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kedsandtubesocks · 3 months

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game changer

MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: back from your first semester of grad school your parents lovingly drag you out to celebrate with an old family friend - but what unfolds there (and after) cracks you wide open

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, dad’s friend!Joel, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but is a drinking aged adult & Joel is in his early 50’s), light use of gendered language, yearning & flirting, some light angst, brief alcohol consumption, masturbation (f), smutty thoughts, heavy makeout, spicy themes, allusions to smut (p in v), Joel’s dirty talk, one use of “good girl,” one light ass smack, reserved but soft!Joel, start of secret relationship, lots of baseball talk

word count: 9.1k (I’m sorry)

a/n: i know, i know another non-typical AU for Joel but I blame my sports girlie heart & baseball season so here we are lol big thank you to @swiftispunk for always putting up with my sports ramblings LMAO im so sorry Han ily, special thanks to @burntheedges @undercoverpena @tightjeansjavi @msjarvis because this truly wouldn’t be here without y’all - you don’t know how much you babes mean to me & I can’t thank y’all enough…now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡

You barely have any solid memories of Joel Miller, even if he was your dad’s oldest friend. And if you were being honest, you remember his brother Tommy more who smiled so warmly and seemed to radiate warmth.

Now you stand before Joel Miller’s face on the side of the Globe Life field along with the rest of the Texas Rangers professional baseball team.

It’s a cool evening in Arlington. Everyone seems to bask in the weather that feels perfect for a night of baseball.

Home from your first grad school semester, you didn’t think you’d be going to a game. But your parents explained how good the tickets were, and that even if you didn’t care about the game, you could just enjoy the stadium. So with the promise of free food and a nice night out, you were sold.

Now you’re here.

“Yesterday Joel said to head to the side entrance, that’s where we can check in.” Your dad eagerly explains and stunned you simply follow along like a confused duckling.

The sea of jerseys sweeps you into a sports wave until you’re deposited in a new space. Your jaw almost drops.

The VIP suites sit at the very side edge of the field, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.

The seats are incredible. Everything feels deluxe but comfortable. Someone calls out to your mom, and soon enough the rest of the Miller family approaches.

Tommy’s married now and his wife Maria is lovely, so is their baby. Joel’s daughters, Sarah and Ellie, are older. Time sucker punches you in the gut seeing how much time has passed, but you warmly greet everyone. You realize how long it really has been since you saw any of them.

You greet everyone warmly and appreciate all their surprised welcome seeing you back.

“Joel’s glad y’all were finally able to make it. Been talking about it since yesterday.” Tommy explains.

“Yeah us too! Just worked out that we all could come out and enjoy this with someone back home now.” You mom teases, but it’s warm.

Even though you were cities away, the new workload just kept you so busy.

You’re grateful to be here too. Even though your mind still swirls trying to grasp all of this.

You knew your dad’s friend made it big as a professional baseball player. Joel and his family left Austin to move to Arlington after he signed for the Rangers. So you rarely saw them. But with your mom’s job recently relocating here, your dad talked non stop about maybe seeing more of the games. It never really clicked that your family knew a professional sports athlete. Plus you never cared too much for sports to even look more into it.

Now as the game starts with a wild explosive and electric opening, you feel like you’ve slipped into another reality.

Then Joel’s entrance arrives, and your heart jumps out of your chest. The stadium erupts in a wild frenzy. The music for his arrival is western themed, grand and epic.

“All of this is because the league calls him Cowboy Miller.” Your dad explains.

The nickname was given to him not just because of his very southern twang, but Joel’s cold demeanor on the mound along with his wild style of pitching. All this led to him being deemed a Cowboy.

You understand why.

A serious air of power radiates from Joel while he approaches the mound.

Wearing a jersey with the number two on it, he’s older, more distinguished than the last time you remember him. Grays pepper his beard and the shadow of his baseball cap highlights the wrinkles flowing across his face.

He’s handsome, utterly gorgeous. His shoulders look broad, pure striking mountains, in his white jersey.

It’s like your mind finally registers and settles into the reality he’s a man, a full grown and incredible man.

And he really is incredible.

Even though he’s older for a pitcher, he still possesses dazzling talent. You even clap loudly when he strikes one of the batters out.

Your eyes never leave him. Joel sternly staring down the batter is terrifying. His legs look strong as he whips the ball fast to the home plate. Your eyes can’t help but flicker to his ass when he walks back to the dugout.

He’s gorgeous.

But cold reality crashes into you when your dad brightly yells. Joel is your dad’s friend, and that thought sours the bubbling feelings in your chest.

So you try focusing on the game, which actually turns out to be rather fun. The vibe of the stadium, along with the atmosphere of the game itself, is easy to melt into.

At one point someone gets a hit off Joel and he has to run to cover first. He’s surprisingly fast. Seeing him catch the ball, get the out, is so impressive and hot as fuck.

After that the Rangers switch pitchers.

As he leaves the mound, the stadium cheers at Joel’s exit. Very politely he nods, raising his hand in a quick goodbye to everyone. Then he scans the crowd.

It’s admirable seeing how he instantly finds where his family is. Joel’s roughed face melts soft with a small crooked grin hearing the applause they give him. He even spots your dad proudly cheering.

Joel’s eyes then lock with yours. Still walking towards the dugout, his face stays on you while his focus narrows in a cloudy confusion like he’s trying to recognize you.

Then his eyes go wide as realization sinks in.

You weakly grin back. It’s all you can do before Joel is fully gone from your line sight. Your heart thumps erratically within its cage.

The Rangers unfortunately lose by three. Once the game ends, you decide to swing by the merch store.

“Guess the game made you a fan huh?” You mom perks up noticing you eyeing the jerseys.

You shrug easily with an eased grin.

After this the Rangers have a five game stretch at home.

You only know because after the game you check for all things about the team, about Joel. You haven’t brought yourself to look at any videos of Joel yet. But you did discover from the team's instagram that he has one too.

Early the next morning, still lounging in bed, you scroll through Joel’s instagram page. It seems very professional, like it’s run by a social media manager primarily using it to promote Joel without being too personal.

You’re not paying attention, still a bit too focused on your phone, when a knock comes at the door.

Your face scrunches up confused. Then terror sucker punches you when you see who’s at the door.

No way.

Opening the door Joel stares at you, but this time wearing striking thick black rimmed glasses. They make him incredibly distinguished. Instead of seeming like a professional baseball player you’re reminded of a studious professor. And without a baseball cap on, you’re given sight of his soft glorious curls and the light gray streaks dancing among them.

He’s knockout beautiful.

Of course, you’re still in your mismatched lounge clothes and barely look like you’ve left bed.

He says your name, greeting you with a curt nod. You swiftly greet him with an awkward hello.

“Are you going for like a Clark Kent thing?” You blurt before you can stop yourself.

Joel’s face scrunches up as he sighs.

“Gotta take a break from my contacts s’all.” He admits with a grumpy reply.

But it’s his thick twang, the familiar southern accent - that sweeps you breathless.

“How do they even let you pitch?” You lightly tease, and

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Good to see ya too.” He rumbles, finally greeting you.

Now realizing he’s still standing in your doorway, you let him in.

Joel explains how he wanted to come by, visit your folks, catch up, and thank them for getting to stop by.

You’re the one early thanking him.

“The tickets were incredible. And you did amazing the other night.” You add sincerely.

“Oh, yeah thanks. Glad we won.” Joel nods.

“So they let you just roam around?” You ask slightly stunned still seeing him here in your family kitchen.

Joel scoffs. “Ain’t gotta be at the stadium till later.”

“So, was uh…surprised to see ya at the game.” His tone now reeks of trying to just make small talk.

Weakly you grin back explaining it was a nice change from your days on campus.

“So…back from school, huh.” That awkward thick small talk tone of his gets worse especially as he asks how’s it going and what you’re doing.

For being a talented professional pitcher, right now he simply seems like just some guy…

Just your dad’s pal.

The thought brings a strange acidic taste in your mouth.

You explain school is going good and how you’re here just visiting until the next semester starts up again.

Politely he asks what you’re going to school for. You tell him about your program, explaining all the classes you’re taking and even about the undergrad classes you help TA for.

Joel nods, quiet. You wonder if this sounds boring to a man who professionally plays baseball everyday.

“You’re damn smart.” He then whistles low, and his compliment jumpstarts your heart.

“Haven’t read a book since… shit can’t even remember when.” Joel muses.

“What? They don’t have you take baseball quizzes for pitching?” You joke, but it falls flat. Joel just gives you a dull look.

However his lips twitch faintly, like he’s fighting a grin, and it makes you grin.

“Though, I’ve heard you could maybe work on your slider pitch.” You add.

From the clips you’ve seen and the comments you’ve read, that's the one thing others have commented on, along with how unbearably handsome he is. ESPN even named him one of sports top most eligible bachelors.

“Oh?” Joel’s eyebrows rise up fast. Crossing his hands over his chest, Joel turns towards you more.

“Suddenly you’re a sports analyst now, huh?” The way his voice perks up confidently, matching your edge of playfulness, causes something to get stuck in your throat.

“Y’gonna start telling me how to pitch too? Just like your old man used to.” Joel adds still with that same tone and even chuckles.

But his words slice through you. Swallowing hard, you steel yourself tight.

Thankfully the sound of the front door unlocking arrives. Your parents are home.

“You’re fantastic, Joel. Glad I got to see it live.” You tell him earnestly looking him straight in the eye, as if to stare him down and remind him unwavering you’re a grown adult. Even if you’re in lounge shorts and holey t-shirt, you try holding your head high with as much grace as you can.

With that you head to tell your parents Joel is here then quietly slip back to your room.

Eventually your mom knocks on your door and pops her head in.

“There’s another game tonight. Wanna go?” She offers.

You decline, explaining you want to rest and catch up with a few shows you’ve been neglecting. Thankfully neither of your parents pressure you to join them.

With the house to yourself, you now search for as many videos of Joel you can.

Even slowly starting to understand baseball at a base level, you realize Joel ‘Cowboy’ Miller really is spectacular. You hear about his time playing for The University of Texas and how adored he is by his alma mater.

Then heat crawls up your chest when you see clips of him drenched in sweat, heavily breathing, or even licking his lingers to help with the ball grip.

You quickly turn the videos off before you get yourself worked up.

This has to be just a simple infatuated infestation. You simply need to try to shake it off.

The last home game the Rangers play the Minnesota Twins and Joel isn’t pitching. You again decide to sit this game out. You just have to detox yourself of Joel Miller.

Until you’re invited to a dinner cookout at his home. You thought about maybe playing sick, but with how hungry you are, you see this just as an opportunity to get a nice meal.

Your dad casually mentions Joel’s house has a pool, a nice bonus. He just forgot to mention how huge the Miller house would be.

Though gorgeously grand, it’s still surprisingly cozy. In the backyard you spot Joel at the grill and it makes your head spin. The weathered old burnt orange Texas longhorn shirt he wears looks cozy and casual, sits on him beautifully highlighting his shoulders.

You slip into the pool hoping it will cool you off. But your eyes always find Joel who now laughs with your dad.

Joel’s eyes suddenly flicker to yours, catching you staring red handed. Immediately you sink back into the water.

There’s more people here than expected and you feel a bit out of place. After drying off, you decide to head inside for a drink.

The soft Texas evening illuminates the home in a gentle glow. The music from outside floats in a soft hum making the room feel like it’s underwater.

Ellie told you the house was free for you to roam and from the quick tour she gave, you caught a glimpse of something you want to see more.

So letting yourself maybe take another peek, you walk back to the small alcove carved in the wall. It’s honestly a rather quiet achievement exhibition compared to other grand trophy rooms you’ve imagined.

There are honestly more pictures of Sarah and Ellie, along with Tommy and the rest of the Miller clan, decorating the main hallway of the house. All of it suits Joel.

His UT longhorn jersey is framed on the wall. There are a few awards clustered together, a couple of magazine covers where he looks so dashing in his uniform.

But what makes your heart float are the framed drawings of Joel with a baseball on the mound that range from adorable scribbles to a rather good pencil sketch. These had to be Ellie and Sarah’s work.

“If you’re thinkin’ about stealin’ somethin’ maybe go for the jersey. I can always get another one.”

Joel’s drawl trickles out, and you almost jump out of your skin. Turning to the side he walks to where you are. You hate how exposed you feel just being caught in his gaze and also obviously browsing in his home.

“Nah, I was hoping for a World Series ring to steal and sell but.” You shrug playful, knowing now he’s gone to the Series but never won.

Joel makes a low hissing sound like he’s injured.

“Damn, y’hit low.” He chuckles low.

You grin triumphantly.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get a ring someday.” You say simply.

“Sound sure about that.” He replies.

“Cause it’s true.” You nod. “You’re pretty great.”

Even with your limited knowledge of baseball, it’s easy to see how great he is. Joel is incredibly talented, a shining star stitched in accomplishment. Yet you can tell hasn’t let it go to his head. He’s anchored by his loved ones, and it’s admirable. You even tell him that.

“I…thanks.” He stumbles for a moment, deep dark eyes a bit cloudy as he searches your face with his voice thick and rumbled.

“What game has been your favorite?” You suddenly ask, wanting to know more about him.

His eyebrows furrow and his deep eyes glaze over a bit distant, creating a face of thought that looks adorable.

Then he nods with a soft grin remembering.

“One of the first games the girls gotta go to.” He paints a picture of seeing his daughters, sitting with their uncle Tommy, wearing too large adorable Texas Rangers jerseys.

“One of the best games I ever played.” He adds gently.

He really is a rare beauty of a man with a gilded heart of gold.

“And you? Your folks talk about ya nonstop. Tell me about grad school. And none of that simple ‘it’s good’ crap.” The quick playful mimic he does of your voice makes you laugh warm and bright.

So you tell him about your favorite moments from lecture and the fondness you have for simply embracing subjects you love so much.

Joel stares fully focused on you. You swear his eyes twinkle like stars might be sowed right in his deep earth depths.

He opens his mouth, eager to continue the conversation. Until the kitchen comes alive with more people entering inside. The bubble breaks, but electricity still brews under your skin.

The next day the Rangers have a game at Globe Life Field you go.

Even if Joel isn’t pitching, you want to experience this world he loves so much. You’re however surprised to find Joel is starting.

Your dad explains how one of the pitchers planned for today had to rest. So Joel will simply be the opener before the rest of the bullpen steps in.

Your heart doesn’t rage wildly as it did like seeing him the first time. Now you feel almost drawn to Joel. You focus on his stance on the mound, so disciplined and almost hauntingly serious.

The Arizona Diamondbacks batter hits the ball solid. It flies straight at Joel, and fear sinks its fangs into you.

Until with fast reflexes Cowboy Miller catches the ball eased. You and the stadium erupt wild.

The Rangers win one to four. On the high of the game, you head to the jerseys again in the shop.

“You should get one!” Your mom urges.

Your fingers itch, almost begging you to grab the jersey that says Miller on it. But something continues to hold you back.

On the drive back home, you now see all the great reaction clips and memes of the game. There's a particular one of Joel catching the ball that includes a great western music overlay, like he’s a hero in an old cowboy movie.

Feeling brave, you send the reel to his Instagram profile. You even add underneath the message “now you just gotta work on that slider pitch.”

You send it. Think, hell at worst the poor social media manager will see it and not even give it the time or day. He must get so many messages anyway.

When you get home, you see the message has been read.

But also, a new profile has followed you.

JM_8712

The profile also sent you a message.

JM_8712: ain’t nothing wrong with my slider

No way.

This can’t be who you think it is. You message back saying this possibly can’t be the real Joel Miller because he doesn’t seem like the type to even know how to send a gif.

JM_8712: think ur so funny huh

The account sends a simple gif of someone rolling their eyes.

Then another message flies in.

JM_8712: ur dad get those damn nachos he kept bitchin about with Tommy?

It feels like one of Joel’s changeup pitches knocks you out.

Because it’s really him messaging you. When you even go to double check the blank profile just to make sure, it barely follows more than twenty people and you spot Ellie and Sarah’s accounts among those profiles.

Warmth unfolds from your chest, dangerous and electric. This is Joel’s personal private account.

Unknowingly this all kicks off something you never thought would have ever started. You and Joel start talking.

The messages flow between you and him, back and forth, at first just talking about the games. Then, when the Rangers leave to travel, the messaging increases.

Joel sends you pictures of the places he travels, the food he eats, the vacant stadiums he gets to enjoy.

You devour it all with a greedy eagerness. However it dawns on you that you’re sliding down a slope too slippery to stop.

For the rest of the summer you earnestly check your messages on the app.

One evening, on a stormy delayed game against the Dodgers, your messages don’t send through. The weather is getting worse in Los Angeles.

“They’re gonna reschedule the game. Storm’s not letting up.” Your dad comments glumly.

You just hope Joel is alright.

Instagram finally alerts you of a message and your heart jumps.

Joel.

JM_8712: sorry connections shit

Then he simply sends you his phone number.

You wonder if you’re seeing things.

Trying to keep calm you text the number a simple message asking if he’s alright.

When your text alert chimes, it rattles your brain.

Yeah im good thanks

Then another message follows. It’s a photo from the locker, bags packed like he’s ready to leave.

Looks like room service for tonight

It’s Joel. You’re texting Joel right now.

It feels like a step deeper into a current you never want to leave.

Texting seems to shift the energy between you and him, a transmutation you never could have imagined.

You text Joel good morning and he tells you good night. You and him bond over a love of music. He’s got incredible taste while also complimenting yours. You stay up late on game days when pitched and now feel your throat dry up knowing you’re getting to know the man on the mound.

The desire brewing more for Joel mixes with the summer heat and melts the days away. Soon enough summer dwindles away, and your new semester approaches.

The drive back to your apartment is a good couple of hours. Funny enough Joel is also traveling today for a game. Stopping for gas midway, your phone goes off.

You think at first it must be one of your parents.

But instead it’s Joel.

You scramble to answer.

“Hey,” his voice sounds incredibly richer and deep on the phone.

“Y’doin’ alright?” Joel asks hesitant.

That catches you off guard.

“Oh yeah, just finished putting in gas actually. Why, what’s up?” You relax more into the conversation now curious to why he called asking that.

Joel sighs.

“Sorry I just…your last text uh, it just got me worried.”

Now you’re really curious about what you texted him. It had been half an incomplete response you sent. Even from your side it seemed abrupted and strange.

Sighing, you apologize that you didn’t even realize you had done that. In the rush of wanting to get out on the road you must have just sent the text.

But it suddenly hits you. Joel called because he was worried. That thought rips into you with a ferocious rawness.

“Okay yeah,” Joel says a bit clumsily. “I’ll…let you go.”

“No, it’s okay.” You quickly reassure him. “How’s the traveling going?”

“Good, just finished rewatching one of the inflight movies.”

“Please tell me it was Field of Dreams.” You tease him with the iconic baseball film as you head back on the road. Just now with Joel on the phone.

On speaker, Joel scoffs echoing in your car all around you. You realize this might be a bad decision trying to stay focused driving while also talking to him.

“Funny.” His thick drawl is dry but so softly teasing just below the surface.

“Was some new movie Sarah told me to watch but…fell asleep.” Joel admits low.

Thinking of him asleep on the plane clutches at something warm and deep in you.

Yes you can admit how badly you want Joel, how you picture what his calloused fingers would feel like on you, in you. But you also are finding yourself aching for more now…

Like falling asleep beside him while watching a movie, or sharing a meal with him and teasing him over his dry sense of humor.

It’s dangerous falling deeper like this.

Especially now in a blink you realize you’ve been talking to Joel this entire drive to your apartment.

“Shit sorry.” He realizes it when he sees the time. “Y’should’ve told me to fuck off. Don’t gotta waste your time talkin’ to some old ass like me.”

He rarely comments on his age, and his words sink hard into your gut.

“Trust me… I’m glad I get to talk to you.” You truthfully tell him.

“You’re the one who probably has better things to do than talk to me.” You add slightly dejected. The words even sting your lips.

“Like watching Field of Dreams.” You quickly add some light humor trying to dispel your heartache leaking in.

Joel snorts.

“Definitely would rather chat with you than watch that.” Joel mutters, but his world electrifies your skin.

“I’m flattered knowing I can beat Kevin Costner.” You joke. When he snorts amused, warmth fills you to the brim.

Someone in the distance calls out to Joel, and you know your time with him is limited. It’s confirmed when he sighs.

“Gonna be landing soon. Ya make it to your place okay?” He asks.

“I did, thank you. And thanks for keeping me company on the drive.” You smile to yourself.

“Don’t mention it. Uh, glad you made it back safe.” Joel replies and his words make you melt.

You say his name quick.

“Can you just… Text me when you make it to the hotel?” Just to know he’s safe. It’s simple, but it feels as if the words weigh a ton.

A moment passes.

“Yeah, will do.” Joel agrees.

He doesn’t text you. Instead Joel calls you when he gets to the hotel.

“Saw a full on fuckin’ fight at the airport when we landed.” Joel rambles immediately, and you learn how much of a secret gossip he is. While Joel breaks down all the details of what he saw, you realize he wanted to tell you about this.

A light burst in your chest because you want to tell Joel everything too.

And when your next semester starts, you tell him all you can.

The texting stays but evolves into more frequent phone calls. Joel listens to you with a gruff saint’s patience. He faintly picks up the names of your professors, even the name of your roommate. At one point he even stays on the phone with you when you cook dinner.

Joel calls during the stretch of waiting at the airports, a few times after games. Sometimes he rants about his teammates, sighs about his frustrations when they lose or when he ends up not doing well on the mound.

While every inch in your body still hums for Joel, it’s steady now - like you’re slowly accepting these emotions fully into your bloodstream and part of your existence.

You adore Joel, maybe more than you want to admit.

During a rare night out with your friends from class, feeling nice in your favorite outfit, courage courses through you. After posting a few photos from your night out, you also post a rather nice selfie.

You pray Joel sees it. Then you get a bit tipsy, and it takes all your willpower not to text Joel.

But the alcohol burns in you. Once you’re back at your apartment, in the safety of your room, you pull up your favorite video.

It’s a spring training video the Rangers made of the team preparing for the upcoming season. The video ranged from showing the guys on the field practicing, to them in the weight room.

There’s a nice small segment just on Cowboy Joel Miller. Specifically he’s training with a few weights and when you first saw it, your throat got so dry.

Joel is drenched in sweat. The simple worn navy blue shirt sticks to his body, highlighting the tone of his arms and width of his shoulders. Curls wet with sweat stick to his forehead. His concentrated face is sinful.

But not as hot as the sounds he makes.

The grunts, the soft growls, the exhales he gives lifting the weights… they drench your thoughts with images of him fucking.

You’ve never done this before, never gotten off on his videos. You never wanted to fall this far.

But it’s so hard when your body feels molten, so wet hearing with his groans directly in your ears. Your fingers trail down to relieve the throbbing wet ache between your legs.

Imagining Joel’s sweaty gorgeous body pressed against yours, picturing his thicker fingers in you, getting to taste him on your tongue - you come incredibly fast.

The next morning a text and a somber guilt wait for you.

Joel of course had messaged you.

Looks like you had fun last night

So he did see your pictures. A blistering heat crawls in your throat.

But reality sinks in fast. You got off to Joel. You don’t want to feel guilty. You reason there’s probably others who have maybe done it. But it does quietly eat at you.

So much that you don’t even reply to Joel for the whole day trying to sort your mind out. He’s the one that eventually calls you.

“Y’go out on a date or somethin’?” Joel asks about the night out, and your mind sputters to a halt.

“Oh uh, no. Just went out with some friends in class.”

“Oh.” He replies quick. “Well, looked like fun.”

You agree and thank him.

“But yeah, no dates for me.” You weakly laugh.

“Yeah? Any reason why?” Joel presses.

Because you’re partially head over heels for him, but you can’t admit that yet.

“No one’s asked me recently that’s all.” You reply simply. You’ve done the dating apps, had the headache mess of ghosting and awkward dates.

Joel snorts. “Pretty thing like you? Hard to imagine.”

His words, like a change up ball that drops wildly in the air, disorient you.

“Trust me, it’s real.” You dryly reply.

“And you? You must be seeing some famous celebrity in secret huh?” You teasingly ask.

You’ve seen the ESPN clips of the beautiful reporters flirting with him, cooing at how handsome he is. He probably could snag a supermodel or other famous person.

Joel barks a hollow laugh of a thing.

“No, none of that.” He answers.

“Ain’t not time for that or…mainly…haven’t found anyone who’s got the patience for me.”

Your heart sinks.

“Wait, what do you mean?” You quietly press.

He sighs.

“M’ older, a single dad. My schedule ain’t perfect. And those that have tried to uh… pursue something haven’t always had the best intentions.”

His voice trails off somber. You wonder how many just wanted him for his money or fame.

A grim cloud seems to settle above you.

“You’re a great guy Joel, an incredible one.” You earnestly tell him. “Those who can’t see it don’t deserve you.”

“And I have to say it but…you’re a real catch.” You go for the obvious baseball pun.

Joel’s chuckle is a beautiful low gruff treasure.

“That was bad.” You can almost picture him shaking his head. “But thanks…same uh, same goes for you. You’re smart, gorgeous. Someone will come around to see you’re worth it.”

You’re drowning in his words. They feel too much.

He ends up having to quickly end the call with his manager calling, and you’re thankful for it. Because this blooming rawness in you feels like it’s getting too much, yet not enough.

Joel’s compliments are sincere. But many feelings tangle you up. It hurts, like you’re stuck in a rose bush trying to get comfortable within the thorns.

Then, the universe decides to pull you away from Joel.

Classes kick up and the workload piles on. You’re exhausted. It even gets harder to reply to Joel as swiftly as you did. You even miss a few of his phone calls and don’t even call him back.

The days blur together.

Then, one morning you find a text waiting for you.

hope you’re alright

You want to cradle that message.

When you call Joel, it’s like not a day has passed between you and him. Your heart soars hearing his voice again.

“So uh…” Joel begins cautiously, and you’ve never heard him this nervous almost. “We’ll be heading your way into town soon.”

That’s right.

Caught up in the semester you completely forgot the team would be playing the Astros soon. Excitement immediately rises in you.

“Hope ya can come out and see us. And if ya do, let me know.” Joel suggests and you swear his voice sounds shy.

The minute the conversation ends, you try checking for tickets. But they’re a pretty penny. You jokingly circle the top section, the highest nosebleeds, and text him saying he needs to try and find you from here.

He texts back immediately.

Don’t worry about the tickets. Just head to will call and let them know you’re with me. Got it covered

That might be one of the hottest things you’ve ever read.

Game day can’t approach any faster. Your parents even mention the upcoming game when you call to check up.

“You should try to go!” Your dad urges, eager.

A part of you has wondered if Joel mentioned you to your dad. You’ve kept quiet, not saying a thing about whatever this is with Joel, and you now think so did Joel.

You take a small comfort in that.

When game day does arrive, you head to Minute Maid Park alone. Your closest friend and classmate couldn’t make it, and neither could your roommate. But for some reason, you’re slightly okay with being here by yourself.

At the ticket window, you nervously say that you’re here for Joel. Like if nothing they verify your name, and with an ease slide tickets your way.

Not just any tickets, but seats right by the Rangers dugout.

Still stunned, but now slightly lost, you can’t help but feel stranded in the stadium.

“You okay, sweetie?” A lovely voice comes and when you turn, you find a sweet older motherly woman. She wears a Texas Rangers jersey and another younger woman stands besides her in the same jersey. They both stare at you concerned.

“You lost?” The younger woman asks sympathetically.

It must be that obvious. The motherly older woman politely asks to check your tickets to point you in the right direction. She perks up.

“Aw look at that! You’re sitting close to us! Come on, we’ll show ya around!” She beams warmly.

“Wait, are you sure?” You ask worried.

“Oh of course,” the younger woman reassures you with a smile. “The stadium is so huge and besides, us Rangers fans gotta stick together.”

She then winks, noticing the Rangers shirt you bought and wore for the game.

You find out Malinda, the older woman, is the mother of the first baseman. And the other lady, Casey, is his wife.

Kindly, this sweet family adopts you, guiding you towards the section literally right besides the dugout on the other side of the net.

You’re stunned in shock yet again.

Even though your tickets are a few rows away from the two sweet ladies, they reassure you you’ll be fine sitting with them.

It’s beautiful and comforting.

“So, who are you here for?” Casey asks with a friendly gossip like whisper. “These seats are for friends and family, and I haven’t seen you around before.”

But then she quickly reassures you don’t have to explain if you don't want to.

You with a weak laugh you’re here to see Joel, adding that he’s a family friend. Her eyes go wide.

“Oh wow! And he warmed up today too so he might pitch!” She says excitedly.

Joel had texted you before the line up was confirmed that he would be warming up.

Don’t know if I’m gonna get put in but just in case

Even if he didn’t, you told him you just wanted to be there to support him.

With the Rangers being the visiting team, they bat first. You want to root for the guys to get a hit and get on base, but you also already selfishly want to see Joel.

Three outs come and the Rangers switch to take the field. No sign of Joel.

In fact he doesn’t show up until the fifth inning, and it happens so casually. Joel simply walks out from the dugout and takes your breath away.

The team wears their cobalt blue jerseys and the color flatters Joel marvelously.

It feels like seeing him for the first time all over again but through a deeper lens you can’t explain.

You clap and cheer with pride when he manages to strike out the first batter. Then the second.

Two strikeouts back to back.

Joel told you back in his younger days he struck out seven hitters in a row. Now for him to get two, much less strike out the third batter, is something to applaud and admire. And the Rangers fans here, including yourself, cheer loud when the team heads back for the next inning.

“Cowboy Miller in his golden age.” Someone off to the side whistles appreciatively.

You don’t fight the syrupy fondness swallowing you whole.

“It’s rare that a more…seasoned pitcher like Joel still is relied on,” your new friend Casey explains. “But it’s hard to see why not. Everyone’s been saying like he’s almost found a new groove and still has so much power.”

He’s a force you’re terribly in awe of.

Seeing the whip of how strong his body still pitches the ball with a dizzying speed, how handsome he looks under the baseball cap, you want to savor this as much as you can.

Joel manages to get two more strikes out in the second inning. Then by the seventh they get a hit off him but thankfully, no runs come in. Cowboy Miller ends the inning striking out the final batter. You, and the other Rangers fans present, erupt wild.

He did amazing.

Laser focused, locked in on the game, he doesn’t search the crowd or even glance up and you understand. The game gets intense when the Astros manage to hit a home run in the eight. In the end the Rangers win because of an error.

But it’s still a sweet victory.

You relish and warmly celebrate it with your co cheerleaders for the game that made you feel so welcomed with them. You’re about to head up and leave, start looking for an Uber ride home, when Malinda calls to you.

“Sweetie? Aren’t ya gonna wait with us and greet the guys!?” She asks with warm curious sweetness.

You can’t say no.

The commotion sweeps you into a neon coated excitement. There’s a special area sectioned off, almost in a backstage-like section that connects to the entry way for the visiting teams. You’re surprised at how many others wait here.

The team slowly trickles out of the locker room and into the hallway. You’re hilariously reminded of a class being let out.

Then the world then melts away when Joel walks out. Focused on his phone you almost want to call out to him, but your voice gets caught in your throat.

Putting his phone away Joel finally glances up and spots you.

Even with his baseball cap on, you see his eyes widen for a fraction. Your body reacts on its own moving towards him. But he also walks fiercely towards you.

The world blurs away for a moment and then without even thinking, you’re embracing him.

It happens so naturally you don’t even realize what you did until you blink and it’s like you’ve been thrown into cold water.

Panicking, you’re about to pull away until Joel’s arms slowly wrap around you.

“Good to see ya too.” He says low gruff but you’re taken out by the knees grateful your body doesn’t give out.

He smells of sweat, of the dirt on the field, and something sharply Joel, and it’s wonderful.

Quickly you draw yourself away to proudly tell him how amazing he did. Joel waves you off with a gruff noise as his eyes refuse to meet you, almost bashful.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him this close, been in the same space as him. And it feels so different.

“Alright, dinner?” Someone says, and when you turn, you’re stunned to see it’s the team manager.

Guess this means you’ll be saying goodbye.

“Headin’ home?” Joel asks when he notices you staying back once everyone funnels outside.

“Uh yeah, gotta grab an Uber first. Didn’t wanna drive down here and deal with Houston traffic along with awful parking during a game.” You joke, and Joel snorts.

“Let me take ya back then.” He offers, and you almost drop your phone.

You scramble out reassuring Joel it’s fine.

“Besides, don’t you have dinner to go to?” And where would he even get a car to take you.

“S’fine. Would rather make sure you get home safe anyway.” He then tells you to hang tight then goes to grab one of the rental cars the team has on ready.

Because of course they do.

Your blood hums wild knowing Joel is taking you home, that you’re going to be alone with him. Even in this glimmering dusted dream you still want to tell Malinda and Casey goodbye and thanks for treating you so kindly.

You wish them well and even welcome their warm goodbye hug.

“Wish you could come to dinner!” Casey frowns.

“Maybe next time.” Her mother in law says bright.

Next time.

“Yes hope to see you at more games.” Casey grins and the possibility bubbles iridescent in you.

With a goodbye to them you wait for Joel. There are still a few others of the wives or girlfriends hanging around while the team sorts out where to go.

You haven’t turned to give them any attention. However something crawls on your skin like you’re hyper aware of being watched.

“Did you see how she hugged him? Probably just using him, poor Joel.” One of them whispers.

“She’s not even that pretty.” Another one giggles.

“Oh then you know he’s maybe just using her then! And if that’s the case then good for Joel.” The other replies with a searing joke that makes your stomach sick.

Joel returns, keys in his hand. “Ready to go?”

You weakly grin back.

You should be basking in this moment of finally getting to be alone with Joel, of getting to see him drive you around. Once in the car he took off his cap allowing you sight of his soft hair. The darkness of the car, the warmth of the city lights flickering by, all coat him glorious. Yet those comments from earlier fester poisonous and sour any hope of enjoying this.

You stay rather quiet while giving him directions to your place.

Joel however is surprisingly talkative.

“So you’ll have to give me recommendations of places to go around here.” His voice even sounds just traces softer, higher almost - like he’s happy being here.

And it kills you.

“Y’seem quiet, you okay?” He notices it of course, ever aware.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. Didn’t know the game would take that much outta me.” You lie.

Eventually you arrive at your apartment complex.

“Your place is nice.” Joel admires as he helps you out of the car like the Texan gentleman he is. He even follows you to your door.

You graciously thank him again for this night and for taking you home.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks again.

You walk a few steps away from him. The night all around is still quiet, feels soupy with how much hangs in you.

You refuse to cry about this, don’t want to get emotional. If anything, you deserve to treat this like an adult.

“Joel…” you start cautiously, already hating the way your voice wavers.

“Yeah?” His voice stays steady, unbothered, but his eyes furrowing say otherwise.

“What…what is this? What are we?” You ask as steady as you can, but your tone continues to crack.

Joel’s eyes brow furrow and his mouth closes, tightening his jaw.

“Just…good friends.” He replies simply, almost cold. “Just showing my pal’s daughter a nice night.”

There it is.

Your soul deflates. So all the times you’ve felt like this might be something, maybe it's just been you wishing it would be.

So salvaging whatever dignity left, you nod.

“Thanks again, Joel.” You reply briskly and return walking towards your door.

He says your name. It stops you dead in your tracks.

“Why? Why d’ya ask that?” He asks, pressing firm and hard.

You turn back to him, and a deep scowl is etched on his face.

“It doesn’t matter.” You answer.

“The fuck does that mean?” He snaps a bit sharp.

“It means what it means.” You fire back.

“Bullshit. Why did you ask that?” Joel growls out firmer.

“Even if I told you, it doesn’t matter.” You repeat.

“Stop sounding like a fuckin’ owl.” His voice rises hard and fast, like a hand slamming on the wall.

It startles you, makes your eyes water and something in you shakes. Mainly because you know this is beginning to taste like the end. The smallest trace of hope is dissipating right before you.

You blink back tears, and immediately Joel’s face falls.

“Honey, I’m sorry-”

Shaking your head, you cut him off. Not even the sweet pet name he effortlessly uses can shake you.

Through gritted teeth you tell him to go.

“Not when you’re this upset.” He urges.

Through tears a sad water laugh escapes you and Joel’s eyes go cloudy.

“I’m realizing…I’ll never be anything to you then just your friend's kid, huh?” Your voice is waterlogged and you can’t fight it.

“You are.” He states simple and straightforward.

You nod, swallowing back the heartache boiling over.

“Can’t be anythin’ more than that.” Joel adds through mutter.

“Why?” You now ask him. Under the amber light of your apartment’s hallway the most frustrated cloudy look hardens his face.

His eyes scan your face then he steps closer towards you

“Don’t act dumb, sweetheart.” His voice rips out low cruel, slightly harsh.

You’re not and you tell him that.

“I…” the words you’ve held locked up so fiercely in your heart now sneak out from their bars to escape.

“I’d give anything to be yours, Joel.” You croak barely realizing you even said that.

He inhales, and his face goes taunt.

You wait for the sharp reply, even brace for it.

Instead Joel swoops in, kisses you wild like a sudden storm, and presses you against the door of your apartment.

Greedily, you claw onto him not wanting to ever let this go, to let him go. Your mouth begs him more to invade and consume. And he does so with a steady hunger.

The clamor into your apartment is messy, but at one point Joel cautiously stops to look around.

“My roommate’s visiting family…” you reassure, kissing his neck and softly under the side of his jaw with delicate cautious lips.

“Just you and me.” You whisper soft.

Joel takes command the minute you lead him to your room.

“Thought about this. Fuck, think about ya all the damn time.” He growls against your neck as he slides your bra off and runs a callous hand over your chest.

“Fucked my fist that first night you went swimmin’ at m’house.” Joel’s words make you whine and then his lips lick against your skin trying to savor you.

“Me too.” You admit through a whimper. “Touched myself thinking of you.”

Joel freezes.

“Tell me,” he says rather calmly, deadly almost.

Your syrupy lust begins fading away when you realize what you said, what he asks for, and what your answer will be.

Your lips and eyes shut close.

Then Joel’s warm breath, like a ghost, crawls against up your chest and tickles against your ear now.

“Come on, honey,” his voice is utterly decadent with a plea. “Tell me, please.”

You swallow hard telling Joel you don't want him to get weirded out.

He hums against your neck already starting to suck a mark against your skin. Your eyes roll back, and the embarrassment is quickly fading away.

“Promise, I’ll be okay.” Joel reassures you with a mumble against your skin.

So with a shaky voice, you weakly admit how you touched yourself to videos of him.

He groans.

“Baby, oh fuck, fuckin - shit.” Joel sputters out hard, like he just got kicked in the gut, and you’re worried until his lips smash into yours.

He devours you.

You’re swept into a tangled dizzying frenzy. Your clothes practically get ripped off as do Joel’s while he clutches onto you and licks into your mouth.

“That’s my girl. Knew you’d be m’good girl.” He says almost drunk and you’re done for.

You fall into the chasm with no hopes of turning back. But you don’t want to.

Joel feels like a god carving open your universe. You want to consume him and want him to consume you. He becomes your center of gravity.

In the aftermath, you’re left basking in Joel’s warmth and never want to leave.

Even though you were in his arms, Joel had to sit up to take a call and now scrolls through his phone. Your fingers trace his beautiful back.

You’re thankful for all the soft lamps you bought that now melt him into a dreamlike glow.

“Joel.”

He hums a gruff gentle noise that says he’s listening.

“I don’t…” you begin softly, then tell him your doubts. You don’t want him to think you’re simply using him for his status or money.

“Joel… you could quit or retire tomorrow and work with your brother as a contractor and I’d still always want you the way I want you.” Your deliciously aching limbs, the soft afterglow, all of it has you speaking soft and freely.

You never wanted Joel because of his fame or even because of the forbidden taste of him being friends with your dad. You wanted Joel for deeper reasons, some that have carved out a chasm in your heart.

You explain this all to him best as you can without rambling or sounding silly.

Joel sighs.

“Y’shouldn’t.” His voice is a hollow rumble. “I’m old, friends with your dad. We shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

Now a bitter venom spills in you.

You glare at his back, how his shoulders slump defeated while you sit up

“I'm an adult, Joel. And if that’s all you’re worried about then sorry it’s a shit reason.” You launch back.

Over his shoulder he glares at you.

“If…” you swallow hard. “If you’re the one who wants to leave, because i’m that young, or you really don't want this or don’t feel what I feel, then fine. At least tell me that.”

“But I care about you. And I want to make this, us, work.” You finish firmly, even with how much emotions clash in your chest.

Joel sighs again. His eyes face turns away now down downcasted.

“Didn’t wanna want you the way I do. You’re so bright, fucking’ smart and so g’damn gorgeous.” He softly admits.

A pause settles between him and you.

“Y’could be with someone younger, less complicated.” Joel admits low.

“Don’t want anyone younger or less complicated. Just want you.” You reassure with a soft steady mutter.

He goes quiet again.

“Used to not get bothered when I started leavin’ away games by myself. With Tommy married and the business booming, then the girls startin’ to have their own lives…I didn’t mind doing this alone.”

Underneath his words you catch it, his rusting loneliness.

“But then…these past few months…and now today seeing ya waitin’ for me…” he says clipped, like the rest of his words are caught in his throat and he can’t free them yet

Joel turns, and his eyes bore into you.

The silence stays as you stare unflinchingly back at him.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. You don’t think you have to either. Like a magnetic pull, it’s effortless moving towards him. Joel’s warm large calloused hand, seasoned from so many seasons of hard work, of pitching, cradles your face. You kiss him with every inch of your heart.

Even after spending the night, you’re surprised Joel hasn’t left yet. He even comments about figuring out lunch plans with you.

“You have another game today, Cowboy.” You comment.

The term makes his eyebrows rise, and the most coy smirk tugs his face making him look so charming.

“Got today off to rest, ya little shit.” It’s affectionate. “Besides my back ain’t what it use to be and after goin’ more rounds with ya this morning-”

In the middle of your living room you rush to kiss him.

The rest of the day unfolds like a dream drenched and stitched from every domestic fantasy you’ve ever had. Joel stands in your kitchen when you make him a quick lunch and you laugh apologizing that your fridge isn’t MLB diet certified. Joel steals your last saved snack after that joke.

Cuddled snug on the couch with him, you try watching a movie but Joel, so greedy and handsy, ends up fucking your brains out with his tongue.

When dinner rolls around, you order from your favorite local takeout place and Joel pays for everything. You ignore all the work you need to do for the week and don’t care. You’re here at this moment and want to stay crystalized in it for as long as you can.

But tomorrow is the last day before the team leaves to Miami to play the Marlins.

While showering with him, you wrap yourself against Joel’s back already dreading his leave. He seems to sense it too because his hands squeezes yours.

Against your shower wall he glides into you tender and slow, almost trying to draw out every inch of this.

Later that night, you try staying up but the day begins settling in. Your eyes flutter trying to fight sleep.

He mutters your name soft while his fingers run soft against your side.

“Hm?” You answer, trying hard to fight your tired eyes.

“Don’t want ya to think i’m ever using you, honey. You’re not just some young thing keepin’ me company.”

His words are simple, but they erupt so much in you.

Joel had been spooning you from behind, but now you immediately turn around to burrow your face against his chest. You reassure him and his arms tighten around you wonderful chains you wish never break.

But the next morning arrives.

“Gonna come to our last game here?” Joel asks while he packs up.

“Don’t know, I heard you guys still have that really old guy who might be pitching.” You say with a shrug.

His face frowns hard, but Joel moves to playfully smack your ass while you laugh. He quickly draws you in for another kiss.

You have class tomorrow and work you need to jump on, but you go to the game. Joel doesn’t play, but you don’t mind. Getting to hug him goodbye one last night in the shadow of the stadium is worth it.

“Text ya when we get to the airport.” Joel promises, secretly placing a soft kiss on your head.

That night when you get home you order not one, but two Joel Miller jerseys.

#again I blame baseball season and the recent dodgers game so here we are lol #but seriously thank you so much if you take the time to read me and pitcher Joel think you’re a home run #pitcher!Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #baseball player!joel #joel miller fic #pedrostories #Joel 🤎

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byuntrash101 · 6 months

Text

damnation of a saint (teaser)

pairing — nun!reader x sin of lust!seonghwa ft. ateez as the other sins

rating — smut | mdni

wc — ~13k (teaser is 1.2k)

synopsis — life is dull when you are an immortal being such as seonghwa. every day is the same and you live (or rather, merely exist) through the times crushed by the burden of boredom. until something new comes along in the form of a kind, compassionate and righteous newly ordained nun. and so the sin of lust makes it his personal mission to corrupt the purest of souls: yours.

release date — OUT!!! LINK HERE

nsfw tags under the cut

tags — heavy religious/blasphemous themes (don't read if you're uncomfy <3), inclusive writing (reader is not described), also reader is the embodiment of purity and selflessness, 20240127 hwa (will to power d1 in seoul), kinda slow burn kinda vibes, tensionnnnn, sooo much teasing, dom!hwa, also very sly demon!hwa, supernatural sex, corruption kink (obviously), masturbation (f), oral (f), the (un)holy trinity = teasing + begging + mind breaking, some light impact play, breath play, hair pulling, fingering (f), monster cock!hwa, size training, pet names (angel, love, darling, sweetheart), praising, degradation (slut, whore), dumbification, multiple orgasms (f), overstim and more to be revealed in the full version <3

a/n: consider this teaser as the moodboard of the fic <3 also im so excited to be reworking on my fave fic ever. hope you enjoy it too <3

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Seonghwa was bored out of his mind. Like he had been for decades now, even centuries. He couldn’t remember what it was like to feel… well… anything at all really. And after years upon years of vegetating he didn’t care enough to even try anymore. He just laid there, endlessly staring blankly at the emptiness. He tapped his slender finger on his thigh, comfortably set on the bed of dark purple smoke he had materialized out of thin air.

He let out an audible annoyed groan as he was nonchalantly stretching out his long limbs which didn’t fail to catch the attention of the others.

“What’s wrong?” Yeosang asked as he was feasting on some delicious meal he poofed out magically. He didn’t even take a second to look up the bucket full of chicken drumsticks, wrapping his greasy fingers around the bone and eyeing the meat like one would their life long partner. But then again, that wasn’t too far from the truth for Yeosang.

“I’m bored” Seonghwa complained, pushing his long silky black hair back on his forehead and choosing to ignore Yeosang’s lack of interest, dragging out the word on his tongue, transmitting his state of utter apathy to the others.

“Why don’t you go up and play with the Humans?” Mingi suggested while checking himself out in the mirror, readjusting his bangs and sliding his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose before striking a pose to himself, remaining completely self absorbed.

Once again, Seonghwa wasn’t getting much attention from his counterparts but he was somewhat used to it when it came to Mingi.

“What’s the point? They are no fun anyways!” Seonghwa sat up straight and crossed his long elegant legs on the cloud of cotton like smoke.

“Why?” Jongho asked, unlike the others he deigned looking in Seonghwa’s direction with somewhat surprised eyes. “You used to love going around and breaking up happy marriages, luring men and women in with your charms… That was always fun!” He said a little sluggishly, but still with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

“Yeah… Maybe it was…” Seonghwa replied. “Two millenniums ago…” Another prolonged sigh. “When everything still felt fresh.” He got up from the comfortable cloud of smoke, pacing the endless void as his heels clacked and echoed with each step. “Now I know that Humans are only self centered vile creatures who only claim to have better morals than us because they are scared of the consequences that inevitably ensue from succumbing to their primal desires. When in fact, all they want is to eat, kill, have sex or not do anything at all. They are nothing short of underdeveloped, unevolved, spineless piles of meat”

“Meat? Where?” Yeosang said, finally lifting his head from the bucket of fried chicken to look around, eyes rounded in panic.

Not a single one of them reacted except Mingi who side eyed him with disdain before returning to more important matters at hand such as swapping the aviator sunglasses for narrower, more rectangular ones.

“That’s not entirely false” Jongho concluded, shrugging, easily giving up on the idea of comforting Seonghwa.

“I mean where’s the fun if you can’t break their minds to give in?” Seonghwa placed both hands on Jongho's shoulders, slightly shaking him while the latter lifelessly swayed back and forth. “What is the point if they don’t resist the call of evil? If you can’t erode their will like a rock made smooth by the incessant beating of the waves of the cruel sea.” Seonghwa huffed in a quiet, defeated voice, letting go of Jongho's shoulders to let his arms hang at his side while the other one stared at him blankly.

“Hm… okay” Jongho said before slipping off Seonghwa's reach to take his place on the fluffy bed of purple smoke, crashing head first onto the soft cloud.

A silence settled for what seemed like a long moment, even for them, immutable creatures to whom the very concept of time couldn't grasp at their permanence.

“Well you never tried with that girl…” Wooyoung said, slithering his way to Seonghwa without a sound. He had been watching the scene unfold from afar up until then. “What was her name already?” He snapped his fingers and looked to the side trying to access his memory. He turned to Mingi for help but he was too busy looking through the mirror, slipping on yet another dangling necklace and smirking, satisfied at the results. Wooyoung then tried his luck with Yeosang but he now had his face buried in a huge bowl of chicken broth, the empty bucket of fried chicken abandoned and slurping up a big mouthful of noodles in a rather unpleasant way. “Jongho?” he called, finally settling for the one that looked almost passed out on the bed of smoke, but still this one wielded the most positive result.

“Y/n” Jongho responded without conviction, still laying flat on the cloud of smoke, eyes growing heavier by the second.

“Yeah! That’s right!” Wooyoung exclaimed. “That girl is unbreakable,” he affirmed. Seonghwa scoffed and threw an unconvinced look to his peer.

“No really! I’ve tried to corrupt her but I really couldn’t”. Wooyoung said, raising his brows and talking loudly to support his point. But that did little to persuade Seonghwa, he was convinced that Wooyoung was just not as good as him at breaking the mortals’ souls. So yes, it was possible that Wooyoung had struggled with that girl. But not him, surely not him.

When Wooyoung saw Seonghwa was not budging his face dropped, and he turned to the others. “Please someone back me up on this one”

“Oh yeaaah… I remember her” Yeosang said, voice cut by various sounds of loud lips smacking and open mouth chewing. “Even I tried!”

Now, that was different. Seonghwa was interested. Most people are quick to indulge themselves when it comes to food. It was, so to speak, the easiest sin of the seven to succumb to. The Humans often say “there’s always room for dessert” and innocently eat a generous slice of cake after devouring a full meal. They don’t even notice Yeosang forcing the big spoon full of buttery sugary goodness into their mouths. They don’t even know Yeosang, himself, made this saying.

“She refused to even do as much as taste the delicious meal I made her sister cook her even though she was starving… instead she gave it to the homeless man living not far from her apartment.” Yeosang stated with aberration shaking his head in disappointment before plunging right back in the ramyeon bowl.

“Mhm” Seonghwa scratched his chin, his curiosity for the mysterious righteous girl was piqued.

“One day I tried to make her give in” Jongho chipped in from the dark purple smoke bed, even pushing himself on his elbows to look at the others, to Seonghwa’s surprise. “Made her miss the train and the bus she needed to take to get home after work and conveniently laid a juicy wallet stuffed full of even juicier bills in the gutter. All she had to do was to bend down and get the money to take a taxi to her apartment. But instead she took the money and walked to the police station to report the lost wallet, which was in the opposite direction by the way and then walked back home only to take a shower and leave right after to attend the charity soup kitchen. Anddd… Explaining this made me tired. Please don't talk to me for the next two hundred years, thank you.” Jongho concluded in one single breath before laying back down and turning on his side to nap comfortably.

“Maybe that one can be interesting after all” Seonghwa thought aloud.

a/n: tell me if you wanna be tagged through comments or through asks <3

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ultravioletrayz · 7 months

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a request? what about your edging miguel and so you let him cum since he begging it however we continuing to do it? and so what about this but with cumplay ? you know,and he.....like into it,like you playing with he cum, on his body.thigh. abs, idk anywhere and just licking it idk?

so a kinda dom/sub!miguel x fem!reader

yea im crazy for a whiny men whos loves anything we do and espically whimper and beg

you with me girlie?

Yes yes yes, totally with you.

The plot for this was inspired by this ask, btw!!

@ce3stvu tagging my bby girl <3

Pairing: sub!miguel o’hara x dom!f!reader

Warnings: 18+, handjob, edging, cumplay, cum eating, dacryphillia if you squint, themes of jealousy

Summary: you remind miguel who he belongs to

A/N: i love dom!migs, but something about imagining that big man all whiny and crying is sooo hot

Word Count: 1K

It’s all that stupid bitch’s fault. The thought is swirling around in Miguel’s head on repeat as his hips pathetically twitch and spasm upwards to try and loosen the grip you have around the blushing tip of his cock. Still, you merely apply more pressure, squeezing his poor head so hard your fingers act as a makeshift cock ring, making it impossible for Miguel to acquire any sense of relief as your other hand fondles his heavy, aching balls with little skill, your only goal being to tease him.

This was a much better way of reminding Miguel of your loyalty to one another than talking it out. Frankly, you didn’t even know how to approach discussing the topic. You were supposed to be Miguel’s angelic, bubbly little girlfriend. You didn’t want to cause a fight over some random spider-woman from work.

Instead, you smile from ear to ear as you watch the beads of tears that cling to Miguel’s gorgeous, thick eyelashes as he sobs and begs to cum, after you’ve denied climax after climax with your possessive grip around the thick circumference of his dick.

There’s no doubt in your mind that other spider-people can hear Miguel’s unapologetic whines from outside his office, and the thought makes your mind a hazy fog of lust and pride. Hopefully, that new girl that Miguel was training, the one that kept running her grubby hands all over his arms and back like you were an idiot and wouldn’t notice her blatant flirting.

You had initially felt guilty when you pulled Miguel away from his sparring session with the girl, leading him to his office with one goal in mind: reiterating that Miguel is yours and yours alone.

But now that he's been forced into becoming this mess of desperation and sticky pre-cum, your worries and shame have vanished. Only your touch can make Miguel feel this way, making him lose all of his self-control and dignity. And he does the same thing to you. Sure, an outsider would probably say all of this jealousy and possessiveness is toxic or overbearing, but you and Miguel can't help but cling to one another. You're each other's soulmates. That new girl could never compare.

"Hah- ah, fuck! M-Mami, por favor… need- ah! need to cum. Please, please l-lemme cum-!" Miguel begs, his tear-stained cheek squished against the smooth material of your spider suit that conceals your tits, but the warmth of his face seeps through the fabric, his breath causing your nipples to perk up at the subtle contact as you lean over him and giggle.

You keep your fingers squeezed around his tip, rubbing his swollen head in circular motions as your other hand cups his balls in the comfort of your palm. The tension around Miguel’s tip is almost torturous, making him curse and thrash around in his office chair as he desperately attempts to make your hand slip even slightly so that his dick can breathe again.

The thick, chocolate-brown hair that adorns the tan flesh from his belly button down to his base caresses your forearm each time Miguel fails to push through the restraint of your fist and thrust into your closed hand.

You feel bad for taking your insecurities out on your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend, who was just trying to be a good boss and do his job, so you decide to give him a break.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, guapo?" You coo teasingly, releasing the pressure around the leaky head of Miguel's cock and instead starting to pump his shaft, your pace fast and sloppy as you make up for the time spent prohibiting Miguel from having any kind of release.

Miguel's climax hits him like a freight train, his back arching drastically and his claws digging into his seat as his rock-hard cock spurts bucket loads of cum up into the air, the gooey strands of his devotion to you hitting his toned abs and coating the hair on his thighs and stomach, creating a pooling mess of semen, sweat, and tears as he slumps back in his chair and splutters.

You watch with wide eyes as Miguel's cum decorates his tan skin, like an abstract painting of your composition. And you couldn't be more proud of yourself. In a hypnotised state of desire and devotion, you scramble to your knees in between Miguel's spread thighs.

With a smile on your face, you lick a fat, sloppy stripe from Miguel's pelvis up to his juicy pecs, gathering his cum on your flat tongue and swallowing. He tastes divine.

No other bitch would treat him like this, using her hands and mouth to worship him like you do. You lap up every thick glob of shimmering cum from Miguel's panting body, not even able to savour it due to your desperation to taste all of him.

"You taste so good, Mig." You moan, eyes fluttering at the salty, decadent flavour of Miguel's cum flooding your senses. Your hand keeps pumping him slowly, milking every last drop of his delicious cum from his cock as you worship his body and devour his essence as it glistens on his stomach and thighs.

Your free hand scoops up some of his mess to watch how the strings make your fingers stick together, before shoving your digits in your mouth and sucking the cum off your fingers.

Miguel chuckles and moans at the sight of his pretty girl so desperate to please him, all to ensure his loyalty. The fact that you're more willing to drag your wet tongue up and down his cum-covered, shivering body than have a conversation about your feelings is a little odd, but Miguel's not complaining. It's sweet to see how much you love him, and how much you hate that new bitch for thinking she stands a chance against you.

Miguel holds your chin in his hands and stops you from feasting on any more of his cum, directing your gorgeous face upwards so that you're staring into his eyes. You rest your tacky hands on his thighs, making him tremble ever so slightly at the way your skin sticks to his, binding the two of you together.

Breathlessly, Miguel whispers to you, his girl, his one and only, the love of his life, with a crooked smile on his sweaty, fucked-out face.

"Sólo para ti, hermosa."

sick and tired of miguel being depicted as the “jealous and possessive” one in the relationship. If I had a man like that, I’d be just as crazy

544 notes · View notes

moonieandi · 26 days

Text

snapshots pt. 7 | stanley pines x f!reader

summary: the fourth year of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly concerning helping one another

warnings (TW): swearing, sexual themes (mdni 18+)

tags: fluff, affection, mutual-pining, sexual-situations (in act i), good ol’ protective-stan <3

notes: me thinks me has big chapter coming up (pt. 8), me thinks i like to do things in fours (the last big chapter was 4). also did anyone notice that my sorry ass had to go back and change some dates/years womp womp but extra points if u didn’t notice my dumbass mistake.

i think relationships are about being a total hypocrite at times also, like you are constantly trying to fight biases you have over yourself, and also trying to fight for the betterment of your partner also. like im a total hypocrite when it comes to my partner so i think this is another good chapter of what i like to call “flesh”

that being said i have it sketched out in my journal that next chapter will be… important. hope you all enjoy, and as always love love love all the comments and notes and reblogs! thank you all so much, lots of love <3 (again, masterlist with the other chapters is linked down below!)

word count: 5.1k

| masterlist | part viii |

“The kids will be gone for a while,” he says, hand slipping warm up her thigh. “How about we pretend it’s 1995, doll?” That slick smirk on his face, glasses drooping on his big hooked nose.

She laughs. “1995? More like 2012, baby. It hasn’t been that long since you’ve tried to seduce me in the car.”

He laughs too, hand pushing through his gray curling hair. Shifting in his seat to get closer and share his warmth. His covered thigh was hot against her own. She had laid out short sweatpants for him to put on that lazy Saturday with the kids when he made to walk out the front door in his boxers. Something she found endearing at their older age, the slip of his mind when it came to spending time with the kids.

It’s darker out, their car the only one in the closed parking lot they had busted into. Mabel had been upset that day, after an altercation with another girl at the mini golf course. Her brother and Stan had almost been more upset for her, and they had rallied behind her in her need for revenge against her blonde foe. She had been upset as well and had a swell of choice words for the little rich girl's parents before Stan pulled her away.

So she had let it slide, the breaking and entering she was currently allowing the kids to do. That and Soos was with them. She trusted him more than he knew.

They hadn’t been alone in a while, well except for their typical midnight trysts. They had to be more quiet, as of recent though.

“Feels like a long time,” he hums, bringing his warm palm from her thigh to his cheek. “Come on… we have a bit here.”

She looks up at him through her lashes, a flush to her face. “I wasn’t protesting.”

He moves to her like he always does, distracted by the closing space between them. Curling his large palm around her cheek, kissing her like he knows her.

He’s slick like usual also, smiling against her lips, creeping his hand to move her seat down so he has the high ground between the two of them. Something he loves to do.

She’s laughing now, lounging back in the reclined seat. When had he reclined his own also?

But she’s pushing at his insistent chest, smiling at his slyness. Flushed below him, his torso hot against her front as his hand made itself comfortable on her cheek again, another on her waist.

“No funny business Stan, the kids will be back soon and you know it.”

“No funny business.” He says, pulling back to look at her soft face. His eyes drifting back to her lips once more. There's a breath between them, as they surge back and forth in the connecting space. Breathing heavy in the stretch between their lips, as she tries to chase him forward and he pulls back. His hand caresses her cheek, playing with the hair around the nape of her neck with his pinky.

“Beautiful.” He whispers between them finally, breaking some spell he’s cast in the space amongst their breaths. It breaks something, when he finally surges forward, meeting her in the middle, at her insistence.

It’s slow and building and grows hot between them. She tries to focus on many things at once about her lover, how his large hand cups her cheek, and jaw, and neck all at once. How he breathes heavy on top of her, warm against her front, but not against the most intimate part of her. How his lips move, move her, force her open and closed again. How his hand creeps up her waist to the sides of her chest, trailing hot upwards.

Suddenly it’s not slow anymore, not after the noises she unconsciously makes, and not after his hand trails back to the seem of her shirt to pull it up, his palm warm against her chest now. She’s gasping now, nodding her head at his insistence. He moves instinctually, like how he does every time, but how it feels brand new and different also, when he shoves her bra down, cupping her exposed chest now. How his fingers are slight against the sensitive skin there, it all feels new each time.

It has her moaning again, mouth open against his to create space, to create noise that bubbles at the base of her throat and sprouts between them. It has him throwing himself forward again, his hand tight against the junction of her jaw now, as he moves her lips and face to meet him again. To move against her again.

His hand is warm on her front, slipping against her chest, his palm moving to massage her, twirling her bust between his large hot hand. He’s so warm and whole against her, that it has her moving, adjusting along the reclined seat sideways so more of him could be a part of her. Creating space, and area, for him to manipulate as he pleases. And it does please him.

He’s fast along her lips now, and she does her best to keep up. Her hand gripping his hair, the other digging into the muscle of his broad shoulder, trying to bring him impossibly closer. But he wants to hear more of her, more from her. And he knows how to do it, moving from her mouth to her jaw to her throat, his mouth just as warm as the rest of him. Open mouth, breathy kisses follow in his wake until he makes for the junction of her throat and her shoulder. Kissing there just to hear her react, just to watch her squirm below him. Biting and kissing and lingering by her ear, groaning in her ear as she unknowingly cants into his lap at the tweak of his finger at her chest.

“You’re so good to me.” His mouth hot over the junction of her throat, his hand heavy on the curve between her jaw and her pulse. “Always so fucking good for me, angel.”

It serves to always rile her up more when he’s so honest with her like this. Something so simple as the truth has her disregarding her words from before, has her parting her legs and pulling him against the entirety of her as she searches for his lips again. He meets her in the middle of the heat of them, just as taken by her insistence, just as riled up by her enthusiasm for him to this day.

It has him slightly pulling back though also, swearing as he pulls his button-up off his body. Smirking as he crumples it up to wedge under her hips, to have her pressing up against the heat of his lower body correctly. To ensure he could angle his own hips to meet her where she needed him.

She’s flushed below him when he glances back up from his handy makeshift substitution for their usual orthopedic pillow. Breathing heavily against the seat of their car, her head almost leaning off the back of the reclined long bench. Her hair haloed around her head as she reached her hands back in front of her to drag him against her again. To feel his weight against her parted legs, her neck already crooked to allow his lips resurgence, her shirt around her chest crumpled from shifting her bra around his large palm.

A knock.

It shocks her awake, groggy in her bed, but not on her usual side.

The wall is cold behind her, but the shoulder she's nestled into is hot beneath her cheek. Stanley slumbering, a slight snore building up in the back of his throat as his chest rises and falls under her hand.

Right, Stan.

She had taken to sleeping next to him, some nights. After the appearance of the shocking dream just last October, she continued to have flashes of odd frightful nightmares interspersedly between then and now. It had shocked them both awake several more times in those following months, as she called for him when she was deep within her subconscious. He never protested, never really asked before he would crawl into her bed during those occasions, shuffling her to her spot furthest from the door.

Now they stuttered each night in the hall, held themselves together in the shadow of each other's doorways before bed. He’d look down at her those nights, at her dark circles and wrinkled pajamas. A question on his tongue every night. A silent ask, if she would need him that night. He would come if she called.

She could almost sense when one would creep into her mind most nights now, like an instinctual correlation to her overworking herself. So some nights she’d grasp his hands in the shadows in the hallway and drag him to her room. Something he didn’t comment on, the one thing between them he didn’t joke about.

On other nights they would separate, his lips would linger on her hairline after whispering goodnight to her to leave for his empty room. But those nights seemed far and few in between her need to have him close now, because the dreams were all but fleeting with him close for some reason. She listed off the benefits of co-sleeping somewhere in the back of her head before slipping away most nights, reasoning out her need for him.

It explained his presence below her now, how she was folded into the junction of his shoulder and his outstretched arm. How her hands had made a home in his warm chest. But it didn’t really explain the dream, one that she had never had of that nature.

It made something stir in the back of her mind, made her think of his lingering breath now and how it felt so real in the dream, shepherded in the crook of her neck. How he felt on top of her, the way he fell into the junction of her parted legs. How it had her shifting her own legs now, unconsciously trying to get closer to him now.

She knew he was attractive. There were things endearing about his personality, things that made her think after laughter, and her heart swell when he got close. But he was, physically, quite attractive to her also. The curl of his hair, the smirk of his lips, of course. But also his broad arms, and large palms. The swell of his lower stomach, the patch of hair below his belly button, the parting of his legs when he sat on the couch. It really wasn’t surprising that she had such a dream about him, not surprising at all. She quite… enjoyed it. Which is why she let her hands linger on him even now, creeping up his shirt to rest on the rise of his lower stomach. To seep in some of that warmth, to try to remember the weight of him above her.

But she had also dreamed of the kids again.

She tried to keep note of what she could remember of them. Of pink sweaters and braces and smatterings of freckles that looked like constellations. It faded again though, as she rested against his rising chest. Lulled back to sleep by his steady breaths against her.

June, 1986

He pulled himself from work that day so they could wander around town and inevitably regretted it once they hit Main Street.

She had found it amusing that they had stumbled into some sort of reenactment of the 1830s, something he had found joy in, his hands drifting from his pockets to her own hands. But something he was now more than a little frustrated by, watching her giggle every time an old-fashioned dressed-up reenactor passed them by, every man tipping their tophats in her general direction.

It had him almost fuming, honestly. That they could have his Doc’ blushing and giggling at every turn with ease. His hand had drifted again, pulling her closer to his side as they made their way from booth to booth at this god-forsaken Pioneer Day festival.

She was distracted by homemade candies at their current booth. Calling his attention and dragging him closer to show him the assortment of sweets she wanted to share with him. Until the booth-keep approached them, his goddamn hat tipped at his Doc’.

“What can I do for ya miss?” The slightly older gentleman asked politely, taking his tall hat off in the presence of her.

She giggled again, of course. Glancing back at his flushed form, before glancing back at the clerk about to answer.

“It’s missus, actually, ya schmuck.” He had to open his mouth. Almost like he couldn’t help it, something bubbling below the surface, his fist clenched defensively at his side, the other still balled up around her waist.

She seemed slightly shocked at his infringement, flushing embarrassed at his side. He didn’t even think of apologizing, especially when she looked like that.

“Apologies, sir!” The clerk said, glancing between the assumed couple. “Your lady here needs some assistance, yes?”

“Wife, pal. My wife.”

Stuttering, waving away Stan’s charged statement, the poor clerk is crimson in front of them in the July heat and under the scrutiny of a man who is on his last leg with the current fair he finds himself at.

She seizes the moment, turning back to Stan to push his chest back away and out of the stall, throwing a quick apology over her shoulder in their hasty retreating wake.

It had been absurdly endearing, how annoyed Stan was all day. It wasn’t easy to derail the man, from what she knew of him. So she had reveled in his apparent annoyance all day. Weirdly protective of the space they took up on the walkway through the fair, trying to shield her from the polite tipping of hats which was custom to do, she figured. Something the reenactors did rather flippantly and without thought. But something that had grated at her partner all day, despite that. So stubbly angry at the gesture that no one else but he thought twice about.

She had let it continue throughout the day though, and had giggled at how his hand had made for her own, and migrated to her waist sometime during the day when he grew more aptly agitated. A protective hand on her, and when she looked back at him, his face was always a grimace. His usual glare directed solely at the men who would greet her on the street.

The vendor apparently, had been the last straw. After the poor man hadn’t acknowledged Stan’s presence, in favor of helping and doting on her. Probably a good sales tactic, something Stan knew about also, but something he was blinded by in the moment. Annoyed at being ignored despite bearing down at anyone from her shadow along her back.

They had enough for today though, she thought, pulling him farther down the street back to the parking lot at the end of Main Street, so they could find their car and head home. She doubted he would want to come back to the yearly Pioneer Days, but she’d try to drag him back each coming year. Reveling at his protective hold, giggling at his flushed face as he declared her as his to everyone who would listen.

November, 1986

She found him up late, in his office that night.

He had made a space in a random room on the first floor, close to the kitchen. One of those rooms they had both disregarded and initially put the swell of Ford’s belongings in.

But she had helped him clean it back out a couple of years ago when he opened their home turned tourist trap. Helped anyway he would allow, actually, which was more or less going through old research papers piled high and picking out a nice desk from the flea market to situate in front of the south-facing window. He had moved around just about everything else.

The walls were still bare in his office, and he had filled the room with some of his old knick-knacks and newspaper clippings he had a tendency of keeping from the comics and punchline sections of the local paper. The ones that made her laugh. That and odd stacks of magazines from jewelers he liked.

He had been unable to help her downstairs that day, something she did not begrudge him of, especially seeing him now bent over his desk, with his hands catching in his hair. She had called him for dinner, but when he didn’t answer or come within ten minutes she found herself wandering to his office with their dinner in hand. His office door was wide open, as it always was when it was just the two of them. She knocked despite this.

“Stan?” She asks, balancing steaming plates of food in both hands. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No, hun.” His head shot up, a smile blooming on his face, but his eyes were weary still from squinting at money margins for the last couple of hours.

She makes her way closer, plopping his plate right in front of him on the desk, disregarding the odd papers he had spread out all over its surface. She leans herself on the desk, holding her own plate up so she could simply eat where she stood.

“Doesn’t look like it.” She says, pitching her head back to the mess on his desk.

He’s almost too worked up to eat, not that he’d let her know that. He’d been wrangling around money all day, trying to equate the sum of the last couple of months’ tours into this month's mortgage payment. Something he struggled with last season also, but something he’d gotten worse at hiding from her despite his best efforts. She overworked herself enough as is, he didn’t want this on her plate alongside everything else.

She did her best to handle the mess he had made downstairs, and he did his best to take care of her. Because she deserved that, after all she’s done for him. Given him four years, put up with his bullshit for four years after his four-second mistake of pushing his brother into another dimension.

But looking up at her now, watching the darkness from the fall season outside seep in through the window. How she tilted her head down, leaned onto his desk, and basically plopped on top of the hardwood she had picked out herself. She made no indication of regret, in all four years.

Still, something tugs at him, he wanted to be the one to provide in this aspect. Something deep, once hallow in him, something his father had tried to teach him in his old ways. About how to take care of your wife, about how he needed to provide.

But they were standing in a shell of a house, one that he could not even logically claim as his own. And he wanted to give her more. To celebrate during the holidays without pinching pennies, to give her gifts during these colder winter months, like he remembers his father doing for his mother. To get her those new throw blankets she eyes up at the craft store, to get her that new red pot she says reminds her of her grandmother. It made him feel more like a failure, set something deep in him, that he couldn’t give her some of those things while she so willingly gave him four years.

She wouldn’t relent though, because as determined as he was to take care of her in this semblance, she was just as eager to do the same for him. Something that always made him lean into her, had his hand finding hers instinctually nowadays. Something that no one has done for him since Ford, someone having his back.

So he tells her anyway because she's smart. Knowing to lean up on his desk like that and bring him food to ply him from his leather desk chair and make him concede in his problems. Something all-knowing about her like usual, something perhaps ingrained in her.

He leans forward, scooping up food to shovel into his mouth. Maybe he was hungry after all. “I’m having some trouble balancing some books.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I’m short.” Fisting some of his hair in his fist, mumbling around his food. “Holiday season, I’m always strapped for cash.”

She hums, a fold forming in the ridge of her brows. She takes a moment, leaning farther into his desk, dinner half gone on her plate already. “You?”

“What?”

“You, Stan?” She sighs, suddenly looking tired in front of him. Frustrated with something, at the very least.

He shrugs at her, turning away from her suddenly harsh gaze. But she won’t let him turn from her anymore. She finishes her dinner, discarding her plate farther away on the corner of his desk, reaching over his papers and piles to switch on the shaded desk lamp they also scrounged for.

She sighs again, situating herself completely in front of him now. Leaning back against his desk again, basically sitting on the papers and books that were causing him strife not even ten minutes ago. His dinner is half cold on his plate now, situated on his own lap as he slumps back in his chair. His eyes move back to her instinctually now that she’s in front of him. The lamp light shining on her frustrated visage.

“Stan.” She humphs, leaning forward, crowding him into his chair. “You? Just you?”

Realizing his mistake, his shepherding of problems, continuing to shield them as his own despite him internally admitting he should at least voice them aloud.

But it’s hard to admit defeat in this aspect, hard to concede control over something she thought so flippantly of as money. It was deeper than that, deeper than the mortgage of course. It was something he had left home in search of, something he still grasped for, and something he had buried asking for help with when he was merely eighteen years old.

His desires had somehow changed and shifted though. The warped image he had of his father, how it had become distorted in the face of his new desires. Desires that looked more and more like her these days. And it was just something he wouldn’t admit defeat to, couldn’t admit defeat. Because then what good was he to her?

So he stands behind his own stupid idea of self-actualization. Despite it being weak in the shadow of her frustration. “Yes… just me.”

“No.”

“No?” He scoffs. “Yes. Just me, only me.”

“Since when.”

“Since this was all my fault.” He says, his own frustration pulling him up in his chair. Food forgotten and pushed aside on his desk in favor of getting closer to her. Never yelling, always explaining. And he wouldn’t and couldn’t yell if he was sitting ramrod straight in front of her. He didn’t have it in him, had no desire to watch her crumble like that. “This whole thing, all of it.” Waving his hands around, trying to emphasize the large capacity of the bullshit he had walked them both into.

She shakes her head. “No, Stan.” He’s unbelievable at his worst, and charming at his best. But his unbelievable was becoming more mounting with every year. And some convoluted part of her mind had reasoned that it actually all hinged on her now. Thinking of that crumpled paper, and that coded string of words Stanford had left her. How he had been right about her all along, how she hadn’t even been smart enough to drag him out of his own hubris.

“Don’t say it’s fucking yours.” He scoffs, leaning more into her. Placing his hands on her warm thigh, trying to ground her in her thoughts.

“But it is. It’s my fault.” Choking around what she had believed to be true for the past four years. “I’m not smart enough to bring him back.”

He surges in his seat, standing in front of her now. Shaking his head as he reaches for her. Folding her in his arms like he always does, her head balanced in the crook of his neck, humming along to soothe her like always. “That’s the farthest thing from true.”

“But he’d be back! He s-should be back by now…” Voicing her frustration, it echoed around his chest to his ear. She’s warm in her frustration, her hands curling not around him, but up him. Finding the crook in his chest to rest them in. “And you wouldn’t be so stressed… you wouldn’t have to worry about the mortgage if he was here. We wouldn’t have to be here, it’s my f-fault he’s not here yet. It’s why I’ve been down there so often. W-why I hate when you say that.”

She had confided herself to the basement almost indefinitely since their second year of cohabitation. More recently, it had kept her up routinely at night. First, it would drag her from her sleep, had her wandering down steep steps in the dark of the night in only her pajamas. Now it followed her into her dreams, seeping into her mind, taunting her of a far-off future she could only conjure up in her sleep. One where she succeeded. One where Stan still stood steady by her side, a gold band on his finger. It made her sick, and she knew she had been troubled by all of it for over a year now.

He had known reasonably, that the reason for her lingering in the dark basement was for some sort of self-validation, something he could never fault her for. But he could fault himself for not dragging her into the light more often, for not being more worried about her pailing complexion and her dark-set eyes. It did worry him, it tugged him from doorway to doorway at night, made him more vigilante in the dark. But he had been so twisted in worrying about providing as of recent, he had forgotten the object of his adoration was weathering away under the weight of her own self-destruction.

It was hard to let go of that part of his control, of what he felt was his own duty. But he knew there suddenly, looking down at her dark circles, and the way she curled up, looking so small against his chest. Knew that they’d both have to set aside some ingrained biases because in the end, they were both hypocrites. And he didn’t want her to become a mirror image of him in her grief.

So he sighs, letting his warm hands cradle the back of her. Letting them run through her hair, letting him continue to hum. “I don’t want you to say that ever again because it ain’t true.”

She sniffs, still goo in his hands. “You too.” She hiccups.

He won't ever voice it to her again, he swears somewhere in the back of his mind. But it’ll linger for years, the fault in him. “Okay.”

Another beat, another adjustment from her before he voices anything again. “We both gotta help each other.”

She nods against him, suddenly looking up at him with a weird amusement in her eyes. “Go team, remember?”

He chuckles, “Yeah, hun. Go team.”

She hums, finally pulling away from him and taking her warmth with her. Still folded up in front of him, her hands still in that space along his chest. Fisted in his shirt, wrinkled under her grief.

“I can help with the money.” She says, a smile beginning to grow on her face.

“And I can help with the portal.” He nods, his hands finding her shoulders, cupping up towards her neck.

They congregated on the couch that night, discussing a new schedule between them. Something that would hopefully piece her back together, maybe not back to what she was all those years ago bursting in through the front door. She wasn’t herself then either, he reasoned. And it struck him then, with her curled in on the couch, still folded into the junction of his arm, her fingers tracing his palm as she finally breathed even against him.

She looks most endearing, most like some glimpse of herself, someone he doesn’t quite know yet when she’s kneeled down talking to those kids on their back-lit porch. Halloween had come and gone again and it struck him, like it does every June and October.

It twists into an idea in his mind, flips his stomach at the idea. Leaks into visions of her in front of the chalkboard downstairs, how she spoke of complex things in fragments for him to digest. How she paces around her chalkboard, spinning new ideas for him to consume. It came easy to her, teaching him, and he had the thought that she just might be the best he’d ever met in all his years.

“What about teaching?” He hums, twirling his fingers around for her to continue to play with.

She hums. “I’d be gone a lot of the day.”

“And I’d miss ya.” He concedes. “But you need this.” He admits, leaning his chin on her head. She needed to get away from the portal, distance herself, and find a bit of life outside of what he had tied her into.

“And you.” She glances up at him, a smile on her lips finally. Her breath warm against him. And he did, he’d admit. He needed her help with it all. But only if in doing so it helped her, too. Because he'd concede the weight of what he called duty if it shook that warped image of his father. He wanted to prove himself to her, only.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls imagine #grunkle stan #stan pines #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader #smut

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strvberrydoll · 28 days

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Rosemary

Summary: Kidnapped in the middle of the night you’re dragged far away from camp by the ruthless Lemoyne Raiders. Your disappearance a painful wound for Arthur who has to, quite literally, fight for your love back.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: angst, hurt/comfort (finallyyy !!!) description of gun fight, kidnapping, heavy themes

wc: 5k

a/n: so we’ve finally come to the end of this silly little story. The comfort is finally here woohoo !! I’m actually kinda proud of this chapter because I tried a different approach to writing and idk,, i like it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to every single one of you who liked Rosemary and filled my days with love, I’ll forever be grateful to all of you. A slightly better version of Rosemary will be posted on my ao3 account along with a new series im writing following John Marston and the reader. The plot for it will be revealed in a few days. As always let me know what you think of this chapter <33 (gif from pinterest)

Pain.

The very first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, throbbing agony spreading from the back of your head to the front. You winced as you tried to move your hands to support your head but your limbs felt heavy, almost as if you were trying to lift one of Pearson’s flour bags.

Everything was dark. A muffled piercing sound rang through your skull. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, but failing as the pitch darkness of the thick woods clouded your vision. Trying your hardest to get out of your dream-like state you decided to focus your mind on what exactly was happening, the last thing you remembered was your fight with Arthur and taking a walk into the woods outside camp. And then the pain. Oh, the pain was killing you.

You had to go back to camp and ask Reverend Swanson for some medicine.

You once again tried to raise your hands to your head to check for blood but your action, unfortunately, was unsuccessful. And then you felt it. The rough, scratching sensation of rope digging into your wrists. Your arms were bound tightly behind your back, the coarse braided fibers of the rope biting into your skin with every slight movement. Panic flooded your mind, its freezing tide rushing down on you as you realized that you were tied up.

“She’s comin’ to. We better hurry up before she starts and give us trouble,” A low, hoarse voice cut through your panic haze.

From your lying position, what seemed like the figure of a large man could be made out approaching you in the darkness. You felt yourself being hoisted roughly into the air, before you were slung harshly like a sack of potatoes, across something hard. A horse, you judged by the pungent smell of hay that invaded your nostrils. The saddle dug painfully into your side as the animal began to move forward under the command of its rider. The sudden movement made you almost throw up, your head pounding rhythmically with each rapid beat of hooves on the woods ground. You wanted to scream but no sound escaped your throat, the pain in your body too intense. As the horse rode further and further into the woods you could feel your consciousness slowly slip away,

‘Arthur,’ you managed to utter before darkness took over you.

The second time you awoke, it was due to the biting cold of dawn. The sky above was just starting to lighten, the first rays of sunrise penetrating through the dense treetops, coloring everything in pale hues. You were lying on the ground again, your body stiff and muscles aching. You shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering together, your dress doing a poor job at keeping you warm, as you tried your best to gather your scattered thoughts. The men were still nearby, the sound of their hushed voices mixing with the rustling of leaves blowing in the wind. Despite the overwhelming pain and tiredness you felt washing all over your body you forced yourself to stay awake.

You rolled to the side as best as you could, mud staining the soft colored fabric of your dress and cheeks, trying to find out where they had taken you. You knew you had to think clearly, to find a way out of this nightmare. Your eyes, although blurred, scanned the area in front of you. You were in the Bayou area, the shadow of tall trees and surrounding swamp a dead giveaway of the location and judging by the various bottles of moonshine all over the place, your kidnappers probably took you to an old moonshine distillery camp.

“You sure she’s worth all this trouble?” a high pitched voice asked.

“What, a beauty like her ? Absolutely partner,” another man responded, his tone cruel. “Just keep her quiet until the boss comes back, then we’ll have ourselves a real party,” he added laughing.

Fear gripped your chest like a vise—you could hear footsteps approaching, quick and heavy. Rough hands grabbed you by the shoulders, flipping you over onto your back, your eyes focusing just enough to see the blurred outline of a man’s face looming above you, the bitter smell of liquor and tobacco taking over your senses, the end of his yellow scarf tied around his neck dangling down in front of you. Lemoyne raiders.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mockery as he smiled down at you. He took out a small pocket knife from his satchel leaning in closer. The blade flashed in front of your eyes as he lowered it down to your cheek, slowly moving it down towards your neck without breaching your skin.

Your breath caught up in your throat, your chest rising and falling rapidly making you lightheaded as the blade touched the sensitive skin of your neck. Your heart pounded so violently in your chest that it made you physically sick. A strained whimper left your lips as tears welled up in your eyes blurring your vision. You were completely frozen in place, terrified under the man’s knife. The man menacingly laughed at the sound you let out, flashing his yellow teeth at you, satisfaction evident in his cold eyes.

He roughly manhandled you up by your arm, his tight grip leaving dark bruises on your skin as your feet dragged in the mud. The man pushed you inside a decaying wooden cabin, its interior surprisingly worse than the exterior, you noted as you were sat down on a small chair positioned in the corner of the entrance room, far away from the door.

Another man, much smaller than the previous one, grabbed you by your hair lifting your face towards his making you wince.

“You’re gonna stay nice ‘nd quiet Miss,” he said before stuffing your mouth with a dirty piece of cloth, the bitter taste of dirt making you gag.

The two men spared you one last glance, a satisfied expression painting their faces, before leaving the cabin to join their other men outside, locking you in.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The usual cheerful chirping of birds coming from the trees surrounding Clemens Point camp acted as a morning alarm for Arthur. The chill morning air biting at his exposed ankles, his blanket messily tangled up his torso as a result of the restless night he spent tossing and turning, waiting for you to come back. He knew that following you was the wrong choice. You wanted some space from him and he respected that, but his heart couldn’t help but ache at the missing warmth of your body in his bed. He waited and waited for you, his eyes growing heavy as he rehearsed in his mind all the ways he could make it up to you, until his body succumbed to its tiredness and fell asleep.

Putting on his hat he lazily walked towards the coffee brewer on the campfire near the ladies’ tents, his mind replaying the events of the night. The way you looked at him as if he had just shoved a knife into your chest, your pretty eyes bloodshot and puffy from the constant crying. Your trembling form making its way out of your shared tent hunting his mind like a vengeful ghost. He loathed himself for that. It was his damn fault. He had to make it right and he’d do anything to take all the pain he caused away.

Sure you had slept with the girls since you never made it back to your tent last night, he expected to find you chatting away with Tilly as the both of you usually prefered to start early on your morning chores, his steps carrying him with a determined aura, but once he made it in front of the ladies’ tents you were not there. His face scrunched up in confusion as a small glimmer of concern planted its root in his head. That same glimmer grew rapidly as he darted his eyes around camp seeing no signs of your presence.

“Arthur,” the gentle sound of Abigail’s voice snapped him out of his turmoil.

“Abigail, hi.” he answered absently, eyes still scanning the camp’s grounds in hope of catching a glimpse of you.

“Look, I don’t want to be nosy but is everything alrigh’ between you two ? I heard you two yelling last night, she was pretty shaken up before you arrived”

“Yes, no—I don’t know. We had an argument, and she didn’t sleep in our bed last night. Can't blame her really, but I can’t seem to find her,” he explained, concern radiating out of every fiber in his body “Have you seen her ?”

“No, not since last night. Maybe she just needs some time alone” she reassured, placing her hand on his shoulder. The gesture soothing his worried thoughts.

“Yeah maybe you’re righ—“ Arthur didn’t get to finish his sentence as the cutting voice of Leopold Strauss interrupted him.

“Herr Morgan, Herr Morgan. Busy, my friend ?” The Austrian man approached him, a folded piece of paper in hand.

Arthur's shoulders dropped. He dreaded working for Strauss, but the older man was persistent, always ready with another fella to squeeze dry for some cash. Sure, the money helped keep the gang afloat, put food on the table, and clothes on the backs of the women and children, but the work, well, the work was dirty. It was the kind of work that gnawed at a man’s conscience.

“What is it now,” Arthur turned to face him, Abigail excusing herself, patting his back before leaving to wake Jack up. Strauss handed him the piece of paper, fortunately for Arthur only one name was scribbled down. ‘Gwyn Hughes’

“He’s an undertaker in Rhodes, he shouldn’t be giving you any trouble but he’s a slippery fellow. Just scare him and collect the debt” he explained. Arthur sighed accepting the job, wondering when all this loan sharking business would come to an end. You always hated when he’d go out dealing with Strauss’ business, saying how the gang should steal from the rich to help the poor and not steal from the poor to help the poor. He knew deep down inside of him you were right, but unfortunately money is money and with the gang’s situation looking far from good, every single cent counted.

He put the paper in his satchel before walking towards the hitching post, his gaze falling on your Tennessee Walker before mounting his horse.

“Oi english!” Sean called out from his lookout post “you look like shit this mornin’”

“Yeah well, don’t I always,” Arthur groaned before signaling his horse to move forward.

The collection of the debt turned out stranger than Arthur ever imagined. As it turned out Gwyn Hughes, the debtor, planned to pay back his debt by robbing a woman’s grave and as if that wasn’t enough he tasked Arthur to clear the cemetery and eventually stop the people from coming in. By noon, Arthur left Rhodes with a diamond brooch, a few bruises on his face and a confused conscience.

He returned to camp exhausted, his body and mind heavy, the dirty work weighed heavily on him as he hitched his horse near camp. All he wanted now was to see you, hear the sweet sound of your voice, even if you’d yell at him. He just wanted to see you. But as he ventured inside the camp, the usual hum of chatter was gone, the atmosphere heavy. Something was off. Abigail and Sadie were the first to come up to him, Abigail face pale while Sadie scanned around camp anxiously.

“Arthur,” the brunette called out, her voice rising with an edge of worry as they hurried towards him. “She ain’t been back”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat “Wha—What do you mean she ain’t been back ? Nobody’s seen her ?”

“Last time I saw her was last night, I was on lookout and saw her headin’ out towards the woods, thought she was goin’ for a walk” Sadie explained, her expression filled with worry. “I asked ‘round camp and no one has seen her today”

His stomach dropped as numerous possibilities of what could’ve happened to you flashed through his mind. Without muttering a word to the two women, Arthur stormed over to Dutch’s tent, the latter standing outside talking to Hosea about the recent developments on the Gray-Braithwaite situation. The moment they saw Arthur approaching their conversation dissolved, the look on his face signaling them that something was off.

“What’s the matter Arthur ?” Dutch asked, concern dancing in his eyes.

“It’s about her, she went out last night and no one has seen her since” he explained, his voice strained. Dutch expression hardened

“You think something happened to her ?”

“I do, yeah”

“Alright then better move quickly, Charles! Bill !” Dutch called, his voice reverberating across the camp calling out the two men. “Arthur’s Miss is missing. I want you two to go out with him, see if you can track her down. The others, I want all eyes on the perimeters of camp, if she comes back you holler. Nobody moves from camp.”

Charles, who had been crafting some poisonous arrows near by the campfire, quickly dropped his task as he listened to what happened. He quickly gathered all his gear and began to move towards the horses, Bill just a few paces behind him.

“We’ll find her, Arthur. She’s gonna be okay” Hosea consoled him, but the older man's words did little to calm Arthur’s racing heart.

Within minutes, the three men were mounted on their horses and heading into the woods where Sadie had last seen you. Arthur’s mind was racing, a dangerous storm of fear and anger bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not after everything that happened.

The woods were dense, the tall trees casting deep shadows that made it difficult to see much of anything, but luckily Charles was an expert tracker, the hunter’s keen eyes scanning every inch of the ground for any sign of you.

After what felt like an eternity for Arthur, Charles held up his hand, signaling the other two men to stop. He dismounted Taima and crouched down, examining something on the ground. Arthur quickly joined him, his breath catching in his throat as he saw what his friend had found.

It was her bracelet, the golden one he had gifted you for your first anniversary. The small wristlet laid in the dirt, the delicate chain now broken. Arthur felt the whole world crashing down on him as he picked it up, his hands shaking in a mix of anger and fear.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

As the hours dragged on, you struggled to stay alert. The pain in your head had dulled to a persistent ache, but every muscle in your body screamed in protest with every small movement. Your wrist burned, blood dripping down your hands as you tried to wriggle them out of your ropes, the process slow and agonizing, but you could feel the ropes loosening further and further. You just needed to grit your teeth through the pain. The men had become less concerned about you, talking and drunkenly laughing amongst themselves, making you nauseous at their inhumanity.

Then a man entered the cabin, followed by two others behind him. He was tall and well built, his hairline receding leaving his hair to hang awkwardly on the sides. By the way he dragged himself around you deduced he was their leader. He crouched down beside you, his face dangerously close to yours, his breath fanning in your face making you scrunch your nose at the rancid smell of his breath. He reached out to check your ropes, tightening them furthermore, the action causing bolts of pain to shoot through your body.

“What was a pretty lady like yourself doing all alone in the woods mh?” He took out the now drenched piece of cloth out of your mouth. You swallowed, feeling your dry throat burning at the action.

You couldn’t muster the strength to respond. Your head lolled to the side as the man stepped back, a sinister grin plastered on his face. Then a harsh, stinging sensation hit your cheek.

“I said what were you doing all alone in the woods, slut” Tears welled in your eyes, both from the pain and the hopelessness of your situation. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Arthur. You had to hold on, had to find a way to escape, if not for yourself, then for him. He would come for you—you knew it deep down in your heart, but you needed to survive until then.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

Arthur’s eyes burned with anger and fear. He clenched his fists around the bracelet, his mind racing. “She was here,” Charles said quietly, his voice grim. “And she wasn’t alone. Look at these tracks, it seems like there was a struggle. She was taken.”

“By who?” asked Bill.

Charles pointed his finger to the ground, where the faint outline of various boot prints led away from their spot. “Judging by the tracks, it looks like a group of men. Three, maybe four. Could be Lemoyne Raiders. They must’ve grabbed her and taken her somewhere nearby. At this point the only place near is the old moonshine distillery.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold at the thought of you in the hands of the Raiders. The Lemoyne Raiders were known for their brutality, his encounter a few weeks prior with Sadie confirmed their reputation. The thought of what they could be doing to you filled him with a rage so intense it nearly consumed him.

“We find their hideout, and we get her out,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, already mounting up on his horse “I’m gonna kill all them goddamned bastards. I don’t care what it takes.”

Mounting their horses they followed the tracks, the three men riding fast through the woods. Thankfully it hadn’t rained so the trail was still clearly visible. It led them deeper into the Bayou region, the trees growing thicker and the air heavier with humidity and tension.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they spotted the moonshine distillery through the trees. It was a crumbling mess of buildings, half-hidden by the vegetation in the shadows, but there was no mistaking it. A few horses were tethered outside, and faint light flickered from the windows of an old cabin.

Arthur’s heart pounded as he dismounted. Charles and Bill followed him as they hid behind a crumbled stone wall, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. Their eyes scanned the area, there was a man guarding the horses while a group of five others were sitting near by the campfire, drinking and laughing with each other. He exchanged a quick glance with Bill and Charles. This was it. They’d kill those bastards outside, storm the cabin, take out anyone who stood in their way, and get you out of there.

“Let’s go, I’ll take that guard near the horses out” Bill whispered, his voice steady with resolve. He made quick work of killing the guard, his knife glimmering just a second in the light before settling into the man’s neck. Charles and Arthur joined Bill in action. Arthur was the first to shoot his gun, the bullet piercing clean through one of the men’s chest. Then all hell broke loose.

Bullets went flying as the Lemoyne Raiders spotted them, the air filled with smoke and gunpowder as both sides fought violently. Their position didn’t offer too much cover, the Lemoyne Raiders, although drunk, fought hard, their guns never stopping. A stray bullet scraped Arthur’s arm but that didn’t stop him as he barely registered it. His mind was singularly focused on one thing—getting to you before it was too late. And in just a few minutes Arthur, Charles and Bill managed to take down all five men outside. Moving quickly out of their cover they reached the front of the cabin, and with a nod from Arthur, they burst through the door.

Chaos erupted as they stormed inside. The few Lemoyne Raiders inside the cabin barely had time to react before Bill and Charles opened fire, cutting them down where they stood. Arthur moved with deadly precision, his eyes scanning the room for any sign ofyou. And then he saw you, tied to a chair in the corner of the room, your face bruised, wrist bloody but alive. You were alive

The last of the Raiders fell as Arthur rushed to your side, his hands quickly working to untie the ropes that bound you so tightly. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, you thought this was just your mind playing tricks but tears welled up in your eyes falling rapidly down your face when you realized it wasn’t your mind playing tricks, it was really him. Arthur had found you.

“Arthur,” you barely whispered, your voice hoarse and weak.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured, his voice shaking as he finally freed you from the chair. He quickly checked you for more injuries before pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go. “I’ve got you sweetheart. You’re safe now.” You were still in shock from the whole ordeal, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions—fear from the attack, but also a deep, undeniable relief that Arthur was there with you. In this moment you both forgot your fight, your mixed feelings and both held each other, the intensity of the moment washing over you. You held each other for a few seconds longer before separating. A strange turmoil of emotion took over you as you looked around the room seeing the body of your kidnappers unmoving on the ground. Unable to look at them a second more you diverted your attention back to the group of outlaws in front of you.

The first who broke the silence that fell around you was Bill, awkwardly clearing his throat before adding “We need to get movin’ all this gunfight definitely caught someone’s attention”

Arthur offered his hand to you and you took it, using it as leverage to get yourself up to your feet. Your vision spotting for a second before coming back. You didn’t find in your heart to let go of his hand, his warm skin offering you peace. They escorted you out towards the horses. Arthur helping you up on his before sitting behind you, his strong arms holding you tightly to his chest giving you support. The last thing you felt was Arthur chaste kiss on your temple before you let yourself fall asleep.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the camp as the day slowly faded into night. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding your tent. Inside the tent, the air was still, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

You were finally out of the cot after three days of recovery. The girls had come to check up on you in the morning, bringing you a mug of coffee and a pack of chocolate biscuits Mary Beth had managed to steal from the general store. The pain had dulled, your wounds were slowly healing, but the ache in your heart was still fresh, raw from everything that had happened. Arthur had barely left your side the entire time, his presence a constant, quiet comfort, but the words exchanged between you could count on your fingers. The silence between you two was loaded, filled with everything unsaid, with everything that had been tearing at you long before the kidnapping.

The both of you were now in your shared tent, you sat on the edge of the bed absently tracing the edge of an empty tin cup of peaches with your fingers. The room felt suffocating, but you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding this conversation any longer. The memory of those letters, the sight of Arthur and Mary together in Rhodes, his lies. it all still stung, a wound that hadn’t yet healed.

Arthur was seated on the small chair at the foot of the bed, his head hung low, hands toying with the rope that wrapped around his worn hat, face brim as if bracing himself for what was to come. He had watched over you, cared for you, over the past three days but there was a palpable distance between you two now that neither of you could ignore. You could see the lines of worry etched into his face, the guilt that had been gnawing at him for days.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice barely above a whisper “Arthur, we need to talk.”

He looked up at you, his aqua eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something else, something that made your heart ache more at his sight. “I know,” he replied quietly, his voice rough and tired from the last couple sleepless nights. “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what happened, before all this mess.”

You took a deep breath, gathering the strength you needed to confront him, to confront the hurt that had been tearing at your heart. “You lied to me, Arthur. About the letters, about Mary. About everything.”

He winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I thought—I thought if I didn’t tell you, it would hurt less. That it wouldn’t matter, ‘cause it was supposed to be nothin’. But it was a mistake. I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the pain of those memories sharp like the ghost of the tip of the Lemoyne Raider’s knife on your neck. “I saw you two together, Arthur. In Rhodes. You both looked so happy. It felt like, like my worst fears were coming true. Like I was losing you.”

Arthur stood up slowly, taking a tentative step in front of you. His hand reached out, but he stopped mid air, hesitating as if he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “Mary, she just needed help after the passing of her husband. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to and I didn’t have the guts to shut her down. So I helped her. I didn’t want to drag you into it ‘cause I didn’t want you to worry.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for the truth. “But you lied, Arthur. And that hurt more than anything.”

He nodded, his expression pained. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to make things worse between us. But I can see now that I did that anyway by not bein’ honest.” A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, trying to keep your composure. “I love you, Arthur. But I can’t live like this, I can’t live wondering if there’s something you’re not telling me, if there’s a part of you that’s still with her.”

Arthur’s face scrunched with regret. “There ain’t. I swear to you, there ain’t. She’s from another life, a life I walked away from a long time ago. Jt’s you I love darlin’. It’s always been you.”

You looked down at the tin cup in your hands the juice residue sloshing as you toyed with the cup, your fingers trembling with the heavy weight of your next decision. “I don’t know if I can just forget what happened Arthur, it hurt too much.”

He stepped closer, this time his hand gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t expect you to forget. All I’m askin’ you is to try. Try give us another chance. I’ll do better, I swear it. I’ll be honest with you, about everything. No more secrets.”

His touch was warm as his thumb stroked your cheek, comforting you and despite the hurt, you couldn’t deny that bright flame of love that still burned inside of you for him. You met his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the sheer desperation in them. He made a stupid mistake of thinking for you, but he was now acknowledging his mistake, he was willing to try and be a better man for you, a man you could see your future into.

You let your tears fall freely now as you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I want to try, Arthur. I want to believe in you, in us again.”

He kneeled down to your height and held you into his arms, holding you close as you cried against his chest, the tension of the past days finally breaking down. His hand gently stroked your hair, his voice a low murmur of comfort in your ear.

“We’ll make it work, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

#.rira’s posting ౨ৎ ⋆#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead fanfiction

296 notes · View notes

billsbabydoll · 19 days

Text

“𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝒾𝓍𝒶𝒷𝓁ℯ, 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓁𝒹.”

contains:HARSH ANGST+SMUT<3

summary:finally getting sick of bills toxicity and instability, i packed up all of my belongings and planned to “leave him” as i stupidly told myself, only to find myself easily falling back into his same hypnotizing trap.

WARNINGS:abusive relationship, fighting, arguing, manipulation (I DO NOT CONDONE ANYTHING THAT HAPPENS in this story, this story is ONLY for entertainment purposes!!!), very narcissistic and misogynistic bill, hard-dom!bill, dumb-sub!reader, p in v (against the wall), degrading, pet-names, LIGHT choking, heavy breeding kink.

notes:as someone who has experienced theses types of situations firsthand, if you ever do find yourself in these kinds of circumstances please take the initial steps to get yourself out that relationship immediately, youll be fine i promise love ya!

HEAVY THEMES AHEAD!

“yeah go fucking cry about it you sensitive bitch, get the fuck outta’ my face!”bill loudly shouted at me from the living room as i ran and locked myself into our shared bedroom, tears streaming profusely down my cheeks, as i tumbled onto the bed and proceeded to curl myself up into a small pathetic ball.

im tired of living like this, being so isolated, feeling so trapped, being so mentally and physically drained, having to constantly walk around eggshells around him.

me and bills relationship was a perfect fairytale in the beginning, but quickly came burning down in flames and burnt down to pure ashes at his rage.his anger completely undoing every single precious thing he ever once said to me.

every “i love you.” or “i cant wait to start a life with you.” was once a simple loving string of words now being dangled high above over my head as a reminder of his broken promises.

i still cling onto that small glimmer of hope that he could change some-day, that he could love me again, or that he could simply hold me without hurting me.

i lay in my own pity for a long grueling hour before i decide to slowly unraveled myself from my position, gently getting up from the bed, wiping the tears from my eyes telling myself,

“i need to leave,

right now.”

i kick into full panic mode and immediately start changing into a dark colored tracksuit and a comfortable pair of sneakers, then i rummage through our closet grabbing random handfuls of my belongings stuffing my suitcase to the brim.

i quietly creak the bedroom door open and make my way through the dark hallway, my luggage in one hand as i try to rush towards the front door.

“going somewhere babe?”he eerily questioned, his evil presence immediately sending cold chills down my spine.

“i-i-uhm..”i mumbled trying to find some kind of explanation but it was if something was struck in my throat, i looked like a child who just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

“im leaving!”i managed to spit out, slowly turning to face him.

“oh your leaving?”he responded in a cartoonish voice mocking my own,chuckling manically at my response.

he crosses his arms over his chest as he cockily looks me up and down, he then quickly steps forward grabbing me by my chin with his right hand, yanking a fistful of my hair with his left.

“cant you see THIS is the life i promised you honey?you know no-ones ever gonna buy you all those pretty dresses you like wearing f’me, provide for you like i do, or keep a GODDAMN roof over your head like i do!”

what he was saying was true, without him i wouldnt have a single penny to my name. he took care of every expense, he even had me on a monthly allowance but he didnt do anything of it out of the goodness of his heart he rather used it to his advantage knowing hed always win.

“i know i know but, i-im tired of you being like this bill, im sick of it!i swear ill give it all back if thats what you really want!”i nervously murmured, his grip on my chin and hair tightening.

“your such an ungrateful brat, you dont even deserve to be breathing the same air as me, i shouldve just throw you out months ago like the trashy bitch you are.”

he yelled into my face before slamming me against the wall letting go of some of his grip on me as he pulled down his pants and boxers along with my sweatpants and panties.

“you wanna be treated like a worthless whore ill fucking treat you like one then.“

he wrapped one of his arms strongly around my neck keeping me in place, as he teased his cock in between my slicks folds, causing me to softly whimper.

“aww…look at you poor baby, you just wanted some attention huh, want me to fuck you isnt that right?”he purred squeezing my neck firmly in his arm, sliding his length harshyinside my walls.

though i hated to admit it, it truly turned me on how possessive and upset he got when i tried leaving it showed me he still sort-of cared.the fact he still had enough respect to still fuck me was enough to have me eating right out of his palm, anytime he showed me the slightest bit of affection it casted his spell over me all over again.

he continued thrusting his full length inside my cunt, beginning to aggressively pound away, my head banging against the cold wall.

“ugh-i shouldnt even be mmhtouching you right now ungrateful bitch!”he shouted, his free hand slapping my ass sure enough to leave hand prints the next morning.

“f-fuck fuck, im ughh-yours baby!”i moaned out, tears beginning to spill from my eyes, his tip kissing my cervix perfectly.

“das ist r-richtig, mhm!du gehst verdammt noch mal nirgendwo hin(thats right, your not going fucking anywhere),

gonna fill you all up, hopefully y-you get pregnant that way your ugh-stuck with me!”

the sound of our moans combined with the banging on the wall echoing throughout the house, the faint tv not even being enough to cover his disgusting insults and my foul cries.

“b-bill ugh please i c-cant!”

“take my f-fucking cock mm-my little cum slut!”

his hips bucking into mine at an animalistic pace as he urgently chases his release, my walls deliciously clenching around his girth, sending him immediately over the edge.

“scheibe scheibe scheibe(shit shit shit!)”he yelled out suddenly fucking his cock deeper inside my sweet walls, ropes of his seed oozing deep inside my pussy.

“ich w-werde ganz in dir abspritzen du mmh-dumme s-schlampe, ich werde dich mit meinem verdammten baby schwängern(im gonna cum all inside you, stupid slut, im gonna get you pregnant with my baby!)”he adds breeding his cum inside me with a few final thrusts, pulling his length out of me with a loud pop.

bill then releases me from his arm allowing me to slam down onto the floor, pulling his pants up smugly as he knelt down to my level.

“next time im beating the fuck outta’ this was me playing nice, understood? now go make me some dinner before you piss me off again.”

i nod my head instantly at his demands, rubbing the side of my cheek that hit the ground.

“such a good little girl, i love you.” he praised grinning widely down at me before getting back up and walking away from me.

“i love you too.”

and the cycle continues.

THE END.

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz smut #georg listing #gustav schäfer #Spotify

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Note

Omfg I’m in love with your works and just reread the dead disco series. I’ve been stalking the the omegaverse au for updates because I have to know what comes from Simon learning that darling was part of a trafficking ring. Does he tell Johnny? Do they confront darling or wait for her to tell them after her heat? Im on the edge of my seat :D

🖤 takes place after this

18+ MDNI / dead disco omegaverse au / explicit sex - mature themes

The bedroom is dark.

He slips inside, keeping his feet light, trying not to disturb what’s going on in his bed, your bed, Johnny’s. The sound of your moans, soft whimpers fall softly around the room, and you don’t even notice when he eases himself into between the sheets, molding his chest to Johnny, who is laying on his side with his own chest pressed to your back, easing his cock in and out of your body, fingers stroking your clit in a semi circle while you beg with sharp pitched whines.

“Al-Alpha.” You sound off balance. Insecure. And normally, he would bristle at it but now. Now, he knows. Now he understands.

“I know darling, I know.” Johnny’s voice is ragged, but he’s still in control, his mind clear as he tries to soothe the ache of your heat. You want him to fill you, basic instinct and nature taking over your body, your mind, driving you to plead with him as he drives into you over and over.

Simon should be helping. He should be enjoying this, taking over for Johnny, eager to give him a break.

But he can’t. He doesn’t even take off his clothes, just lays there, breathing the scent of you as deep as he can, licking over Johnny’s gland, watching you.

He wants to bite you. Bond you. Right now. Now, more than ever, now that he knows the truth.

“Such a good omega.” He coos, reaching out, brushing a thumb over your gland. “Such a good girl for us. So perfect.” You purr in response, your head turned over your shoulder, seeking. He’s over eager, desperate, to make you feel safe, comfortable. He can’t believe you’ve been suffering with the weight of your secrets for so long and it burns in his soul.

There will be plenty of time to address the lying, but it’s not during your heat. Not when you’re at your most vulnerable.

He’s been working hard to contain the evidence of his discomfort since he made the phone call. He sat in the living room, reading over every detail available while Johnny moved you from the tub to the bedroom, cooing and coddling you as you climb astride him when you hit the mattress.

You tired easily, Simon could hear it in the pitch of your cries, and he closed his eyes, picturing you bouncing atop Johnny’s cock, face flush with pleasure, hips desperately chasing your need.

But the pleasurable image was ripped away when he thought about the reality of what you had been through, what had been done to you.

No wonder you were hiding in the closet. No wonder you tried to run away.

This was your first heat with Alphas since you were taken, abused. Subjected to horrors that he himself hasn’t even witnessed.

He understood in a way, why you never told them. How you must feel about it. But in the same hand, he hates it. Have they not loved you enough? Made you feel safe? Secure?

He lays with a hand on your neck, thumb stroking your gland until Johnny is finishing inside you and your eyes are slipping closed with the heaviness of sleep, the scent of his come and your slick mixing in the air like ambrosia, enough to make him drool.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny’s voice shakes once Simon pulls him free into the kitchen, once they’re sure you’re asleep. He brings him into his arms, nose burying in the overgrown length of the mohawk. “Simon.” The other Alpha snaps, impatient.

“It’s… I spoke to her doctor.” He says quietly, and the blood drains from Johnny’s face. Simon fidgets with the phone screen, pulling up the the email files he downloaded.

“What is it?” Johnny’s whisper is hoarse, and the scent of his panic is rife in air.

“She’s… she’s okay. She’s not sick.” He clears his throat. “It’s- I want you to read this.” Johnny’s expression is grave when he cradles the phone, and Simon keeps him in his arms as he starts to scroll.

Everything is fuzzy.

There’s a hand moving up and down your back, working in big long strokes, smoothing across your skin and over your spine. Your lower belly is twisting, but not intensely so, and you’re laying on something warm. Simon’s chest.

Someone says something, Scottish accent lilting in sweet phrase until you’re blinking faster to try to clear your vision.

“Omega.” Johnny whispers, fingers stroking across your cheek. He’s eye level with you, and your soft purr grinds to a stop when you realize he looks sad. His eyes are heavy with worry, brow creased in the middle just slightly, and you can smell the imbalance of his emotions. Something is wrong.

Panic rises in your throat. It clouds your head again, fear making your hands shake against your body, your lower lip tugging between your teeth. What’s wrong? Why is he upset? What did you do?

“Shhh, shhh.” He soothes, clearing his expression into something calming, unaffected. “Everything’s okay, you’re safe.”

#peaches asks #dead disco omegaverse au #ghost x soap x reader

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builtbybrokenbells · 5 months

Text

Rotten Apple | JTK

Karmic relationships indicate feeling or expressing a passionate response very early on in a relationship. Oftentimes, instant chemistry is mutually felt. Sometimes, the drain of that connection or addiction to a partner is described as exhausting rather than feeling calmly settled in a grounded partnership. (Elizabeth Keohan, LCSW-C, LICSW, LCSW)

Listen while reading: (the entire fic is based off this song so I highly suggest at least reading the lyrics before reading 😁)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16k

Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS BEFORE READING AS THIS STORY COULD BE POTENTIALLY HARMFUL/UPSETTING TO SOME READERS//SMUT 18+, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), sir kink, choking, touch of orgasm denial, dom/sub, possessiveness, jealousy, degradation, name calling, praise, rough sex, toxic themes/relationships, heavy implications/explanations of cheating/infidelity, actual cheating/infidelity, chronic cheaters, gaslighting/manipulative phrases, fighting, arguing, crying, insulting, mentions of bad relationships/relationship trauma, mistresses/home wrecking, self hatred/self sabotage, remorse/regret, depression, anxiety, (lots) angst, (some) fluff, drinking, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

and im back 😙 please tread carefully with this one if any of the aforementioned warnings are personal to you. this definitely isn’t some people’s cup of tea! aside from that, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🤍 (so sorry, very lightly edited. just wanted to get this posted so i can keep going with more stuff 😁) (also another side note, I do not condone cheating at all. was just an idea that sparked some creativity is all)

Innocence is over

Hey ah na na, over

Ignorance is spoken

Hey ah na na, spoken

Confidence is broken

Hey ah na na broken

Sustenance is stolen

Hey ah na na, stolen

Arrogance is potent

Hey ah na na, potent, yeah

“Y/N!” Your name screamed over the busy chatter of the crowd around you, catching your attention and turning your head.

House parties had always been so overrated, and since high school, it seemed the scene hadn’t changed a bit. Even in your late twenties, the spill of alcohol on the floor made your soles sticky and the haze in the air choked you as you breathed. The home you were in was familiar, but certainly not comfortable, and the memories that lived inside the walls were haunting as they flashed before your eyes. The crowd of people around you only made it harder to escape the stalemate remembering had put you in. Still, you pushed a smile on to your face, holding the hand in yours a little tighter as you marched forward toward the greeting.

So many questions flooded your mind as you closed in on the perpetrator of your punishment. You knew they would all be here; they invited you, after all. The text message exuding formalities and lacking substance was the whole reason you stepped foot in the door in the first place, and you knew without a doubt that they would be waiting to greet you soon as you showed.

Well, three of them, anyway.

You swallowed your pride, leading your company through the swarm of bodies. The weaving was tiresome, and you had only just begun navigating your way through an exhausting journey. It was too early to be tired, too soon to be so cynical, yet it was all you could do. Something about the story was too repetitive for you to believe the night would end any differently than you imagined when you received the invitation.

The questions continued to beat against your skull, twisting around the guitar riffs and raspy voices flowing through the speakers in the living room. It made for a violent pair, and your eyes began aching from the pressure behind them. Your body was telling you it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t listen. You had faith that the night would be different, that you would be different, stronger than you were before.

You could turn around, submit to your already guilty conscience and run out the door. You could pretend you never heard your name at all, and more importantly, pretend you never read the message in the first place. You responded too fast to a person who should have been long deleted from your contact list, but if you played the game well enough, you could climb out of the hole you already dug yourself in. You could come out on top of this, you could conquer the world that previously held you back from succeeding. All it took was turning around, leaving, walking away from him.

For some reason, your feet continued forward, neglecting every warning your psyche could give. They carried you far enough that you landed before the person you knew you should walk away from.

No, not the person.

Just the closest one to him.

“Hey, Josh.” His name felt like poison on your tongue, already seeping through the gaps of your teeth and searing holes into the flesh. You could feel the pain deep into your jaw, running down the back of your throat and circling around your neck. The sensation was lethal, but it was addicting. Something about the brothers made you a sucker for the pain. You hated the names now, but you hated yourself more for never having the willpower not to speak them.

“I’m glad you came! I didn’t really think you would message me back.” He confessed, leaping forward and extending his arms outward.

He wanted a hug, innocent and warm, a sure way to greet you with all of the love he still had for you.

To you, it was none of those things. Instead, it served as a reminder of your catastrophic failures and the life you once lived. A life that was painful, ugly and cruel, but still seemed shiny, like a dream you craved to see in your deepest sleep. The person that used to hug Josh Kiszka was not someone you wanted to be, but it was someone you could not escape, someone who only showed herself when she was around him. You could not be around Josh without being near him, too, and for that reason alone you had pinned Josh with his brothers crimes, too.

Still, your arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him closer and torturing yourself with the scent of his cologne. As his arms closed in around you, the anguish of the familiar touch nearly sent you to your knees.

It wasn’t the same, but it was the closest thing to what you truly wanted.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I figured I’d stop by and say hi at least.” You replied, your head still swimming with uncertainty over the interaction. “I should probably be on my way soon, anyway. I can’t stay long.”

“Oh come on, stay a while! Don’t leave yet, you just got here!”

What game was he playing?

He knew the consequences of your presence in their lives, and he was lighting a match that would fuel an unstoppable fire.

“Maybe just for a little while.” You gave a soft smile, hiding your longing for the connection you had so long ago. His words were kind, more generous than they should be, but the weight of your past mistakes were heavy between you.

Maybe that was why you didn’t have the heart to turn him down. Subconsciously, you were stuck in some repetitive cycle of trying to right wrongs you were not fully responsible for.

“Who is this, anyway?” Josh turned to the man standing next to you, eyeing him carefully as he took in the sight before him. His gaze traveled from his face down to his arm, piecing it together once he saw your fingers still interlocked with his.

“This is Cole…” you said, slowly while Josh’s eyes moved back to meet your own. “My boyfriend.” You didn’t need to say the word. The implication was already painfully obvious, and all you did was rub salt in your open wounds.

Why did you bring him with you?

Why did you come at all?

“I see,” Josh grinned, but it was just as fake as your own cheeriness. You were both thinking the same thing, without a doubt for the future when the night came to an end. “It’s nice to meet you, Cole. I’m Josh.” He extended his hand for your new boyfriend to shake, the formality only slightly off putting as Josh’s eyes remained locked with yours.

‘Not tonight, Josh. Not this time.’ You tried to plead with him, silently telling him that tonight would be different than all the ones that came before. ‘It’s different now. You have to believe me.’

He did not, and you could not blame him. You did not even believe yourself.

By the end of the night, your relationship with the boy beside you would be no more. Jake Kiszka would see to that, and your undying desire for him would solidify it. It was a matter of time before you crossed his path, and not long after that would the incessant cycle resume exactly where it left off.

“Nice to meet you man.” Your boyfriend's voice was cheerful, and unlike yours, genuine. If only he knew the hurt he would endure, he would have left long before he ever experienced love at your hands.

No matter how hard you tried, it always ended the same way. No matter who it was, they were never able to compare to the boy who forever stole your heart.

“So how do you two know each other?” Cole asked, looking down at you now. You bit the tip of your tongue, standing stoic for a moment as you tried to come up with a quick lie. Without being too obvious, you tried to silently warn Josh to keep his mouth shut. You should have known better.

You have always known better.

“She’s never told you about Jake?” Josh laughed, finding the notion incredulous. He was too drunk to lie, but it wasn’t like he could ever do it sober. Your cheeks flushed and your eyes pointed towards the floor, feeling your heart jump to your throat and your head begin to ache. The poison of Jake’s name melted your tongue entirely, leaving you wordless and unable to defend yourself.

“Jake?” Your boyfriend asked, wearily speaking the name aloud as if it were a curse he was desperate to avoid. “Your uh… your ex?” He wanted clarification, or assurance that he was wrong, but it was something you could not give to him because he was right.

“Y-yeah.” You choked out, feeling your throat begin to close and air become scarce. “This is his brother.”

Innocence is over

Cole formed a tight-lipped smile, but did not let go of your hand. In an instant, he understood that attending the house party was not a mindless effort at a drunken date. He was not meeting your old friends, and he was not out to have a good time. Instead, the intent ran much deeper, and he was being used in a pissing contest for bragging rights to the ex he had always felt inferior to.

You wanted to assure him it wasn’t like that, but it was, and speaking would get you no further ahead of the game.

Why would Josh tell him? Why would he say it like that, as if Jake was the reason why you were there?

You closed your eyes, silencing your brain for a moment as you digested the truth.

Jake was the reason why you were there, and he was trying to spare Cole the heartbreak.

“He was barely an ex, Cole. You know that.” You spoke, bargaining with the distaste already forming in his heart.

Out of all of the dishonesty you had already dealt, that was the truth. An ex was not what you would classify Jake as, because you barely dated him. In fact, you hadn’t really dated him at all. You spent weeks secluded behind the walls of the very house you stood in now, nights wrapped up in him, tainting his sheets with the smell of your shampoo, but you were never his girlfriend.

You wanted to believe that if you had stayed just a little while longer, gave him a little bit more, maybe you would have been, but holding on to that belief was painful more than it ever served a comfort.

“Right,” he whispered, his hand still in yours. It felt wrong, just like it had the first time he ever held it. Cole never should have been in the middle of this, because he never should have been yours at all. You had no idea why you ever said yes to the title of girlfriend, because you never wanted it, and you had no idea why you invited him here tonight, especially knowing how it would end.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see Jake, I came to see you.” You said, pointing the finger at Josh to get yourself out of the spotlight. “You asked me, remember? What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come to celebrate your new album?” You forced another smile, begging them both to believe that’s why you really showed up. Cole seemed to relax slightly at the sound of your words, but his chest still ached at the idea of being in Jake Kiszka’s house.

Was Josh encouraging you to fall back into old habits? Was Josh playing martyr for a cause that would only hurt everyone in the crossfire?

You could not believe he wanted to see you, because if he missed you so much, he would have shown up at your door. You would have went for coffee or shared dinner like you did so many times before, but instead he invited you to a party hosted by the one man you needed to stay away from.

“The worst.” He joked, playing along with your poor excuses. An awkward silence hung heavy between the the three of you. Nobody knew what to say, because no words could ever turn the conversation to a positive tone.

“Did you want a drink, baby?” Cole asked, looking over his shoulder to the liquor bottles on the kitchen table. You followed his gaze, eager for him to leave you alone so you could pry into Josh’s head.

“Yes, please.” You nodded, giving him a smile.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He said, clearly looking for a way out of the tense situation.

“I’ll be right here.” You promised. He seemed reluctant to leave you, but after a shared glance and silent reassurance, he retreated to the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Josh again, desperate for an answer.

“Why did you invite me, Josh?” You asked, your tone turning grievous in an instant. The sweetness you held seconds before disappeared without a trace.

“He wanted me to.” Josh admitted, giving a shrug of his shoulder. “I didn’t know you’d bring a date.” He continued, his words more accusatory than you liked.

“Is it a crime?”

“When you know the consequences, yeah.” He answered, truthful with his response. “Listen, I’m happy to see you, Y/N. Whatever the fuck happens between you and Jake is none of my business. You’re my friend, and I’m glad you came, but I do think that you should be mindful of him before anything happens.”

“I’m not here to see Jake, Josh. I came because you invited me, because we’re friends. Remember, before all of this shit happened?”

“How could I forget?” He chuckled, thinking back fondly on the memories. Josh had been your friend first, the whole reason you knew Jake at all, but after all of the pain, your friendship with him seemed to get lost in the mess. “As much as I’d like to believe that you’re here to see me, we both know it’s not true.” He paused, thinking carefully before he spoke again. “And as much as I don’t want your new guy to get hurt, it would be nice to see you and Jake catch up, especially after it ended the way it did.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to him, Josh.” You crossed your arms over your chest, accentuating the cleavage in your already skimpy dress. You had picked it with Jake in mind, even if you would never admit it.

“You have lots to say, mama. We all know that.”

With that, a body presented itself beside you again and a drink was being offered to you. You sent Josh a pointed stare, letting the action finish the conversation for good. Josh nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze before walking away.

Cole noticed, and you couldn’t blame him for his questioning gaze, but it did irritate you beyond belief. He was treading in waters too dangerous to survive.

Instead of asking, he opted to keep quiet in fear of the answer he would receive.

Ignorance is spoken

“It’s really nice of you to support Josh like that, even after Jake fucked you over.” Cole said, sending a small smile your way. You took a moment to admire him, his beauty, and his bare-faced stupidity.

“We’ve been friends for a long time. It’s the least I could do.” You shrugged, brushing off his sweet sentiments.

Cole knew you were not there to support Josh, but he was forcing himself to believe it. It was easier for him to digest, thinking that your intentions were friendly and honest. When he focused on the alternative for too long, he thought he would be sick.

Before you could respond, you were pulled into a whirlwind of emotion as your eyes fixated on something within the crowd. In the distance, you saw a flash of familiar brown hair. The sight made your stomach turn and your palms turn clammy.

He wanted you to come.

Josh’s words repeated in your head, making it hard to think of anything else. Jake wanted you there. He asked for you. He knew you would never answer if he asked you himself, because you had never been keen on giving him what he wanted.

That was yours and Jake's biggest problem; you wanted too much from each other, and neither of you had ever been very generous. He wanted more than you could give, and you wanted what he could not provide.

Despite knowing that about yourselves, there was this incessant temptation in both of your minds, forcing you to believe that you were the best the other could ever get, even if it never worked out, and even if all it ever caused was pain.

The familiar head was not pointed in your direction, but you were certain it would be soon. The two of you had an awful attachment to one another, the bond extending into the realm of spirituality and likely even far beyond it. If you walked in a room, he knew, no matter how far away or how invested he was in something else. If you left, your absence hung heavy in the air and haunted him, even if he did not witness you leave. He was completely in tune with you, knowing your next move without you saying a word.

Even if you tried to ignore it, you knew you felt it just the same when it came to his presence and absence.

He was a habit you couldn’t kick, a guilty pleasure and an addiction far more lethal than one to substance. You would search for him in every room, cry out for him and him alone in the darkest nights, and long for his company after he disappeared from sight. His voice was like venom, seeping under your skin and tainting the blood supply the minute it reached your ears. His eyes, easy to get lost in and your definite demise.

He was not good for you, and he never would be, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him. He was the most karmic relationship you’d ever engaged in, punishing you for wrongs you’d committed long before you met him. At the same time, he was making you engage in far more at his hand than you ever believed possible. You didn’t want to want him, but it was impossible to deny. The thought of not needing him was obsolete, because you never knew a moment of peace after he walked into your life.

You could not be with him, and you knew even in the future it would never be in your cards, either. For some reason, even while knowing he was actively ruining your life, you jumped at the chance to love him one more time. You destroyed every opportunity given to you in favor of his twisted agenda, and you did it without regret or second thought. New relationships blossomed after he walked away from you, and failed when he decided to walk your way again. You needed to stay away, to put a boundary in place, but you loved his sin too much to refute it.

You had slowly come to terms with the fact Jake Kiszka would be your kryptonite until you took your dying breath. He was inescapable, and even if you would never truly be his, he would always have a part of you.

No, he would always have all of you, but he would never be yours to keep.

And just like the world ensured it a million times before, the head turned, and the familiar brown eyes seemed to be staring into your soul once more.

You couldn’t run, because he would always find you. You couldn’t run to him, because the boy by your side would know the truth behind the situation you had been trying so hard to keep a handle on. You were stuck, glued to the floor and locked in position until he decided to walk your way.

He was in control, and always had been. Since the moment you met him, you were happy to leave your fate in his hands, blindly trusting a man who only ever did what he could to fuck you over.

You couldn’t see all of his face, but you knew how beautiful he looked despite the crowd standing in his way. You could picture it crystal clear, the pout of his lips and the heavy-lidded eyes filled with lust. You knew the wrinkled furrow of his brow better than anything else in the world, and the softness of his skin and how good it felt under your touch.

As he stared, only his eyes visible to you, you knew he was envisioning all the same things.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Cole asked, his voice concerned. His hand on your back was excruciating, the overwhelming feeling of wrongness growing by the second.

You wanted to tell him, to send him away before he met the same fate as everyone who came before him, yet you couldn’t bear the thought of confessing all of your secrets to him. Some small part of you even believed you could avoid it this time, even whilst you felt the gravitational pull all the way across the room and through the crowd. You wanted to be the good guy and spare him, and you wanted to be the best person and end the cycle, but you knew neither would happen.

There were two reasons why you could not do those things; one being that Jake Kiszka made you into the worst version of yourself, and two, he was walking towards you now with no intent to slow.

“I-I’m okay,” you tried to assure him, but your voice was shaky and your words were weak. It did not take a genius to understand why, and as his eyes moved to look in the same direction of yours, his stomach was sick with fear. He did not know Jake by looks, but he knew you, and he knew that your pompous reaction would not be caused by anything other than him.

“Y/N, let’s go.” Cole said, trying to get you out of the situation before it began, but you were already in his sight, and there was no shying away. The hunter settled on prey, and you could only hope that Jake had enough kindness left in his heart to spare you from the suffering he so often inflicted upon you.

“I-I can’t.” You shook your head, noticing his grip move to your arm. He was trying to force you away, almost as if he knew his fate before it began to unfold.

“The fuck you can’t.” He scoffed, nudging you in the opposite direction of the man approaching you. “Let’s go.” He said again, harsher than the last.

You should listen.

You should leave.

It was too late, anyway. Your choosing of Jake over anyone else was a disaster, but it was something no outward intervention could have possibly changed. It was your own personal law, and when it came to a competition between Jake and anyone else, the contender always lost.

He was in front of you again. Months of static silence and breaking hearts, months of longing and yearning for something you could not have, finally came to a bitter end. It had been so long since you were face to face with Jake that you almost managed to forget how intoxicating his aura was. Almost, being the key word, because deep down you knew you would never forget a thing about him.

“Long time no see, sweetheart.” His voice was like liquid gold, washing down over you and curing any ailment that plagued you. The pout of his lip had only become more irresistible, and his chocolate coloured irises locked you in for eternity. Even if you wanted to leave, you knew it to be impossible.

“Could have kept it that way.” You replied, your lips turning down into a slight frown. Your eyes, though, told a much different story that he was quite privy to. You were good at keeping the feelings between the two of you a secret to anyone looking in, but inside, you were dying for him to touch you. Just once, just for a second so you could ascend to heaven again. It was a feeling only he could give, and you had been deprived of it for a long time, constantly in search of the high since his absence began.

“Right,” he chuckled, remembering your snarky tone all too well. “That’s why you came to my house? To bitch at me for saying hi?” His words were evil, and so was his tone, but you nearly went weak in the knees hearing the domineering voice once again. His eyes held emotion different from the venom of his words, and you could feel how thrilled he was to see you again.

“It wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t bitching at you for something, Jacob.” You reminded, keeping your expression stony so he could not use anything to his advantage.

“Of course, angel. It’s what I love most about you.” He smirked, nodding in agreement. You noticed his eyes flicker to the man beside you, the one holding your arm so tightly in hopes he could pull you away. Jake bit back a bigger smile, knowing there was nothing strong enough in the world to pull you away from him.

His black dress shirt was held together by the bottom three buttons. A fitted suit jacket was settled neatly atop it, but it was not screaming anything overly fancy. The cheap necklaces around his neck dumbed down the expensive clothing, but you cursed how remarkably well it worked together. His dress pants hugged his hips, and the tanned skin of his chest held your attention. It was not the clothes that sent you mad, but the fact you had before studied the beautiful intricacies that lie beneath.

“Are you going to introduce me to your little friend?” He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, raising his eyebrow in inquiry.

Little was a term he used only to assert his dominance. Cole stood heads taller, and his shoulders were much wider, but in the moment, Jake appeared much bigger than the man beside you. His ego was so large that it left no space in the room for anyone else, and his confidence made Cole pale in comparison to him.

“Boyfriend.” Cole corrected, his jaw clenched and his grip on you growing tighter by the minute. At that, Jake laughed out loud, unable to hold his feelings on the matter. Cole swallowed back the bitter taste it left in his mouth, but opted not to respond.

“Okay.” Jake nodded, looking back to you for clarification. “Your boyfriend.” He reworded his question, putting emphasis on the term and making it painfully apparent he had no interest in talking to Cole at all.

“This is Cole.” Was all you said, your nostrils flaring slightly at Jake’s egotistical expression. As much as you craved for him to touch you, you weren’t blind to his abhorrent tendency towards cockiness.

“You move on quick, sweetheart.” He noted, glancing back at the other man for a moment. You scowled at his willingness to shame you for dating another when he was the one who drove you to it in the first place. Before you could comment on his misplaced belief, a blonde haired woman appeared beside him, making the situation all the more tense. You forced a smile on your lips, watching closely as she clumsily grabbed his arm, claiming her territory without a trace of humility.

“Seems like you do, too.” You shot back, biting down on the tip of your tongue hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste filled your senses, but the pain did nothing to deter the rise of anger in your chest.

She did not say a word, but she did not have to. She was the same to Jake as Cole was to you: a placeholder.

As much as you were a victim to Jake, he was just the same to you.

You moved on, found another to replace the hole he left in you when he walked away. He found her, hoping she would feel as good in his arms as you did, but she could never give him the same thing. She could try until the end of time, but both of you knew she could never come close.

“Was nice seeing you, Y/N. Don’t be a stranger.” His words were equal to a dismissal of the conversation, but his eyes spoke something completely different. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. He approached you with intent to start anew, and he would see through to it no matter who got caught in the crossfire.

He slung a lazy arm around her waist, giving you a subtle wink before pulling her off in the same direction they came.

You thought you were going to be sick, your entire body aching with the knowledge he was touching someone other than you. You wondered if you loving someone else plagued him with the same illness, or if he viewed it as a game. You constantly feared that he did not feel for you what you felt for him, but you’d always been too afraid to ask.

“What a fucking douchebag.” Cole muttered, only loosening his grip on you after Jake was out of sight. As he let go, you raised your opposite hand to the same spot, rubbing the sore skin where his fingers rested moments before.

“He’s not that bad, Cole.” The defense slipped out without a second thought, and his misplaced confidence was shattered entirely. You looked up at his face, wide eyed and regretful of your words, but the damage was done and a fight was unavoidable.

Confidence is broken

“Not that bad?” He echoed, practically scoffing the words out.

“Yeah, Cole. Not that bad.” You repeated, rolling your eyes. “He’s full of himself, yeah, but when you get to know him, he’s actually got a pretty good heart.”

“Good enough heart to fuck someone else in your bed?” He questioned, remembering the tearful stories you had told after too much wine. Your expression dropped, your heart plummeting to your stomach as you were forced into a memory you were committed to forgetting. “Did you actually come here to see him?”

“Yeah, he’s an alright person, but a shitty fucking boyfriend.” You nodded, swallowing back the lump forming in your throat. “Which is why I’m dating you, and not him.” You clarified, averting your gaze to the ground. “No, I didn’t come here to fucking see him, Cole.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered, realizing his harsh words were not needed.

At the same time, they were. You were playing the victim to avoid being the bad guy. You hated being the bad guy, and when it came to Jake, you couldn’t seem to escape the title.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You forced the words through your teeth, feeling the whirlwind of memories wash over you like acid rain. Your skin burned as they continued to flow, and you knew that you would die before you could ever outrun them.

“Babe, come on.” He pleaded, reaching out for your shoulder to hold you in place. You shook him off as soon as his fingers connected with your body, stepping away without a second thought.

Without any regret, you left him amidst the swarm of people in the house of your ex whom you knew you’d end up in bed with by the end of the night.

Even though the thought normally settled your upset stomach, not even the promise of sex with Jake could cure the sickness that washed over you. Remembering was the biggest curse of your entire relationship, and unfortunately for you, most of your relationship was remembering. You went without him more often than you were with him, and even the sweetest of memories were tainted with sins and sourness.

You navigated your way to the bathroom blind, your sight ridden with pictures of Jake shirtless in your bed, and worst of all, shirtless in bed with someone else.

If not for you knowing the house so well, you would have gotten lost in the endless sea of flashbacks.

From the very beginning, yours and Jake’s relationship was bound to fail. It began from lies and deceit, and it would carry on the same way until the next bitter end.

“And this is my twin brother, Jake, and his girlfriend, Suzanne.”

“You can call me Suz,” she flashed you a breathtaking smile, extending her arm towards you.

You barely registered her hand in your face, nor her friendly introduction, because you were too busy gawking at the blinding beauty of the long haired man beside her. You cleared your throat, swallowing hard and blinking twice to bring yourself back to reality. Even as you reached to shake her hand, you were unable to focus on her. As disrespectful as it was, even if it was her boyfriend, he was someone who was meant to be admired.

Plus, his wandering eyes and lustful gaze made it all the more easy to completely discredit the woman offering you her kindness.

Of course, it started that night. It started the minute his eyes locked with your own, like an unavoidable omen of the horror you would soon endure. The connection was instantaneous, and the desire followed not far behind. Although you didn’t sleep with Jake the first night you met him, you were no better than a mistress without ever taking your clothes off.

It started with lustful glances, then came the flirting in secrecy. Within days, he was going out of his way to catch you in the hallway or alone in a room to profess his affection for you. Weeks after that, the touching began, slowly but surely. It started with a lingering hand on your back, or hugs that never should have been initiated at all. Then, his hands drifted closer to your hips, and even worse, your ass. The hugs lasted far too long, and his lips treaded dangerously close to your skin.

You hated thinking about what you did to that poor woman, the tearful eyes as she berated the two of you as one. She was kind, she was beautiful, and she deserved better, but Jake Kiszka had always been too much to resist. Now, he was a habit you could not kick.

Over the years, the women became countless, and then men from your relationships, too. Everyone else saw that you could never keep a relationship, but it ran far deeper than that. You did exceptionally well at hiding your affections, and even better at hiding your betrayals. Jake and you never felt the desire to commit to one another, so instead you ruined other people while you committed to your relationship in every way other than officially. You did not intend to hurt so many people, and you never planned to betray others on behalf of each other, but it always seemed to happen no matter how hard you tried to stay away.

And then one day, the two of you had enough. You had lost too much humanity on your endless quest to be with each other, sacrificing too many people in the process. You decided to try, to be with each other in an honest and sincere way, just to make the world a little bit better for each other. You wanted to love each other openly, without anything or anyone standing in the way.

But, you didn’t want to be in a relationship.

Exclusivity was agreed upon, but labels were tossed in the garbage. The two of you convinced yourselves you were happy with the arrangement, and for a while, you truly were. At first, you kept it very quiet. You went on dates and stayed the night at each others houses, but only rarely. Most of the time, it was quick hookups whenever you had the opportunity to do so.

Then, things changed, and in his opinion, for the worst.

Both of you fell in love, completely and utterly, without question or care. Your apartment was forgotten after weeks of you staying in his bed. You shared meals together, sat outside on the porch and watched sunsets and sunrises, and said I love you in every action, but never aloud. Jake was indefinitely intertwined in your life in every way possible, and you were happy with it, until he said the dreaded ‘L’ word aloud.

It slipped out, carefully and quietly while you laid in his lap on the couch, watching reruns of your favourite shows. At first, you thought you misheard him, but the silence that hung in the air told you the truth about his words.

You loved him too, and you cursed yourself for not being able to say it back. You thought that it was too much too soon, despite living with love surrounding you constantly. It scared you, and you reacted with fear, even with your heart screaming at you to stop.

You didn’t say it back, because you neglected labels and thought it was not possible to be in love because of that. And, true, genuine love scared the absolute shit out of you.

It scared him too, but he seemed to harness more courage in that moment than you had in your entire life. Instead of applauding him for it, you effectively slapped him in the face.

For a few days, things carried on like normal, but you could notice the tension in the air. Every day, you could tell he waited to hear it, that he needed you to say it back, but it never came. After a while, he began to pull away, showing the old Jake that made you fall in lust with him in the first place. There were no more shared meals, and definitely no more sunset gazing. The television was off more often than it was on, and the blankets on the couch remained neatly folded on the back. The bed felt empty, even when both of you lied in it, because the distance between you two grew larger by the day.

But the sex?

It was better than it had ever been.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him too, but you were so paralyzed with fear that the word got stuck in your throat every time you tried to speak. Instead, you let him distance himself, knowing you’d already pushed him too far away. You continued to fall more in love with him, and he forced himself to fall out of love.

Then, you came home to him in bed, but he was not waiting for you. Instead of anticipating your arrival, so you could live as roommates rather than lovers, you found him wrapped up in another woman who gave him more than you could in the moment.

It was tearful, angry, and loud. Things were thrown, shattered on the floor, and your throat was raw from belittling the man you had only ever wanted to love.

You had finally gotten the karma you had rightfully deserved, and you finally understood the horrible pain you had inflicted on so many others.

The story finally ended the same way it started, but the two of you never recovered.

You moved out, but you were never able to rid yourself of Jake Kiszka. Intermittently, drunken and sad, you’d show up at each others doorstep and give in to your needs once more. He hated himself for hurting you, and you hated yourself for letting it get to that point. Blame was abundant, and regret plentiful, but one thing never changed; the fact that you two never fully fell out of love.

Too fearful of hurting each other the same way again, you fell back into old habits. You and Jake could never commit to each other, but could never stop loving one another enough to put an end to your toxic ways and commit to someone else. The second time around, it was much more difficult, and a lot messier. Your secret-keeping abilities had greatly decreased, and worst of all, everybody knew how you felt about each other.

When he left for his last tour, ready to release a new album and move forward in his career, you took it upon yourself to try and end the curse indefinitely. You blocked his number, removed him from your life in the most brutal ways possible, and you never spoke to him again. You vowed to start over, to be better, to love someone properly without the memory of Jake Kiszka tainting it before it could begin, and you did well.

For a while, at least. Until Josh sent you the damned message that landed you at his house that night.

With a boyfriend who you’d been with for long enough to take a bigger step, you crawled back to Jake like a dog who’d been lost without him. All it took was a single glance, and you knew Cole would meet the same fate of so many others, and you would meet the same fate that would inevitably ruin your life.

Your hands gripped the countertop of the bathroom tightly, holding yourself upright as the grief did all it could to break your bones. Your chest was heavy, your heart aching and your mind overrun with thoughts of a man you could never fully comprehend. He hurt you, and you hurt him, but never enough to put a stop to it for good. There was something deeper, something so incomprehensibly strong tying your souls together, even if you wanted to sever the bond. You could run to the ends of the earth, away from him and all of the mistrust and deceit the two of you had created, but you knew you would run so far that you would end up behind him, whispering in his ear as you pleaded to start anew.

You looked up at the mirror, trying to understand the woman staring back at you. She was a stranger, a shell of the woman who existed before meeting Jake. She was barren, cold, and tired. She wanted to love, but could not love anyone other than him, no matter how hard she tried. The bathroom door was cracked open ever so slightly, the glow of the hallway light illuminating your tired features, only worsening the sorrow you had for your former self.

As if on cue, the door creaked open by the push of a hand. The yellow glow of the lightbulbs were blocked by a body, casting a shadow over the already dim room. You did not need to look to know who it was; you could feel his presence without ever seeing his face, and it was just as beautiful as you remembered.

No matter how much you hated yourself for the relentless cruelty you inflicted and endured, it could never amount to the love you held for him in your heart.

“What are you doing up here, all by yourself?” The words were sickly sweet, settling in your spine and relieving you of all the tension that gathered over the course of the night. Without even looking at his face, you felt yourself stepping towards him, gravitating to the one thing that continually held you to the earth.

Jake closed the bathroom door behind him, locking the two of you inside together, looking at your sad expression with the utmost regret in his heart.

If only he could do it right, to take back all of the wrongs that got you to where you were, he would do it in a heartbeat, for you.

But you had always been better off as a dirty little secret, and he made a much better whore than he did a lover.

“Waiting for you to come and find me.” You quipped back, covering the sadness in your eyes with a soft smile. He stepped towards you, meeting you in the middle. He reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he gazed down over your face.

“You look like a fucking whore.” He rasped, his voice quiet but not hateful. His eyes raked over your body, taking in your low cut dress revealing more of you than he’d seen in a long time. His hand dropped from your face entirely, instead reaching forward and anchoring itself on your hip.

You leaned closer, your painted lips barely hovering over his own. The warmth of his breath on your skin was enough to make you forget about your sadness, and any remorse for your actions fled the minute he touched you.

“You don’t like it?” You asked, pushing your bottom lip into a pout. It grazed his own, sending a rush of emotion straight through the both of you. In an instant, you were one again, two bodies combined into a single entity after being forced apart.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head ever so slightly at your dramatics. “You know better than that.” His other hand rose, settling on the back of your neck. The pressure of his hand on the base of your skull caused your head to tilt upwards towards his just a little more, just enough for him to see your eyes. “I love it.”

“Did you miss me, baby?” You asked, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him alone. His cologne was suffocating, but it was so delicious that it helped you forget about the dying itself.

“Do I have to answer that?” He smirked, his body nearly completely pressed into your own. The space between you was non-existent, blatantly showcasing your lack of growth during your time apart.

Sustenance is stolen

“No, because I know you did.” Before the words even left your tongue, his lips were on yours in a heated reunion.

The sensation was euphoric, something you’d been searching for without ever realizing it. The whine that rattled your chest sent a shiver down his spine, only encouraging his bad behavior further. He drank in the sound like a man dying of thirst, desperate for a drop of anything you could give him. You were the only woman in the world who could do such things to him, and despite pledging to stay away, the two of you would always end up in each other's arms. Whether it be morally right, or morally wrong, his arms were where you were always meant to be.

In an instant, you were no longer the woman who came to the party with a boyfriend who treated her well. That title was ripped from you, stolen from his grasp in exchange for a single moment alone with the man who forever plagued your mind. Just like every man before, he stole you from him like a thief in the night, never satisfied unless he could make you his own again. He knew the love you gave was addicting, and anyone who received it was dependent upon it. He did not commit such thievery for any reason unjust, but because he remembered the effect of your affections so well. Without you, he thought he would die, and because of that, he was willing to sacrifice any other man’s life so he could survive off your love alone.

The taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue, making the moment all the more enticing. His touch was burning, but only ever pleasantly. Right and wrong did not exist; only he did, and you submitted to the knowledge that you lived solely to be his. You were not cut out to be a wife for a man who had his life together, and you were not meant to mother a child or start a family with a man who earned his keep honestly and loved sincerely. You were a mortal being who’s soul had been blackened with lust for an entity with more power than you could comprehend. You were born to play Jake’s twisted game, and over time, you had grown happy to be a part of it.

You were a whore, but only he knew how to pry that out of you. His words were laced with poison, his tongue made of opiate, his touch of ecstasy, and every action completed with intention to kill. You would not commit the crimes for another, because there was nobody else worth the effort.

“Taste just as sweet as I remember, Angel.” He withdrew a long breath, parting from you for just long enough to utter the praise.

“So good you couldn’t stay away.” You whispered, wishing he would kiss you again. It had been so long since you experienced such pleasure that you thought you might die without it.

“I can never stay away from you, sweetness.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and in his defense, it was.

He backed you up against the countertop, locking you in place with his hips. As he leaned his top half towards you, you leaned backwards to allow him easier access. His lips landed on the side of your neck, his kiss gentle and nowhere near what you remembered of him.

For a second, you let yourself believe there was some kind of sentiment behind his action, like he still cared and wanted to appreciate having you again.

Then, you pushed the thought from your head. The worst thing you could do to yourself was imagine that Jake cared about you, even if it was true.

His mouth traveled downward, drifting over the column of your neck and brushing over your collarbone. His tongue trailed over the soft skin, reminding himself of all he missed out on while he was gone. He was a man gone mad, driven to insanity just from the taste of you on his tongue. As tempted as he was to leave a mark behind, to claim territory that had always rightfully been his, he knew he couldn’t. He did not want to make the fallout any worse than it needed to be.

Instead of showing his true feelings, he spoke it into existence as an insult, inadvertently begging for you to validate his feelings on the matter.

“What would your little boyfriend think of you now?” He muttered, his face buried in your chest as his mouth ghosted over every available inch of skin. The hum of his voice against your body made you weak in the knees, but his words plagued you with guilt. You were not the person to get off on infidelity; in fact, before you met Jake, you despised it. You were not sleeping with him for any twisted desires or hidden kinks, but because you loved him too desperately to walk away. You would take him any way you could have him, even if it was despicable.

“The same as your girlfriend would think about you.” You reminded him, assuring he knew you were not the only one at fault. Your tone was breathy, your heart thudding against your ribs as his hands scoured your thighs. His fingertips settling just below the hem of the skirt, begging to go further but waiting for your permission.

“As if I’d ask her to be my girlfriend.” He scoffed, revolted just at the thought of it. His hands trailed higher, in search of the seam of your underwear. He seemed to freeze in place, his fingers inspecting your hips underneath the cool fabric of your dress. Slowly, his head raised from your chest, looking up at your face with a wondrous twinkle in his eye. He could not find what he was looking for, because they did not exist. His hands felt only the softness of your skin, without barrier as he smirked up at your rosy cheeks. “For me, sweetheart?”

“It’s always for you, Jake.” You averted your eyes, an unfamiliar feeling burning in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure why you were so sheepish of the fact; both of you knew it all too well.

“You’re too good to me, angel.” He commended your efforts to please him only because they worked so well. He bunched the skirt of your dress in his hands, pushing it up past your hips to reveal your lack of underwear. The sight of you exposed in front of him was nearly too much for him to bear, but he persevered through the abundance of lust he felt for you in hopes of drawing the reunion out a little longer.

His fingers slipped between your legs, pushing them apart so he could continue his tyranny without interruption. You watched him closely, inspecting every move as if you needed it to survive. In some sick way, you did. You felt as though if you were deprived of his touch for too long, you would succumb to death and waste away to nothingness. His touch hovered above your heat, but he was unwilling to give you what you wanted so easily.

How foolish of you to believe that Jake would be kind, even after such a long absence.

“Please touch me, Jake. Waited so fucking long.” You whined, looking down at his hand between your thighs, taunting you with the power you knew he possessed.

“Oh no, sweetheart.” He shook his head, chucking at your neediness. “You don’t get to call the shots.” He said, his eyes flickering up to meet your own. “You left, remember? You blocked my number and went off and found someone else to take my place. You don’t get to complain about it after you finally decided to come back.”

Arrogance is potent

Oh, so he was mad. Good thing for him, you could play that game, too.

“Quit it with the fucking pity party, Jacob. We both know you’re not innocent, either.” From sweet to sour in a second, your entire demeanor changed in response to his ridiculous claims.

“You should see yourself.” He smirked, moving his hand a little closer to your aching cunt, but not close enough to touch you, yet. “Just as desperate as you were the last time I saw you, still so eager to be fucked while your boyfriend waits for you downstairs.” He spit the word as if it were a bitter taste on his tongue, easily telling you that the old game of cat and mouse had changed. He was going to fuck you, but he was angry that you had tried to move on despite him doing the exact same thing.

“Oh, you poor thing.” You seethed, feeling the rise of anger begin to take over your body, too.

Clearly, leaving silently had deprived you of the release you so desperately needed. There were too many loose ends, too much emotion hanging heavy on the both of you. You had waited nearly a year to get it all out, a year of suffering before you could even begin to release some of the pain you locked up so securely in your heart.

“Don’t tell me your feelings are hurt, Jacob.” You raised an eyebrow, condemning him for feeling any kind of sorrow over your new relationship.

“Over you? As if.” He sneered, the momentary sweetness from earlier fleeing him completely. Touching you again was euphoric, telling of all he still felt of you, and he didn’t mind letting you know he missed you. Unfortunately, it brought up a whole other whirlwind of emotions that were far less appealing.

“Still doing whatever you can to convince yourself you don’t care about me, hmm?” You snipped, taking the opportunity to slide your dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed before him. “We both know why you’re upset, Jake, and it’s not because you don’t care.”

His hands shot to your hips, lifting you on the counter and setting you down on the cool surface. Now that you were locked in, his own body ensuring you could not run, his hand was between your legs again and finally connected with your cunt.

“What is it then, if you think you fucking know everything?” His fingers sliding through your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips and circling around your clit made it hard to respond. The feeling was so grand, even if the action was small. It was something you’d been waiting for since he got on the plane that flew him away from you, severing the twisted ties that held you two together.

The most harrowing revelation came when you understood that it was even better than you remembered it to be.

“You’re j-jealous, Jacob. Just fucking say it.” You spat between waves of pleasure, looking down at his face with a distasteful look in your eye. He was silent for a moment, opting to watch his hand working at your cunt instead of responding to your accusations. Eventually, after an unusually long bout of silence from him, his eyes flickered back to your face.

Without him saying a word, you knew you hit the nail straight on the head.

“You think it was nice to see that you found someone to take my place after I was gone?” He whispered, his tone dangerously low. “That he’s been taking up space in your bed where I used to sleep?” He growled, the curl of his lip resembling him as more of a wild animal than a man who had been hurting on your behalf. He raised his other hand to your neck, the back of his fingers gently caressing the side of it as he let his words sink in. “Do you think I liked the way he was touching you, like he was protecting his territory? Like you haven’t always been mine?” The possessive claim caused you to clench around nothing, desperate for anything more than he was giving you.

His fingers closed around your neck, the grip loose but foreshadowing of all that was to come. His face was close to yours, so close that the tip of his nose brushed against your burning cheeks and his lips were ghosting over your own.

“Answer me.” He whispered, letting his middle finger slide down to your entrance, feeling his way through the arousal he was responsible for.

“No, sir.” You shook your head, almost finding yourself sympathetic for the pain he was masking with his cruel words.

“So why did you bring him here, sweetheart? To rub it in my face? To piss me off?” He asked, slipping his finger inside you and letting his thumb drift over your clit. He began a steady pace, clearly getting himself worked up as he made a point to berate you for your decisions. “Did you want me to get jealous so I would start a fight with him and show everyone how much I fucking care about you?”

“N-no, sir.” You whimpered, feeling the flutter of an orgasm begin to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The curl of his fingers was addicting, and with every pump of his hand he was hitting the sweet spot inside you only he knew how to find.

“Don’t lie to me, baby.” He said, his fingers tightening around your neck a little further. He wasn’t ready to take it all the way, because he wanted to hear the truth before anything else. “You’re a little attention whore, and you wanted me to tell everyone out there that you’re mine. That’s all you ever fucking wanted, right? To be mine, and for everyone to know it?” The conversation was taking a dark turn, but you were too needy to complain about it. You thought if you kept talking, telling him what he wanted to hear, he would give you what you needed.

You were too stupid to realize you were only digging yourself a deeper hole, and the one you were already in was much too steep to climb out of.

“Yes, Jake. I did. That’s all I wanted.” You nodded, hoping he could feel your sincerity. You were not lying, because it was all you ever wanted. To be his and his alone was what you craved, with no one standing between you and no more secrets.

“So instead of telling me that, what did you do?” He snarled, moving his fingers a little faster. The change in pace caused your whole body to quiver. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and your mind was consumed with him entirely. He wanted you to confess, to tell him you understood the mistakes you made and atone for your sins. He needed it more than he ever needed anything else in his entire life.

“I-I left,” you choked out, feeling his fingers tighten on your pulse-point. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears, so powerful it was pulsing behind your eyes. “I was scared. I was too scared to say it, Jake.” You wheezed out, feeling your head begin to swirl from the pleasure and the lack of blood flow.

“Yeah, you fucking left. You were too scared to say it, so you left me to feel like an idiot for saying it first.” You were no longer speaking of the significant others you had left downstairs, nor your absence in the months prior. He was talking about that same dreaded instance that replayed in your mind every single day.

He was talking about it.

Aloud, he spoke the words, for the first time since the war began.

“M’so sorry, Jake.” You pleaded, feeling so strung out that the apology seemed misplaced. Recounting your mistakes did not seem fitting with his fingers inside of you and an orgasm threatening you. “I felt it too. I should have said it.”

“But you didn’t. You never fucking did, because you only ever cared about yourself.” Your eyes shot open, suddenly being pulled from the euphoria taking over your entire body. Your nostrils flared, your pupils blazing with a fire that only he knew how to ignite. He knew he struck a nerve, but it was exactly what he was intending to do.

“You fucked someone else in our bed.” You seethed, your words weak from his palm pressing against your trachea. Even in your rage, your hips moved down on his hand in search for more.

Just like always, sex was the most important thing to both of you.

“Instead of talking to me, you fucked someone else and tried to play the victim!” Your words were stronger now, fighting against his power with ease.

You were the only person in the world who ever had enough courage to challenge him.

“I guess we finally got what was coming to us, then.” He muttered, scowling at the thought of the pain you two caused each other, scowling at pain you’d caused so many others. “You still haven’t learned your lesson, because you’re back here begging for more, doing the same thing to him.”

“You don’t get to chastise me when you’re doing the same thing.” You spat, enraged at his self-righteous response.

“I never said I was any fucking better, sweetheart.” He reminded you, a small, sick smile toying at the corners of his lips. As angry as you were, and as much as your chest ached, you still knew you couldn’t walk away from him. You were destined to want Jake in the most despicable and destructive ways until the very end. The only comfort was that you knew he was destined for the same fate.

Without removing his hand from your throat, he moved forward and captured you in a kiss, sealing the evil you spewed within you forever. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, your need for him animalistic and unnatural even after his cruel treatment. The only reason it did not bother you was because you knew you deserved it.

As he kissed you, his hand continued working at your cunt, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm with great ease. You let out a moan into his mouth, giving him a taste of the pleasure he was granting you. He drew in a sharp breath, the sound settling deep somewhere in his soul and making home there for eternity.

He parted from you, but not because he wanted to. He would kiss you until his lips turned blue and his lungs collapsed, happy to die at your hands. He broke away because of need, and one that much much stronger than his urge to kiss you. His grip loosened around your neck and his hand dropped to your hip. He withdrew his fingers from you, causing you to let out a hiss of displeasure at the sudden loss of the orgasm he was so close to giving you.

Before you could get a complaint out, he dropped to his knees before you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. He guided one leg over his shoulder, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh as an apology for his sudden change in pace. At the knowledge of his next move, you were all but upset with his decision.

“Oh, fuck.” You groaned, your head falling backwards as his tongue connected with your clit. Your hand reached for his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue ran through your folds.

The sweetness of your arousal was something he’d missed so dearly, something he could never find from another. It was more addicting than any substance and it was the very reason he could get himself out of bed in the morning. Being with you in such an intimate manner was the only reason his heart continued to beat, and the only thing he continued living for. His tongue circled your clit, continuing his torment in a whole new way.

With just a single swirl of his tongue, you felt like screaming his name, just to tell the whole world how good he could make you feel. It was almost comical, how you searched far and wide for someone who could make you feel a shred of what he could, and nobody could even come close to him. Your whole body had been begging for him since you stepped foot into the familiar home, and now that you had him, it still wasn’t enough. You needed everything all at once, things he could not give to you and things you could never ask for. You needed Jake far beyond any other person, and far beyond what was possible from him.

You needed him to be more than a dirty secret, a betrayal of trust in a bathroom at a house party. You needed him to be yours, but you knew he would never be.

Your desperation was immeasurable, and your entire body was aching for the orgasm he previously denied you of. It was a terrible feeling to have, knowing that your life was completely in his hands. Whatever he decided to do with it, you would go along happily so long as it pleased him. It was a terrible thing to know you would never truly belong to yourself, even if Jake was long gone from the world.

He was living for your shallow breathing, surviving off of your choked moans. Pleasing you was his favorite thing to do, even if he hated you in the moment. There was something so gratifying about his name on your tongue, and something so beautiful about how easy it was to make you feel good. He tried his best to ignore the incessant thoughts in his head about another man touching you the same way, about someone else believing that you were theirs.

Both of you knew you were Jake’s, and he was undeniably yours. The facade you put on and the games you played with others were just that; the only thing either one of you knew to be real was the way you felt for each other. It was painful, harmful and frustrating for the two of you to constantly avoid the way your hearts felt for each other, but it was all you knew. It made more sense for the two of you to deny and lie about your feelings than it ever did to fess up.

He pulled away from you, catching his breath as he looked up at your face from between your legs. “Come on, angel. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” He hummed, moving his thumb over your clit so he did not lose the momentum.

“You want to hear it, baby?” You breathed, looking down at him through your lashes. “Did you miss it?”

“Dreamt of it every goddamn night.” He said as a matter of fact. You let out a whine at the sound of his words, pushed even closer to the edge at the knowledge he thought of you just as much as you thought of him.

You were in no position to deny him anything, because he was giving you the entire world. As he leaned forward, his mouth connecting with your core once again, you let a long slur of curses fall from your lips. The moan that followed could only be classified as pornographic, carrying through the door and echoing into the hallway for everyone to hear.

He was doing exactly as you wanted; he was making it so the entire house could hear how much you meant to him, even if it was not in the way you so badly wanted from him. Still, it was enough to keep you on his hook, and that was the very thing he wanted to ensure.

“God, feels so fucking good, Jake.” You gasped, feeling your abdomen tense with a particularly strong wave of pleasure. He hummed against you, speaking encouragement for the show you were putting on for him.

You knew if he continued on like such, it would not be long until you descended into an orgasm. He was waiting, just as desperate as you were to feel you let the pleasure take hold. He brought his fingers to your entrance, slipping his middle and index finger inside of you to add to the sensation. You inhaled a sharp breath, feeling the curl of his fingers hit the same spot he found so easily just moments before.

“Fuck,” you hissed, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as the knot in your belly threatened to snap. At the familiar sound, he took it upon himself to suction his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, adding more pressure to the already otherworldly feeling. Your grip tightened in his hair and your entire body was rigid as it prepared to be pushed over the edge. “Oh god,” you cried, your throat raw from the primal sound that tore through you.

Had his mouth not been so intently focused on you, you knew how sweetly he would have talked you through it. No matter how vicious or volatile he spoke to you, he never missed out on the opportunity to coddle you as you came. It was his favorite thing in the entire world, an excuse to show you the softness his heart had for you when he usually felt like he needed to keep it hidden. He continued pumping his fingers and moving his tongue, guiding you through the high with expert precision. As he noticed you relax against him, he tapered off his movements before pulling away completely.

He rose to his feet, already tossing his belt on the floor before he was even upright. Your mind was still swirling with the lingering euphoria, your skin electrified and your heart pounding in your chest. You watched him, wordless as he unbuttoned his pants after he threw his shirt to the ground alongside his belt. He freed himself from his boxers, the sight of him nearly too much for you to handle. You missed him so dearly and needed him so badly.

He stepped forward, landing between your legs as he gazed down at you. His lust-blown pupils turned his eyes near black, and he was aching for relief just like you had been minutes before. “I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Say what?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He gave you a soft smile, void of any malice for a moment. He wanted to admire you beneath him, so desperate to have him. He wanted to enjoy the beauty of your heart being his despite being promised to someone else.

“You were just as jealous as I was, angel.” He said, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. You put all your trust in him, knowing that if he faltered, you might fall to the floor.

“So what?” You huffed, your cheeks turning red at his accusations. He smiled down at you, moving his hips forward ever so slightly. The tip of his cock rested against your entrance, already wet with your arousal.

“Do you really think I’d give her half of what I give you? That she means nearly as much to me as you do?” He questioned, his grip loosening slightly now that he had you in the position he wanted.

“No, baby.” You shook your head, wondering if tonight would be the night that things would change. “I know that.”

“You know she has nothing on you, beautiful.” His hand trailed up your side, the light touch tickling your skin as his fingers drifted over your stomach. “Nobody does.”

With that, his sweet sentiments had come to an end. He slammed his hips forward, the size of him coming as a surprise and filling you completely. A gasp left your lips as your tried to recover from the shock and adjust to him again, realizing that in the time spent away from him, nobody felt as fulfilling as he did.

To him, no one could compare, either.

“That’s it, gorgeous.” He muttered, clearly strung out from the pleasure too. In just a moment, he was back where he was all of those months ago, in love with you and desperate to hear you say it back. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

His praise was exhilarating, and his love was blissful. As he began a slow pace with his hips, the grief was almost overwhelming the pleasure. You wondered why it couldn’t feel this good with him all of the time, and you dreaded him walking away after the night came to an end.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for a moment, likely mourning the same fate that the two of you so often fell into. Loving you was all he wanted to do, but he was so afraid of falling again that he convinced himself he wasn’t already long past in love.

His tongue danced over yours, the taste of his sin too much to bear as your chest began to ache. You wanted to remain strong, to carry on with the one thing that the two of you were good at, but it felt so different than it did all the times that came before. The emotion you had neglected to acknowledge was finally pushing to the surface, angry about being ignored.

It wasn’t the right time, but you feared the right time may never come. You had to stop being afraid, to find the courage he once had and utilize it.

You could feel it too, even in his cruel words and his harsh insults. The love was there, lingering in every touch and screamed in every kiss. You could not allow yourself to remain in the same incessant cycle of pain, but you could not will yourself away from him. There was only one way to change your ways, but it was the hardest thing you had ever done. Loving someone so completely, no matter the circumstance, was terrifying. Saying it aloud only made it all the more real.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss and in turn, breaking you from your internal brooding. He looked down over your face, his hips still rocking against yours. The pleasure in the pit of your stomach had nothing on the yearning of your heart, and he could see it in your eyes. He had to look away, to hide his heart from you so you could not break it again. He feared the longer he stared, the closer he was to confessing the same thing all over again.

In a moment of desperation, he withdrew from you entirely, letting his hands settle back on your hips. Before you could complain, he pulled you from the countertop entirely, landing you on your feet in front of him. He had to change the pace, to harness that same carnal desire and rank it more important than how he felt for you emotionally.

Without a word, he spun you around, forcing your top half down towards the counter. The cold surface was a shock to your system, especially after growing comfortable with the warmth of his body against you. He pulled your hips back towards him, positioning himself at your entrance again.

“I think I’m being far too nice to you, sweetheart.” He muttered, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of his hair. “If I remember correctly, you only like to be fucked like a whore.”

This time, when the insult slipped past his lips, it did not feel good nor did it prompt any wave of arousal. It hurt, and it hurt achingly bad.

Still, knowing you were not strong enough to utter the proclamation of love, you went along with it despite the ache in your chest.

“Yes, sir.” You hummed. Despite the sadness of the change of position, you were still excited at the idea of fucking him. If you could not love him, you knew it was the next best thing.

Slowly, he pushed inside of you, knotting your hair around his fist as he pulled your head off the counter. He leaned down, his lips hovering just over your ear as he continued at the agonizingly slow pace.

“Just like this, sweetheart?” He asked, making sure that when his hips connected with yours he added a little extra force. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so good, baby.” You whined, the intimacy of the moment sending a shiver down your spine. His breath was hot on your neck, his voice barely above a whisper but loud and clear to you. As you answered, he let his teeth sink into your earlobe, the light pressure prompting a flutter in your stomach. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him in further and locking him there indefinitely.

Despite the pace being slow, the power behind his hips was what mattered, and with every re-entry, he added just a little more force than the last. As his cock brushed against cervix, your knees went weak and your stomach twisted into a knot. You had no idea how he could make you feel so good, but you knew you never wanted him to stop.

“He can’t fuck you like this, sweetheart.” He whispered, his lips still hovering above your ear. “He can’t make you feel this good.” He continued, his hand on your hip tightening with every word. He was mindful, careful not to leave any bruises despite his desire to. “Can he, angel?”

“F-fuck no, Jake.” You shook your head, feeling him press a kiss to the sweet spot just below your ear.

“Right, baby.” He hummed his approval, his words muffled due to his lips on your skin. “Nobody can make you feel as good as I do because you’re mine. Do you fucking understand me?”

“God, yes.” You nodded against his hold, desperate to agree with him on that fact. No matter what, you were undeniably his.

“Did you think of me when he was fucking you, angel?” He asked, his tone growing stronger by the second. He was pissing himself off the longer he thought about it, but he was willing to make that sacrifice in order to chastise you for your decisions. “Did you wonder when I would come home, when I’d come back to take care of you?

“I did, baby.” You whimpered, feeling the effects of his presence finally begin to take hold. You were strung out on pleasure, at your end already despite him being far from done with you. You were tired, but your body would not accept the fact. You thought if he stopped, you might die from the withdrawal from him. “I thought about it every fucking day.” You confessed. “I needed you, because nobody else knows how to do it right.”

“Exactly, sweetheart.” He hummed an agreement, happy to hear it from you. “You knew I’d never leave you behind. You knew I couldn’t fucking stay away.” Even if he wanted to, he never could. The confession was heavy, despite the fact already being known to you both. “God, what do you do to me?” He growled, the slam of his hips rocking your thighs forward into the countertop. Another groan tore through your chest, vibrating your entire body as he continued to fuck into you.

“Jake,” you warned, feeling your legs begin to wobble and your mind start to haze.

“I know, baby.” He crooned, placing another sloppy kiss to the exposed portion of your neck. “Being such a good girl for me. Just hold on a little longer.” At that, you let out another whine, loud and impatient, clearly unhappy about his plea to wait. In response, he roughly pulled your head to the side by your hair, craning it upwards a little further so he could press his lips to yours.

The kiss was enough to satiate your undying need for him, but the taste of his lips made the sensation in your stomach grow tenfold. The only difference was, now you could not warn him about the climax creeping up on you.

Luckily for you, he did not need to be warned about anything. He knew you better than anyone or anything, and he could feel how close you were just from your body alone.

“Oh, angel, you make it so fucking hard to say no to you.” He let out a long sigh, breaking the kiss as he let his hips rest against the curve of your ass. He had to slow down or he feared he might let go, too.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You gave him a weak smile, your eyes heavy as you looked back over your shoulder at him.

“With you? Always good, even if it should be bad.” He chuckled, placing a kiss to your shoulder blade before he straightened up again.

His hand remained in your hair as he took a deep breath, calming himself down before beginning again. The feeling of him moving inside you again after the short break was intense, amplified by a million. Although he believed stopping might allow the two of you more time, as soon as his hips reached the same speed as before, you were both just as close to the end. He couldn’t deny you the orgasm again, and he could not hold himself back. After so long without you, he needed it more than he needed food to survive.

“Can you cum for me, baby?” He asked, pushing your head down into the counter. Your cheek was squished against the surface, and his hips were moving with such strength that it made your head spin. There was no question that you could reach the climax, because you had been doing nothing but trying to hold back.

Instead of responding, your eyes closed and the burning in your stomach reached a whole new level. You had never gone so long without him, and now you had no tolerance for the pleasure that came with his company. A choked moan filled the air, letting him know that you were doing exactly what he asked of you.

His hand on your hip tightened as he pushed you further down on the counter. “That’s my girl.” He muttered, looking down at your face as you descended into pleasure. Your legs trembled and your lungs burned, but you were on top of the world. You felt better than you ever had, and likely better than you ever would. It had nothing to do with the sex, nor the stimulation of him inside you, but rather just the thought of being his.

You managed to sing his name through the mess of moans and curses, the sound heavenly to his ears. He waited so long to hear you say it like that again, and it sent him over the edge just the same as you. As you reached the high together, the world felt right again, like coming home after an inexplicably long and tiresome day. He spilled his release inside of you, feeling you relax against him as he slowed his thrusts. He leaned down, pulling your head to the side with much more caution than last time, and kissed you with all the love he could muster in his whole body.

You stayed like that for an abnormal amount of time, neither of you keen on the idea of parting from one another. Eventually, he broke the kiss, looking down over your face with adoration in his eyes. He did his best to snap himself out of it, knowing he shouldn’t be feeling such things about you, but unable to stop. He straightened up again, making sure to admire the entire scene of you below him, too fucked out to form a single thought. Then, his eyes traveled to the mirror, catching a glimpse of your position from a whole new perspective. He swallowed hard, his jaw tensed as he let out a shaky breath.

“How am I supposed to let him take you home tonight after seeing you like this, sweetness?” He asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror. When he realized your head was pushed too close to the countertop for you to see too, he used his grip on your hair to pull you upwards.

Staring back at you was a mess of the woman you walked into the bathroom as. Your cheeks were streaked with mascara, your skin red and blotchy and your hair a mess. Beside your reflection, you could see him watching you, studying you. His eyes were fixated on your face, taking in every detail you were noticing. To him, you were not a mess; you were the most beautiful thing to ever grace the earth. The mess just made it all the better, especially knowing he was the one who caused it.

‘I don’t want to go home with him, Jake. I want to stay here with you.’ You thought it, but did not dare say it aloud. The flash of sadness in your eye was apparent to him, for he had the same one in his.

What I see is unreal

I've written my own part

Eat of the apple, so young

I'm crawling back to start

If you did not speak now, you never would. Could you remain the same forever, or did you need to change to survive? You did not know what to do, or how to feel. If you said it, would it even mean anything, or would it be a waste of breath? He did not want to hear the words a year later; he needed it way back when the two of you were curled up together on the couch, when he used every last ounce of courage to say it first. He didn’t need to hear it now. He didn’t need you fucking up his life again. He didn’t need you.

But if he did not need you, why did he abandon his date in search of you, in search of what you used to be?

There was no more anger between you. Your eyes locked together in the mirror, housing a silent battle of uncertainty as you watched each other's every move. If you spoke the truth, the world would change indefinitely, but you did not know if it would be for better or for worse.

Oh, what did it fucking matter anymore?

You had to say it, to know that you exhausted every option to keep the man your heart sang hymns about. You could deal with the consequences later, because right now, you both needed to hear it.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He asked, knowing there was some kind of war being waged in your head. He was afraid, not of what you wanted to tell him, but because he thought you wanted to end the constant debacle between you.

You could deal with the aftermath later, but you were done being sad. He waited so long, just the same as you, and you had to say it.

I repent tomorrow

Hey ah na na tomorrow

I suspend my sorrow

“I don’t want to go home with him, Jake.” Your voice was strong despite your worry the words would not make it past your lips.

“Then don’t.” He could not help the spark of hope that ignited in his chest. He rested inside of you, terrified to move as he awaited what you would say next.

“You mean it?” Say it, or forever hold your peace, coward.

“You know there’s always a place for you in my bed.” He was unsure if he was taking your confession in the way you meant it, but by god he hoped that was what you meant. Your eyes caught his again, holding him captive with your stare. There was not enough courage in the world for you to say it, but you could not hide it any longer.

“I love you too, Jake.” You said, your tone strong and your intent true. Nearly a year later, you finally said it.

The world was still. The commotion outside of the doorway stopped, and your relentless thoughts wasted away to nothing. For a moment, you even believed your heart ceased to beat.

“I love you, Jake. I should have said it a long time ago, but I’m saying it now, and it has to count for something.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he said, statue-like as he stood behind you. For a moment, you thought you might die from the pure grief that encased your heart. You waited too long. It was too late. “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I should have said that a long time ago.”

Neither of you moved, and neither of you knew what to do next.

You got what you thought he could never give, and he heard what he feared you might never say.

Was it over? Was that it? Did you end the curse that had plagued you since the very beginning? Had you repented enough for the rottenness of your actions?

Could you really have him with no secrets and no more lies? Could you love him without restraint, without any pain?

“Let me love you, Y/N. Let me do it right this time.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving his face. “Please, Jake. The world hasn’t felt right since that night, until now. I want to try again, and I don’t want to be a terrible person anymore.”

Carefully, he withdrew from you, trying to limit the mess as he helped you up off the counter. He turned you to face him, bringing his hand to your cheek to swipe away a tear that escaped your eye.

“I have been waiting a lifetime to hear you say that, sweetheart. I would be a fucking idiot if I gave it up twice.” You lifted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry I was so stupid.” You said, reaching out and wrapping your arms around him.

The hug was simple, but to the two of you, it was everything.

“I was stupid, Y/N.” he said, burying his head in your hair. He took a deep breath, finally feeling the tension in his body fade away into nothing. The smell of your shampoo, and more specifically, the way his pillows used to smell when he was sleeping next to you, was his favorite thing in the whole world, and he’d been deprived of it for far too long. “I don’t want to be stupid anymore. I just want you.”

“I was always yours, Jake.” You whispered, closing your eyes as you rested your cheek on his bare chest. “From the minute I met you, until my very last day on earth.” He did not need to reply for you to know he was yours, too.

Finally, after writing your own wretched tale, you had grown enough to rewrite it and atone for all of the mistakes you made before.

Finally, you could love him without having to worry about anything else, without pain, and without suffering.

Finally, he was yours, and only yours, like it always should have been from the very beginning.

231 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 7 months

Text

Despiértame mi Corazon

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,454

(Image Source: Actor: Alex Pettyfer + @fanaticsnail's dodgy photo editing skills)

Synopsis: You have been on the run from Donquixote Doflamingo, sheltering and caring for a young, sick child. Your emotions catch up with you as you process the change your life has led you to. You’ve left it all: family, career, friends - all to support Rosinante in his quest to cure the boy. Upon seeing you in this state, your Corazon will do anything to see you smile again.

Themes: mutual pining, sickness, love, Rosi is a daddy, Rosi is a sweetheart, idiots in love, friends to lovers, Trafalgar Law is a child, baby Law is an edge-lord, angst, crying, hurt/comfort, dancing, Rosi is a dork, sad ending (I’m sorry), Dance reference link here.

Notes: This is a gift for @writingmysanity. You get two Cora fics, because we both need it. The other, more happy one, is coming soon, sweety!!

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @vespidphoenix @i-am-vita @sexc-snail I don't know if you guys like Corazon, but I hope this convinces you to love him.

Song Suggestion: “Wake Me Up” - Postmodern JukeBox

The air carrying the tide towards your feet felt as thick and heavy as the encumbering weight on your heart. Frozen remnants of falling snow stuck to your cheeks, your eyelashes collecting a small amount of dust to coat your follicles in the crisp breeze. Aside from the peace found in momentary stasis, your mind was racing and your soul screaming for release.

Trafalgar D Water-Law was dying. The boy you took under your wing, the child you cared for, the adolescent who held your heart in his hands was dying. He was not going to make it without consuming the Op-Op Fruit, a cruel reality that had finally caught up with you.

You were so close. So unbelievably close to getting his cure - his fate balancing on the edge of a knife in the steely grasp of Donquixote Doflamingo. A cure like this was not something that would be gifted freely, both you and Rosinante knew this for a fact. There was no amount of convincing, scheming, bribing, groveling, or begging you could do to gather this cure for the sickly child you both loved. It needed to be claimed by force, and claimed now.

Finding solace in the small moment you carved aside, you allowed yourself the luxury of hot tears rolling down your cheeks: consumed by the grief in the dire situation you found yourself within. You were simply unable to carry the weight of these harsh and raw emotions any longer. What began as a small sniff through your nose quickly and quietly escalated into soft sobs. As the sorrow was released, you felt the weight grow heavier in your heart and expand to encumber your chest.

Drawing up your knees and cradling them against you, you turned your head away from the shack as your shoulders shook with each whimpered sob. You desperately hoped to any deity that was listening that you were far enough away from your home for the night to hold your sobs in silence, not alerting or disturbing your two companions as they lay in slumber.

Stalking slowly towards you, aided in silence by his devil-fruit abilities, Donquixote Rosinante was approaching you in your sorrow. His hand stuttered forward, wanting desperately to place it down on your shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze in consoling your release of your emotions.

He, himself, knew this feeling, and he knew this feeling well. Giving into his feelings a few weeks earlier, while drinking a vast amount of sake straight from the bottle. He felt helpless in the overwhelming devastation that currently held the three of you hostage. Desperate to provide you comfort, although not desiring to give you a touch you were not expecting, he halted his movement from descending upon your shoulders.

Retracting his extended hand away from you, he stumbled backwards towards the shack to check in on the sleeping Trafalgar Law. Clambering up the steps, he looked over the peaceful form of the boy nestled up in his blankets to keep warm in the cool night. Noticing the fluttering rise and fall in his chest, the subtle wheeze extending and catching in his throat, he felt the return of helplessness overcome his body.

Turning away from the child, his fingers absentmindedly brushed against the surface of the steely frame of his radio, flicking on the valve to wake its static call. He began turning the knobs, seeking out a whisper of a song to drown out his circulating devastation and distract himself with.

The rustling static did nothing to wake Law from his rest, but did alert you of the fact Rosinante was awake and skulking around. Hastily drying your tears with the inner sleeve on your wrist, you ensured you were the very picture of positivity should the leader of your expedition join you in the cool air outside the shack.

Your relationship with the younger Donquixote brother was complicated.

Pledging your undying loyalty under pain or death to Doflamingo in your youth, your proximity to the younger brother had you develop the swell of infatuation with him. Through the years, your heart always had a soft simmer threatening to rapidly boil towards the surface. He was quiet, he was calm, his skills as a fighter were a privilege to behold in battle, and it was an honor to fight beside him.

Under the orders of the older Donquixote brother, you had done terrible things that required atonement to cleanse your hands of it. As you were both introduced to the young child who wished for death to claim him, you both became as hardened as the other to force the will to live upon him in repentance for your transgressions.

Watching Rosinante take the lead in Law’s care, your infatuation rose once again: a rise which prompted you to cast aside your loyalty to Doflamingo and aid ‘Corazon’ in the task of betraying him. You were in exile, hiding while searching for a cure for the boy that you only now learnt were in the clutches of the very hands you were attempting to flee from.

You loved him. You loved watching the lanky man fawning over the sickly boy. It had your heart soar and fly ever higher. The way he loved with his whole heart had a ripple effect, prompting you to open your own heart to love both of them even more. When Rosinante displayed his heart, it was worn on his sleeve and given unconditionally. And when you saw this love for others, it made you long to be a recipient of such devotion.

The rise in static volume prompted you to turn around, glancing at the looming figure exiting the door of the shack, a radio within his hands. He placed it on the wooden frame lining the porch and gestured for you to come over to him with a subtle sway of his hands. You offered him a soft, melancholy smile and rose to your feet from the cool sand beneath you.

No words were spoken as you approached him, keeping your head bowed from him as the static crackled and roared to life. A familiar tune from your youth rose in the speakers, your smile broadening as the lyrics shepherded you into a gentle sway.

Rosinante’s outstretched hand flitted fluidly down to you, a small bob in his head indicating for you to place your hand within his own. You returned this gesture with your eyes closed and shaking your head in disbelief at his invitation. He smiled, reaching forward his other hand down and claiming your unoccupied hand and began swaying you to the beat.

“What are you doing, Rosinante?” you slowly hummed your question up at him, brow twitching up in intrigue. His warm smile pulled you in, alongside the slow shimmied-shake of his arms with your own.

“We’re dancing,” he confessed with a rumbled chuckle, his toes accidentally colliding with your own: both flinching at the contact. He shook his head, adding to his answer, “I stand corrected: we’re trying.”

Although the mood was filled with sorrow, the sway of Rosinante’s awkward movements had your smile rising up your cheeks and eyes drying of their prior downpour. A small swell in your heart at his attempt to make you smile had your cheeks begin to pull upwards by the smallest smile you could muster.

Everything about the way he danced with you was stiff, awkward and rigid: a memory rising in both your minds of earlier in your youth springing forward.

“You remember when we first danced together?” Rosinante asked you, his painted lips attempting to hold back a toothy grin. You giggled at him, ushering his body to spin in your arms and gently twirled his body. The dark feathers tickled your skin, a sneeze rising in your nose in response to the subtle brush from the inky follicles.

“I remember it being about as ah-... ah-... ahh-...!” you sneezed, shaking your shoulders as you turned away from him to save him from the spray. He chuckled as you recovered from your sneeze, continuing, “-As awkward as this one. You didn’t have your feather coat then, either.”

“Oh, right!” Rosinante laughed, twirling his body away from yours and removing his feathered overcoat from its place on his shoulders, casting it over the wooden frame beside the speaker. “Alright now, where were we?” His pink shirt dipped in his chest, the subtle rise of his lungs and exposure of soft skin tempted a warm flush to rise in your cheeks. You shook your head to rid yourself of such thoughts about your friend, recovering enough to plaster a small smile on your face.

Swaying your hips and tapping your toes against the ground, you skillfully twirled your body to rejoin your hands within his. He gleefully laughed at your gesture, his own hips swaying to the beat and rocking his shoulders as the rhythm picked up. His knees were unpracticed and unskilled in this artform, but his enthusiasm overtook his inability to dance.

Twirling his body away from you, he clapped his hands and began stomping his feet lightly on the floorboards. He tapped twice more before kneeling himself down on one knee, his other leg arched into a deep lunge in front of him. He placed his right hand on his hip, rising his left above his head and brandished it with a playful flourish.

“Oh, we’re doing this one, are we?” your tone picked up, your brow arching on your forehead as you leant forward to claim his left hand within your right, “You remember how I tripped over your lanky legs when I did this last time,” you smiled, circling his body and hopping yourself over his calf lying flat behind him.

“I do,” he chuckled in return, following your movement with the lull of his head. His smile rose further as you playfully watched him from the corner of your eye. “You remember how we recovered, though? What we did to balance out the dance?”

“Yes, Corazon,” you half-laughed, half-sighed, as you recalled how the evening progressed, “We drowned ourselves in several bottles of sake and laughed at our own idiocy.” Rosinante shook his head, rising to his feet after releasing your hand from within his.

“No, mi amor,” he whispered, placing his hands on your hips and swaying you from behind, “I meant this.” He turned you within his arms, raking his hands over your hips, hands circling over your waist and holding you firmly against his torso. You hooked your arms over his shoulders behind your head, shepherding him to embrace you further while swaying to the rhythm.

Rosinante pressed his cheek against your own, your eyes instinctively fluttering closed as you felt the rise in his grin on your skin. His breath tickled the nape of your neck, you breathing along to his rhythmic pattern with each passing moment.

You felt all of your worries cast themselves aside each moment he held you in his arms, all anguish and melancholy passing from your body and reigned within his embrace. The pressure of his own sorrows fled from him and onto you, the sharing of the emotional labor departed each of you in this moment to simmer and smother between you.

“Why were we dancing again?” you whispered to him, your lips almost making contact with the shell of his ear. You felt him shudder against your touch, instinctively pressing your back further against his chest and nuzzling into your neck.

Spinning in his arms, his hands tugging at your shifting shirt as you turned to face him, his eyes widened as he sought out his answer to you. Humming thoughtfully, he finally located his answer in his memory.

“I think it was Doffy’s birthday, or celebrating a raid on some unfortunate-,” Rosinante began, halted by you pulling away and glancing into his eyes.

“-I mean now, mi corazon,” you floated your eyes between his, looking for rhyme or reason within his steely orbs, “Why are we dancing now?” He stuttered in his sway, freezing like a fainting goat being startled by a loud sound.

“Y-You called me-...” his breath caught in his throat, lips parting as he floated his gaze between your own eyes, briefly caught in gazing longingly against your lips. “You called me ‘mi corazon’, mi amor.” He held you in silence, his heart swelling and adrenaline urging his body against his will to surge forward.

The air was tense, the deafening silence being broken only by the smooth rise in melody from the radio beside you. His eyes softened more, wordlessly asking you a question with his lips quivering and eyes frantically darting between your own.

A small nod from him, answered by a nod of your own was all the answer he needed to join his lips with yours, softly molding himself to your lips and breathing in your air.

The world came crashing down around you, the realms of unanswered questions from your youth were retorted by the soft lips of Donquixote Rosinante’s pressed against your own. You squeaked against his lips, eyes wide and watching as, his were closed with his brows furrowing in deepest concentration. He hissed in a breath through his nose, turning his head by the angle of his chin to deepen the embrace.

Raking his hands up from your hips, he claimed fistfuls of your shirt in his needy grasp. He whimpered against your lips, prompting you to reciprocate his passionate kiss. You felt his heart, his spirit and his worries pass from his body into yours further. This intimate and wordless confession had your heart racing at the impossibilities that brought you here.

Slowly pulling your hands from his shoulders, you slid them down his neck and grasped the embroidered pink collar of his shirt and pushed him back towards the railing. As his beck hit the hard, wooden pillar, he gasped into your mouth and desperately clawed at you to hold you firmer. Angling his head away, he pressed lengthy kiss after kiss against your lips, cheeks and chin: a trail marked by his pink lip-paint.

“I want you,” he whispered against your lips, hovering them above your own before pressing his own against yours twice more, “I want us. I want all of us-.” He peppered your cheeks with lengthy kisses, the smear of his lip paint rubbing against your skin and tinting your flesh. “-The three of us. I want to be our own family: go where we want to go, wherever our hearts take us. I want to forge a life with you and that kid.”

“What are you saying-?” you whimpered for him, your hands claiming his cheeks within them and ushering his face away from yours. He groaned, leaning forward and claiming your lips beneath his own before fully allowing you to push him away.

“I want to adopt Law,” he continued, his hand rising to your hair and caressing your scalp, “You already mother him, fawn over him and treat him like your own.” Your hand flew to his hair as he pressed a long kiss against your neck, “I want to do this, and I want to do this with you, mi amor. I want to marry you, to be yours and you to be mine.”

“I want us to be happy, mi amor,” he concluded, a melancholy smile finding his cheeks as he dipped his brow down to seek out your eyes, “I will have you smile again: a smile mirrored between the three of us.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your brow, adding a muffled, “Three against the world.”

The shock of it all happening at once held you in momentary silence. Feeling the pull to confess your own adoration and wants for the future onto him, your lips formed words before you could withhold them in your throat.

“When this nightmare is all over,” you gasped, tugging at his blond locks to subtly weave him away from your neck to look in your eyes. “When we wake up from the darkness,” you slowly caressed his cheek, your thumb finding his bottom lip and attempting to press the paint within the boundaries of his lip line, “I want all of that with you, mi corazon.”

At your confession, Donquixote Rosinante’s heart soared for you and his tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes. He truly didn’t know those words were needed to grace his ears and soothe his mind, but so thankful you formed them.

He loved you from the moment he met you all those years ago. The urge to protect you from the evil his brother ushered into the world was so strong, he nearly broke the mask he made while infiltrating the crew. Seeing you hold your own against them, your skill in combat ushering a swift death to those who opposed you with mercy had him swooning at your kindness amongst the brutality.

“Te amo, mi corazon,” you whispered, your lips again hovering over his own, “I always have, and I should’ve acted on it sooner. I just got caught up with the mission, with loving our child. You are doing such a good job with him, I want you to know that.” You soothed over his blond hair, brushing your nose against his while confessing your admiration further, “I love you, and I love Law so, so much-.”

Surging forwards, the contact he made with your lips was wet: the stale aftertaste of his last cigarette was eclipsed by the salty tears falling over his lips. He didn’t know when his tears started to fall, nor did you grasp when your own intertwined with his against your lips. You laughed against his lips, feeling the lingering tingle of affection spark and ignite in your chest. He swooned for you, raking desperately at your body to hold you as close as he could without breaking through the material of your clothes.

You broke away from his lips, gazing into his eyes with nothing but pure adoration and love. His own unspoken confession lingered in the air, the atmosphere tense and swollen with the lust-stricken adrenaline. The spark of the adoration tinting your eyes surged his confession forward, his words clumsily jumbled over his lips.

“Mi tesoro, mi amor, mi familia,” he whimpered for you, his voice stuttering and stumbling over his words as he stooped down to you, “Te amo-... I-I love you. I love everything about you, and I should’ve told you sooner. I wanted to tell you from the day I first met you. I swooned for you when you danced with me all those years ago. My heart beats for you, and propels me to complete this task all the sooner to start this adventure with you and Law.”

He pressed his forehead against your own, the feeling of hot tears rolling down his cheeks at the confession had you both sobbing and laughing at yourselves. Sniffling and collecting your own tears on your wrist, and he with his, you both glanced up at each other and allowed your smiles to rise.

“We will get this done, Donquixote Rosinante,” you hardened your resolve, nodding through every word, “And when it’s all over, we will be una familia- a family, mi corazon. The three of us. Together.” You held each other close on the deck of the small shack: swaying between kisses as the darkness plaguing your journey was eclipsed by the light rising between you.

Hanging on your every word, a small sob hitched at the crack in the door, Trafalgar Law’s hand clasping over his lips to mask his presence. Law had never witnessed so much love pouring from one person to another. The fact that you both held such love for him too had him openly sobbing at the interaction.

He wanted this too.

He wanted to be a family with both of you: two absolute idiots that loved both him and each other unconditionally. Two complete idiots who were hardened fighters, pirates, and war criminals. His idiots.

He wanted this so desperately.

He wants his imperfect, perfect family.

But some things were not meant to be.

Law would call on this memory often. Each time that melody played over his personal radio, his heart would both consequently swell and shatter as tears threatened to pour down his face. He wanted to wake up, for it to all be some horrific nightmare and still be searching with you and Cora-san for a cure for his illness. Your love was real, and he was thankful to play his part in it.

However small a time it was, it was his. His perfect, imperfect family.

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