybe.” He teases. “We will have to see, won’t we?” After you had told him about your former dreams, he had made sure that there was a hobby room for you marked on the plans. A room with exceptional light.

“I guess we will.” You throw him a playful wink as you both climb out of the car. “This is supposed to be one of the best supply shops in the city. They have a whole separate fabric room, too. Maybe we’ll find something you like for a shirt?”

“As long as you buy enough to make yourself a sundress.” He winks and rounds the front to wrap his arm around your waist. “I’m sure we will find plenty.”

A well-dressed man with gray hair wearing a brightly colored and personalized apron greets you when you come inside and offers to help you find anything you need. You thank him, telling him it's your first time and you just want to wander and take it all in, and he grins and hands you an info card for their loyalty program instead.

“You will need to sign up for that, I can already tell.” His eyes are wide as Javi takes in the sheer volume of what is being sold here. “Holy shit. I know the costume designers have to come here often.”

"I've heard about this place for ages, but it was the costumers on your film that convinced me I needed to come." There is a stack of handheld baskets near the door, but Javi gives you a look that says Be realistic, amor and you smirk and reach for a shopping cart with wheels instead.

He grins and grabs another to wheel behind you. “Just in case.” He huffs when you whirl around and give him a look.

It quickly becomes clear that this shop not only has every color of thread ever created, a full aisle of sewing machines, and sizes of needles that never knew existed, but also racks upon racks of fixtures and a little set up in one corner marked Button by the Pound with assorted miscellaneous buttons that can be weighed into bags. It also has knitting, embroidery, and crochet supplies all sold together in the largest warehouse you could possibly imagine.

There is a help desk in the fabric room between the endless bolts and large cabinets of sewing patterns where a staff member can help you match the best type of fabric for your pattern and then cut how much you need. There are ribbons and appliqués and the chance for you to explain to Javi the importance of never, ever using your fabric scissors for anything ever.

“Do not use your scissors for anything.” He nods seriously. “Unless I am cutting a thread and then come to you to make sure.

“It would be like me using your laptop to browse the internet.” You explain, carefully selecting a quality pair of shears from the wall and adding them to your basket. “Technically it does do that, but it’s so much more important to you than just internet.”

“Understood.” He has nothing to hide from you, but all of his work is saved on the laptop.

“So…” Pushing your carts toward the fabric room, you nudge your husband and smile. “You have to know that with all this fuss, you’re getting far made than one new shirt.”

“I am perfectly fine with that.” He chirps. “Why don’t we pick out your machine first?” He asks. “Or do you want to pick out your fabrics?”

“We probably ought to get the machine first…” Down the aisle to your left are so many machines you don’t even recognize some of the brands. “I don’t need anything complicated. It’s not like I’m making ballgowns.”

“Find one that you like.” He insists. “You can always upgrade or add another to your collection.”

"The one I used when I was a kid was my grandmother's old Singer." Gravitating toward that brand would be a standard even for a beginner, but for you it's sentimental. Luckily this shop has an entire section of shelving with plenty of choices.

“Whatever one speaks to you.” He watches as you bite your lip, caressing one of the displays. He loves that you are going to get what you want, encourages it.

It takes a little back and forth, but eventually you settle on a Singer model that has over a thousand stitch options, a dozen accessories, and plenty of new-to-you settings to play with. Since you're not a beginner, you're not afraid of learning some more advanced options, and Javi tuts when you fret even momentarily over the price. This is one time that you only need the slightest amount of coaxing. Ten minutes later you're heading back into the fabric room to take a look at patterns and let Javi pick out the styles of his next few new shirts.

“Do you have any preference on what type of fabric?” Javi asks, a little overwhelmed at all the options. “Is one easier to work with?”

"You like wearing linen." Even if he hadn't realized it, Javi's wardrobe does have a distinctive feeling to it. He dresses like he did in Mallorca, and perpetually looks as though a beach might materialize behind him at any moment. You love it, if you're honest. Casual Javi is a comfortable, cozy man. "And you love the clothes in old movies. Maybe I could make you some things from vintage patterns?"

He ticks a brow up, intrigued by the idea. “Yeah?” He asks. “How vintage? Renaissance? Or romantic periods? Early 1900’s?” He’s teasing and he would wear anything you make him, but he’s interested to see what you were thinking.

"I was thinking of like...the 1930s to the 60s or so." His sudden enthusiasm for antique clothing styles takes you off guard and your eyebrows raise in surprise. But just as you start to waffle on the idea, he starts giggling. "You're teasing!" You nudge him again and huff playfully. "Sassy husband."

“Lovely wife.” He replies, pulling you close and pressing his lips to yours. “Whatever you think will look good on me.” He encourages. “Make something you want to see on me and take off me.” He waggles his brows playfully.

“If you keep encouraging me Like that we’re gonna have to talk about kids a lot sooner than our six month mark.” You tell him, but press another kiss to his lips rather than scold.

“Then you could make your own maternity dresses.” He coos, grinning widely at the prospect.

“I was already planning on it,” you admit, steering him and your cart over to the set of pattern cabinets marked Vintage. “I can make them with adjustable pieces that would be impossible to find in mainstream stores.”

He hums and watches as you absorb yourself in the designs. Completely mesmerized by how engrossed you become. Obviously serious about this, your eyes sparkle with passion.

Eventually you come away with a pattern for an asymmetrical side-button long sleeve shirt, one for a short-sleeve resort shirt that will be great in linen, one for a 1950s style shirt with thick stripes of color, and the last is one that Javi gravitates toward — a Cuban style shirt that was all the rage in the 50s and will look great in cotton or linen. “What if…” Looking at the patterns together, the vintage vibes are strong on this trip. “I made myself a swing dress? To match one of your 50s style shirts?”

“I would love that.” He agrees. “It would be something perfect for a date.” He smiles. “So let’s find the color, right?” He asks, looking over at the bolts of linen.

You follow his eyes, but the room is so full of possibilities that you’re lighting up again. “Let’s look at cotton for whatever I make for both of us…although a couple of linen dresses sound nice for the summer…”

Javi follows you, listening to you as you start to ramble about different colors and the way you could style them. Taking every single color that you admire and putting it in his basket until it completely covers the sewing machine and nearly topples over onto the floor.

“I think that might be all we can manage.” All you can do is laugh at his utter enthusiasm, charmed and feeling deeply loved and supported in this moment. “I have a feeling we’ll be back before too long.”

“What about the thread? He asks. “You need that too, right?”

“Right.” That’s back out in the main shop, but pushing your carts is now distinctly more work with how much you’re buying. “Couldn’t get that until we had our fabrics. I have to see how much color matching I can do.”

“There’s a lot of thread.” He snorts. “I think you need one of those organizer thingies, right?” He asks, glancing towards a display to keep your thread organized.

“I’m afraid…” you offer him a sheepish half-smile. “The living room is going to be fully turned into a sewing room, not just half.”

“That is perfectly fine by me, sweetheart.” He reaches out and pulls you back for another kiss. “I want you to be happy. I know there are times that I spend a lot of time on my computer, but I want you to have something you love doing.” He lifts his brows. “But only if you love it. If something changes, you stop doing it.”

“The most I’ve done for ages is basic knitting. I miss this. It’s more than just making mittens or scarves for Christmas gifts. It’s a chance to be really creative again.” So many kisses given and returned, but here in the middle of the thread aisle in a sewing supply store, your heart is full to bursting over something very simple. Support.

“Then you take as much space as you need.” He smiles and reaches for your hand to give it a good squeeze.

“I love you, too.” One more kiss to indulge, and you approve of the thread holder that Javi picked out from a nearby shelf. “We should probably get out of here before we buy more than the car can hold.”

That makes him laugh, even as he nods. As great as the car is, a Porsche doesn’t have the biggest storage space available on the car market.

“Come on.” The flash of a grin lights up your face and you start for the end of the aisle. “Before I decide to go back to the embroidery aisle and make everyone on the film personalized pillow covers for their trailers.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “That might be next.” He teases ruefully.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But it would be worth it to make Alex an embroidered pillow that says something quite rude. He’d love it.”

“Oh god!” He throws his head back and laughs. “He would love it!”

“He would.” When you reach the counter you’re both laughing. “I think I have to do it now.”

He snorts a little. “Make it something very dirty.” He tells you.

“Hi folks, I can help you right over here.” There are two registers on the long counter, and the woman standing behind the far one waves you over.

“Hi.” Bouncing and beaming when you push your carts over together, you offer the woman an apologetic shrug. “We went a little crazy.”

Steering the cart up, Javi starts to unload the thread first since it can be bagged. Half listening to the chatter between you and the clerk.

She has short, dark pink hair and a gleaming nose ring. The romper she’s wearing under her apron has obviously been handmade and you coo over a detail in the sleeve cuff when she turns around again.

After the thread comes the bolts of fabric. Making Javi laugh as he starts to pile them up. Both of you went a little overboard.

“Big project in the works?” She asks, taking in the sheer amount of fabric and supplies you and Javi have picked out.

“Sort of.” You shrug sheepishly. “I’m going to make a few matching pieces for my husband and me to wear. Cheesy but cute.”

“She will make things that I will wear until they fall apart and then she will put them back together.” He tells the woman proudly. “She made the dress she is wearing now.”

“And it’s a super cute dress.” The woman agrees, smiling at his enthusiasm. It’s always nice to see supportive spouses come though. It happens less often than she would have hoped. “Looks like you guys have enough here for the start of a new wardrobe.” The basic chitchat is kind of a necessity of work, but this woman feels…familiar to her somehow. Like she ought to have more to say than just the basics.

“Yeah…” You laugh, not embarrassed but acknowledging how silly it must seem. “Um…I definitely think I’m going to sign up for your loyalty program. Is it okay to do that with you or should I fill out the form they gave me at the door?”

“Here is perfect.” The company doesn’t make her push the loyalty program, but it has some perks. “Signing up today will give you an additional twenty percent off.”

“Perfect.” You laugh, looking at the massive purchase. “Seems like the right time to get that perk.”

“Always good when you can get money off the big items.” She agrees and starts to pull up the screen to enter in your information.

“The last name is Gutierrez.” She doesn’t ask, but you spell it for her anyway, out of habit and then give her your first name.

She hums, not looking up from typing. “I always loved that name.” She admits. “My cousin has that first name.”

“I always liked it a lot.” It’s such an easy thing to agree. Almost more mindless small talk.

Until your eyes fall on her name tag, which reads: Wilhelmina

“Holy shit—” One hand clamps itself over your mouth in surprise before the words can be muffled and your eyes are wide. “Billie??”

Her brow crinkles in confusion for a moment and she looks down at her name tag, as if it would say Billie, “How—”

"Billie Carmichael? Born in Woodstock, Connecticut?" You're practically tearing up again, so easily emotional at this enormous surprise. You knew she looked familiar. You'd just never seen your cousin with pink hair before. Or...at all in the last fifteen years. "Little sister called KT? Absolutely inseparable from your cousin until you moved to the west coast?" You can't help it. You blubber a little, waving once because you don't know what else to do. "Hi cuz."

“Oh my god.” She slaps her hand over her mouth and lets out a small sob before she whispers your name again. “I can’t believe it. You’re— you’re here.” She doesn’t hesitate to move out from behind the counter to throw her arms around you.

“Holy shit, holy shit.” For a few minutes it’s just the two of you hugging each other and exclaiming, but when you pull back again you’re grinning ecstatically. “What are you doing here? When did you move to LA?” The flurry of excitement almost makes you forget yourself, but you squeeze your cousin’s arms and giggle with happiness. “This is my soulmate, by the way. Javi, remember I told you about my cousin?”

“This is your cousin Billie?” Javi chuckles, only being a little sarcastic because you both have been squealing so loudly he had gotten the hint. “I would have never guessed.” He comes over and offers his hand. “Javi Gutierrez.” He introduces himself. “I have heard about you. All good.”

“All exaggeration.” Billie assures him, still laughing.

You huff, but just because you still can’t believe it. “You’re really here!”

“I moved to LA two years ago.” She giggles, letting go of his hand and throwing her arm around you again. “I can’t believe it. I just— I asked mom about you and they never could tell me where you were.”

“Yeah, I haven’t exactly…stayed in touch.” That’s probably your fault, but your own mother hasn’t made it easy at all. “My mom remarried and her side of the family doesn’t like him very much. Which they’re completely right about, for the record.”

“Oh god.” She winces and hugs you again. “Okay, back to being professional.” She huffs, pulling away and scooting around the counter again. “I have to get your number. We should have lunch sometime, catch up.”

“Anytime you want,” you promise her. “I’m on set during the week but nobody will mind if I want to leave for lunch or if — oh, oh! You should come visit set one day!”

“Set?” Her brows wing up and she glances at the material and then back at you. “You- this is for costumes?” She huffs, figuring you had just been fibbing to keep the details under wraps. “You finally became a fashion designer? For films? That’s incredible!”

“It’s…not quite that cool.” Although your heart pangs a little with how much you wish it was true. “Javi is an incredible screenwriter. They’re filming at the museum I work at so I’m helping it on set.” Beaming, you look back at your husband with pride. “It’s how we met.”

“Oh, so you are newly married!” Her eyes light up and she grins. “She used to talk about finding her soulmate.” She tells Javi. “How handsome and smart he was going to be. Is she right about being smart?”

“I was very right.” Javi is blushing bright red and you give him a squeeze in turn — and over his shoulder see the glare of the man who greeted you at the door. “Oh shit. Um…I don’t want to get you in trouble, Bills. But you have to come over for dinner soon. I have Grandpa’s corn chowder recipe and we can yap as much as we want.”

“Oh god, seriously?” She groans happily and quickly nods before finishing entering your information in the system to sign you up for the loyalty program. “I’ve missed that corn chowder.”

“I swear it’s like being nine again. Hanging out in the backyard at a family reunion soaking wet from running through the sprinklers and all.” Both of you laugh, and a wave of contentedness settles in you as a missing piece of yourself clicks back into place. “It’s really, really good to see you again.”

She hits the button and grins at you happily, adding her own discount to your order. “It’s amazing to see you too, cuz.” She promises before rattling off your total.

Javi raises one eyebrow and you produce the credit card he gave you earlier, tapping it on the machine in the counter as he starts to load up your carts with all of the bags. “The perfect end to the perfect day,” you agree.

“Hang on.” She rips off the receipt and turns it over to scrawl her number on the back of it for you. “Call me. Please.”

“Cross my heart.” Drawing one finger over your heart in promise, you slip the paper into your purse and resolve to call her tonight. It’s never too soon when the time apart has been so long.

Javi starts to wheel the cart loaded down with lots of bags and the sewing machine, grinning at the manager as he walks past him. “Have a good day.”

“I can’t believe it.” Pushing everything outside feels like floating on air, and the second you’re out the door you pull out your phone to save Billie’s number to your phone and shoot her a text.

“I am shocked.” Javi admits with a small snort. “Of all the fabric stores in all the world.”

“It’s so crazy.” Breaking, gleeful bewilderment is pretty much all you’ve got on your face right now but you lean into Javi’s side with a happy sigh. “What a crazy fucking coincidence.”

“Yes it is, amor.” He smiles and opens the smaller trunk to start loading the bags and box into it. “Do you want to go home and unload this first or stop by the store on the way home?” He asks, making you pause with a frown of confusion in your eyes. “To get the ingredients for your corn chowder?” He clarifies. “I am assuming your cousin is coming to lunch or dinner tomorrow? To catch up?”

“I hope so.” It’s all a little hazy because it just happened, and you haven’t had a chance to plan with her yet. “Why don’t we stop for groceries on the way home and we can get whatever we want for dinner tonight, as well?”

“Perfect.” He grins as he manages to squeeze everything in the trunk by playing a little Tetris and slams it shut, “groceries go on the back seat.”

“There’s nowhere else they could possibly go,” you laugh, but fling your arms around him and press and grateful kiss to his lips. “Thank you for today, mi amor.”

******

Monday, May 27, 2025

You are nervous. It’s sweet and cute almost, the way you are obsessing over making everything look perfect. For now, everything you bought is piled into the garage because you don’t want to take up the living room with your sewing supplies, even though Javi told you that it would be fine. You woke up early to start on the corn chowder, which he had to admit smells delicious, currently slowly simmering on the stove. Trays of nostalgic finger goods made, explaining them to a very confused soulmate who has never thought of smearing cream cheese on a slice of ham and rolling it around a green onion to slice up into bite sized pieces. They are good though. “Do you want me to disappear into my study for a while?” Javi asks. “Give you two a chance to catch up? I don’t mind, but I want you to let me know if you want me there.” You might think he doesn’t want to be there for stumbling down memory lane and nothing can be further from the truth. He wants you to just enjoy yourself and maybe you can open up more without him trying to understand the history and having to have it explained to him.

“What if you stayed and spent time with us during dinner, and if we’re driving you crazy with family stories I won’t blame you one bit if you disappear afterward?” Javi is always deeply accommodating and you try to be that for him too, but you do want him to get to know your cousin if he’s up for it.

“I am curious to know everything about you and your family, but I also know that you want to reconnect.” He chuckles. “Perhaps tell an embarrassing story or five.”

“Oh,” you snicker. “I’m sure there will be embarrassing stories.”

He smirks and moves to pick up a cup that had been left out from the quick breakfast he had wanted you to share. “Maybe some good ideas to add to screenplays.” He jokes.

“Your interior designer might get a more colorful backstory than you anticipated,” you tease, though it makes your cheeks burn to remember he is basing character on you.

“Nothing wrong with that.” He smiles indulgently. “Anything else I can help you with before she arrives?”

“I think I’ll probably fuss with the players on the table three more times, but technically everything is ready.” The chowder is keeping warm, the little pinwheel sandwiches you loved as kids are ready to go, and a Waldorf salad like your mothers used to make is waiting in the fridge.

“Then I will stay out of your way while you…tinker.” You had told him that’s your way of combatting nerves so he doesn’t want to hamper you.

“That’s a very polite way of saying while I get my nerves out.” But you’re still grateful for his acceptance of your general anxieties, and give him a kiss by way of showing it. “She should be here any minute, I won’t have much time to tinker anyway.”

“Then I will answer the door so you can triple check everything.” He smiles as you nod, even as you adjust the flowers on the table.

It is at most five minutes later that you hear Javi at the cottage’s front door, calling out at first and then chatting amiably. Billie’s voice joins him before too long, and you have just enough time to re-straighten the collage frame of wedding pictures on the living room wall before he ushers her inside.

“You have such a beautiful home.” Billie hums, coming inside. “I noticed that there are some stakes in the front, are you adding on?”

“Sort of yes, sort of no.” You sweep forward to hug her without hesitation. “We’re actually building a whole house. When we’re finished, this is going to be the guest house. The pool will be in between this and the big house.”

“A guest house!” Her eyes widen and she nearly chokes on the comment. It’s very obvious that you’ve got money and she thinks that couldn’t happen to a more deserving person.

“It was Javi’s idea.” This cottage that you’re living now has been called many things, but landing on the decision to make it a guest house for anyone who might want to come and stay had been Javi’s latest idea. It suits both of you, and the idea of it being one day accessible to your kid’s friends also suits.

“That is…amazing.” She hums. “That way if you need to have visitors come, they have their space and you keep your own space.”

“It’s going to be a big building project, but we’re staying optimistic.” Ushering her inside, you have to stop yourself from going overboard and doing something silly like pulling out her chair, so you move to the fridge instead and offer her a drink.

She takes the option of tea, thank you and slides into the seat that Javi offers her. “So you met where a movie is being filmed?” She asks. “How did that happen?”

“Javi came into the museum while he was working on the script. The first time, we chatted a little on the main floor of the house. The second time he came to see the house at Christmas and I swear I had such a crush I could barely breathe while we sat and talked. Then last month a film crew showed up to start shooting a movie in the museum and…” Your eyes flick up to Javi, soft and sweet and gentle Javi that you so completely adore. “And that was the day we figured out we were soulmates. Had our wedding that night. It’s been a whirlwind.”

“Ohhhhhhh…” she practically melts at the romance and whimsy of it. “You married the day you found out.” She’s proud that there is only a single pang of jealousy but there’s more happiness for you.

"We just knew it was right." You've poured out drinks for the three of you and Javi helps you take things from the fridge so the table can be complete. All you have to do is serve yourselves and chat. "And I think our instincts were pretty damn good."

“You seem to be very happy.” She smiles. “You deserve it.”

“Find me two months ago and I was a wavering wreck,” you admit. “But enough about me. What have you been up to?”

Billie shrugs slightly. “Working,” she shoots you a rueful grin. “Followed a dream, it failed, started working retail.”

“What dream?” You start ladling chowder into bowls and hand them around, thinking of what she had wanted to do when you were kids. “The Spice Girls never return your call to have a sixth member?”

She throws her head back and laughs, almost embarrassed but she’s enjoying the ribbing. “Turns out, if you can’t sing, you can’t become a singer.” She shrugs. “No, I had that stupid itch to become an actress.”

“Why is that stupid?” You ask, and you can see Javi nearly huff the same question. “You always did the school plays when we were kids. That seems like a natural progression.”

“Because I was no where near good enough.” She snorts. “Never got past any open calls, unless you count the invitation to a ‘casting couch’.” She rolls her eyes. “Really don’t think that pilot was real. Never saw it on tv.”

“Sometimes you just need to know the right person.” Setting a bowl in front of her with all the comfort of years spent around her mother’s table, you slide her spoon a little bit closer. “That’s how Javi got his first script produced. Through a friend.”

“I don’t have the contacts or friends.” She shrugs. “My job pays the bills and I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do now.”

“Of course you have contacts and friends.” You look to Javi, asking permission to make this enormous request of him. When he smiles and gives a small nod — as if to say ‘of course’ — you lean forward at the table and pick up your own soup. “It might not be big, but we can help you get started! I’m sure there’s room for another extra on Javi’s film. Maybe even a line of dialogue?”

There’s a spark of hope in her eyes. A yearning but she shakes her head. “I can’t ask you to do that.” Her voice is slightly strangled, like she never could have expected the offer and it’s about to make her cry. “Then you would think I just wanted to reconnect to get something from you.”

“You didn’t ask,” you point out gently. “I offered. And we reconnected over a pile of sewing supplies. That’s about as us as it gets.”

“We always loved learning new stitch patterns from Gram.” She smiles fondly and touches a star that had been sew into the edge of the shirt. A small touch that reminded her of the woman who had patiently taught her to make her own prom dress.

"That was our thing," you explain to Javi, who is inspecting his chowder dubiously but has his spoon in hand anyway. "Gram would look after us after school and teach us whatever we wanted to learn. Sewing, embroidery, knitting, all of it."

“She was special to you.” He surmises that quick enough, a small smile on his face. “It reminds you of the time you spent together.”

“It does.” And the more of yourself you share with him, the more you feel like the unspoken parts of you are opening up. “And maybe one day I’ll get to share it with our kids.”

“You want to have kids?” She’s both surprised and not surprised. The only reason that she thought you might have changed your mind was because of your childhood outside of your extended family, but she smiles. “You already working on that too?” She teases playfully.

“Hush.” She almost makes you choke on your first spoonful of soup but you manage to avoid it. “We figured we should at least have the house under construction before we go and make more people to live in it.”

Billie laughs, shaking her head and spooning up a bite of her chowder. Immediately groaning in pleasure when the taste explodes in her mouth. “Oh my god.” She moans. “It’s exactly how I remember.”

“It took me years to get it right.” Having her love it means more than anyone else’s opinion ever has, and you beam. “Gramps wrote stock on the recipe card, but he never specified what kind. Years of using chicken or veggie stock and it never tasted right. Turns out? He was making corn stock with the stripped corn cob and didn’t tell a soul!”

“Corn stock?” That makes her drop the spoon and slap her hand on the table while howling with laughter. “That sounds just like the old coot!” She manages between giggles, remembering your grandfather with such sweet, exasperated affection.

“I swear,” you snort with laughter along with her. “He specifically didn’t say a damn thing so no one else could make his recipe right.”

“How did you figure out he was making corn stock?” She demands. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“I saw it in an issue of Bon Appetite magazine a couple of years ago.” It has just been some idle page flipping in line at the grocery store, but damned if it hasn’t worked. “It was like a lightning bolt hit me. That had to be the secret.”

“And of course you had to immediately try it.” She knows how you were, and assumes that it’s much the same now, considering you have recreated his recipe exactly. “Did your mom love that you figured out the secret?”

You sigh, smothering a groan. “Apparently it was disrespectful to Grandpa’s memory to figure out his secret.”

Billie huffs out an annoyed sound and rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry, cuz, but I’m gonna tell you….” She points her spoon at you. “Your mother is a grade A, prime thundercunt.”

Even Javi snorts this time, giggling at the imaginative expletive right along with you. “I know,” you assure her, when you’ve managed not to fall over laughing. “She’s worse now. The guy she married after Dad died is…How do I put this gently? He’s the most hateful, narcissistic asshat I’ve ever net in my life, and that includes the guy I followed to Hollywood.” It takes a moment, but you shrug. “Actually? Most of the people I’ve met in Hollywood have been pretty nice so far.”

“Alex would be heartbroken if you didn’t think he was the best out of all of them.” Javi reminds you with a grin. “Your guy bestie.” The actor had called himself that one day and Javi had a t-shirt made for him, just for giggles. And he had worn it proudly while annoying you between his takes.

“He’s a hell of a lot better than my real brother,” you hum.

“Alex?” It’s obviously someone you both know and someone around Hollywood, so she shoots you an interested look. “NDA’s involved?”

“Alex Powell.” Come to think of it, he probably does make people sign NDAs for some things, but for as big a star as he is you had expected him to be way less…normal. “He’s one of the leads in Javi’s movie.”

“Oh my- you’re serious?” Her jaw drops and she looks back and forth between the two of you, expecting someone to crack a smile at the joke. “You know Alex Powell?”

“Actually?” Popping up from the table, you move to pick up a picture frame from a nearby end table and hand it to Billie. “My self-nominated big brother was in our wedding party.”

“Holy shit.” Your smile is wide, but not nearly as wide as Alex Powell’s obviously escorting you down the aisle for your wedding. “That’s—” she choked out a small laugh. “Amazing. Wait—” her eyes narrow slightly at the background. “Is that Olivia Cage?”

“Nick is Javi’s best friend.” It’s so matter of fact to you at this point that sometimes you even manage to forget that a huge deal it would be to anyone else. “That’s their daughter Addy beside her.”

“So Nick has to be standing beside Javi as his best man?” She shakes her head. “Holy shit! You had the best wedding of the year and there’s not a word of it anywhere in the magazines.”

“We…” Javi smirks and you nudge him, but go on. “We filmed it. For the extras when the movie comes out. There’s going to be a little featurette about us.”

“Ohhhhhh that’s genius.” She might not work in the movie industry, but the public loves a soulmate romance and to have it filmed because you found each other on the set of this movie? It will draw people in. “The movie is going to be a success at the box office for sure.” She laughs. “You should show the wedding after the credits.”

“Maybe they will, who knows?” It does sound like something the studio would do. And surprisingly enough? That thought doesn’t bother you at all. “It was such a whirlwind of a day, and a gorgeous night. I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

“You look like you are thriving and I love that for you.” She reaches out and covers your hand with her own for a brief squeeze.

“I got lucky,” you tell her honestly. “I know it’s cheesy to think. Everybody thinks they have the best soulmate in the world.” Looking over at Javi, you can’t help but beam. “But I really do.”

“The man encouraged you to buy sooooo many bolts of fabrics.” She huffs. “Of course he’s amazing.”

“If he’s not careful,” you grin at your husband. “All his designer things are going to be nudged out and replaced by handmade pieces.”

“You design them, I will wear them.” He promises, winking at you even though he is serious.

"That's a dangerous promise to make to someone who loves fashion as much as she always has," Billie teases, probably because she has an instinct about your husband being the sort of man to actually keep his promises to you. Or, at least, she hopes he does.

“Oh, I have nothing but faith in her.” He promises. He had gone through your closet last night and was impressed by the items that you had made.

"Better me than Nick's stylist, right?" You tease, deflecting the compliment as your cheeks burn hot.

“God, I’ve told him that woman needs to be fired.” He huffs. “Nick has…unconventional taste as it is, but she takes it beyond that.”

When Billie looks equal parts intrigued and afraid, you laugh. “She gets stuck on things,” you explain. “For a while it was creepy crawlers.”

“Oh…oh that’s…unfortunate.” She manages tactfully before both of you dissolve into giggles.

“His daughter wears his tarantula belt ironically now. It’s actually kind of hilarious.”

“How very Wednesday Addams of her.” She snorts. “As long as she thinks that it’s fun. But I hope that his stylist has moved past the crawly phase.”

“She’s on to Hawaiian shirts with hidden messages,” you tell Billie. “So far my favourite one was the Where’s Waldo? vacation print. Not sure what the message was, but we all had fun finding Waldo.”

“Okay if that’s what’s passing as fashion, why aren’t you blowing them all away?” Billie demands. “You designed Dara’s wedding dress!”

“Dara?” Javi asks, looking between you.

“One of our other cousins…” you stare down at your empty soup bowl for a second, teeth chewing on your bottom lip, and feel yourself deflate a little at how far off track you’ve gotten. How far from your dream. Museum work has been fulfilling in ways you never could have expected — but it isn’t where you dreamed of going by any means. “She’s a bunch of years older than us and asked our grandmother to do it. But…that was around the time that Gram was starting to lose her memory and…I ended up designing it instead. Until now, Billie was the only one who knew that it wasn’t our grandmother who designed Dara’s wedding dress. You’re the second person.”

Billie sees the way your shoulders slump and she could kick herself for bringing it up. “It was beautiful.” She murmurs and digs into her chowder again.

"I'm not upset that I couldn't take credit for it." Clarification seems important, when Billie slumps too and Javi looks concerned. "I just...I wish I'd told my parents to fuck off and gone to design school anyway. That's...that's what's going through my head right now."

“You know….we had moved away by that time.” She hates that there had been so much distance later on between the two of you. “But that was when mom decided she was done with yours.” She admits. “She stopped talking to my lovely aunt when they pushed you into a future you didn’t want.”

"Your mom went no contact?" This is news to you. Although it's not like your own mother really ever kept you updated on the family. It's part of the reason that you had no idea where Billie was before randomly running into her. "Be—because of me?"

“Yep.” She shoots you a reassuring smile. “Said even though she was her sister, she was a total bitch so it wasn’t much of a loss.” She sighs. “Only regret she had was when she figured out your phone number wasn’t right. No way to get ahold of you.”

“Well, you can give her the right number now.” It’s…surprising. An unlooked for comfort, you suppose you would call it, to find out that your aunt loves you so much that she found what your mother and stepdad did to be unconscionable. It’s nice to know that someone else in the family cares, at least. “They’re good? Your parents?”

“They are good.” She admits with a roll of her eyes. “They will be better now that they know you are out here too.” They had worried about her, fretted. “Maybe they will stop trying to get me to come home.”

“Tell them you’ve got reinforcements,” you joke. “Family recipes and Hollywood friends. That’s sure to confuse them.”

She snorts and nods. “Although if I don’t tell her what’s going on, she will threaten to fly out here to make sure I’m not living in the streets.”

“Auntie Kay is…a little intense,” you explain to Javi, though it’s through a laugh. “Not in a bad way. She’s just very protective.”

“She sounds like a woman I would like to meet.” He admits with a grin. Anyone who stopped talking to her sister over how you were being treated is an outstanding person in his book.

“You’ll love her.” Reaching across the table, you squeeze Javi’s hand in silent appreciation. “Maybe Auntie Kay and Uncle Rick can use the guest house when it’s actually for guests to use? After the house is finished?”

“That would be perfect.” He grins. “Christen it with family.”

“I think that sounds just right.”

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[famouslyanonymous]

pedro pascal as francisco ' catfish ' morales , triple frontier .

[famouslyanonymous]

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