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greta-van-chaos · 3 months

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I Will Possess Your Heart // Part 4

Oliver Reed x Reader

Part 3 < > Part 5 (wip)

Warnings | Explicit sexual content, oral (m recieving), cursing

Word Count | 3.6k

Authors Note | I take a lot of breaks, I think you guys have caught onto that by now. I don't want to sit here and be like i'm really busy guys, sorry but truly i'm just so busy and my heart hasn't been in writing at all. I want that to change but I can't make any promises. For now, as a peace offering, here is the next part to I Will Possess Your Heart and hopefully the fifth and final part will be releasing very soon after.

The morning slides into the afternoon and the afternoon slides into the night and before you know it, once again you are beneath the covers of Oliver's bed, ear pressed to his chest as you listen to the slow, content beating of his heart. Although he denied his tiredness he has fallen into an easy sleep with you beside him and though anxiety pools in your stomach you refuse to deprive him of the sleep he seems to need so desperately.

You know you should leave, you can't stop thinking about it. Who in their right mind seeks a stranger out in the dead of night due to car troubles and then let's him entertain them for a weekend with sex and booze? It wasn't a normal situation and the guilt was truly getting to you.

For now, you decided, you'd sleep. At this point in the evening there wasn't much for you to do in terms of relieving Oliver of your presence and you weren't even sure he'd want you to go when the time came. So, sleep. It was a problem for future you to sort out.

And so, morning came, much faster than you'd have preferred but seeing Oliver still sound asleep, face beautifully calm in the morning light you knew it was time to go.

Reasonably, there is no way, no way at all that you have fallen so deeply for a stranger. You've known him for two days and already you felt an attachment that makes you shiver when you begin to even think of severing it.

Finally, you rise, peeling yourself carefully away from the bed and assuring that Oliver says sound asleep. Before leaving the room though, you move to stand on his side of the bed so you can brush a kiss to his hairline. You feel bad about what you're going to do but you know that if he woke and asked you to stay again, you may not be able to bring yourself to say no.

Once down the stairs, stepping as carefully as you can so as not to make much noise, you begin searching for your phone. You expect not to find it without a fight but there it is, perched on top of your now cleaned and dried clothes that lay folded on Oliver's desk in the living room. Miraculously it still has a charge to it and in an even greater leap of luck you now have cell reception.

Without thinking to hard on the money you're able to set up a tow truck and a ride back into the city where you reside, all things able to be neatly wrapped up before dinner time this evening.

You'd really feel unforgivable if you didn't leave something for Oliver, some sign of life, maybe an apology letter. After a small bit of deliberation you decide to scrawl your number on the legal pad you find at his desk and a short note. You don't feel the need to say much as you really aren't certain of your feelings yet but still, you make sure it's something substantial enough not to leave him with hard feelings.

With that, you gather your belongings, opting to keep the clothes he's lent you and call a car. Not a single sound alerts you that Oliver has stirred awake and for that you are grateful. You'd rather be out and gone without a word, like some specter or ghost, unseen.

The car pulls up within a timeframe you're certain is impossible considering how far out and into the woods you are. Once situated you take one more look at the manor house before your driver pulls away. You swear that in one of the windows on the top floor you can feel Oliver's form, standing, stoic. It takes all of your willpower to turn your cheek and leave without a single whisper of a goodbye.

You're doing what needs to be done. You can't live in a fantasy with a man you barely know. You hope he calls, of course you do but you know it's better for both of you if you're rid of the house now rather than later.

Days went by, days and days and days until the days faded to weeks and now, it's been almost three months since you left Oliver's glamourous home. Almost three months since you scrawled your phone number on a notepad atop his desk. Almost three months without a single call. Almost three months since you were forced into the realization that you won't ever be seeing him again.

Huffing you curl your body sideways, allowing your forehead to rest on the chilly glass of the train car you're sitting in. The world moves by in a blur and as you watch you wish the endless slew of city lights would swallow you whole. Ever since you left his house that night, you'd felt empty which almost made you laugh considering you had nothing to build upon apart from the strange situation you had found yourselves in and incredible sex.

An automated bell dings and your stop is called out by a voice that is equally as artificial. Gathering your bag and pulling your coat on a bit tighter you stand to leave. As you approach the doors, which are very slowly hauling themselves open you're robbed of all breathe.

With a dull thud your purse hits the floor, "Oliver?"

His eyes are tired and dim but when he hears your voice they seem to open wider and brighten. "Y/n?"

None other than Oliver Reed is standing at the very end of the train car, following a short line of people to exit the vehicle. The world stops around you and the overwhelming rush of emotions that grasps you keeps you glued to the spot. Hardly aware of people pushing past you to get off the train you take in Oliver's appearance and your heart aches. He's wearing a vest similar to the one he shrugged off after inviting you into his house on that fateful night and a pair of slacks. His hair is neatly brushed unlike the tangled tresses you were so used to. Even as the sky donned the night like a silky, starlit nightgown he wore a pair of oddly cut sunglasses that somehow looked perfect on him but would make anyone else look ridiculous.

Finally your brain catches up and before you realize you're doing it you rush towards him, belongings forgotten on the floor. You stop right in front of him, mere inches away from touching, your hands folded together at your chest, "I never thought I'd see you again."

He huffs out a breath and reaches for you, placing a hand on your cheek. "Neither did I."

As though you've been forced back into your body and made to see out of your eyes you blink away the haze of excitement just enough to remember that you're supposed to be exiting the train. He makes a noise of affirmation when you turn to get your bag and grab his hand, pulling him off the train and into a tight embrace once you're steady on your feet. Both of your hearts are beating fast and hard, as if to escape their confines and meld together, two halves finally whole. Oliver holds you against him and now that you're back in his arms you never want to leave. The cold outside does it's best to chill your exposed skin but the warmth of the man in front of you helps quell the bite.

When he pulls away you step back, blurting out the one thing you couldn't stop thinking about, "You never called."

"I didn't know what to say but--" He sighs and looks at you, forlorn "--please believe me when I tell you that I wanted to. I think I was just... confused."

"I do, I swear. I just wish that you did. I--" You pull yourself into his chest again, pressing your face into the crook of his neck to bite back your words, not ready to fully realize how deep your feelings run. "God, I missed you."

He smells the same as before, warm, sweet and slightly alcoholic. "I've missed you too, love."

You break away for a moment and just stare into each others eyes, the train leaving the station a blurry background noise to your occupied brain. The entire world around you has dimmed and all you know is Oliver, all you feel is Oliver, all you want is Oliver. Without really thinking you thread your fingers through his hair and pull his lips to yours, smiling at the softness of his mouth moving in sync with your own.

When his hands move to your hips and pull you flush against him you smile against his mouth and he hums. It feels perfect.

All of the questions, the worry, the unanswered want, they're all melting away and making room for this moment. You never thought you'd be reunited and now that you are it's sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

"Let me buy you dinner," He mumbles, words muffled against your lips.

"Please."

You both walk in silence, the streetlights illuminating the rain speckled road. Apparently Oliver is in town for a movie audition and plans to be around for a few days, the thought that you'll have him nearby for the weekend puts an immovable smile on your lips.

Hand in hand you make your way to a small pub and as soon as you enter you're warmed from the crown of your head to your toes. The lighting is dim and the bar is crowded with people but somehow you're able to find a little booth tucked away in the back. Everything is falling into place as if this moment is destiny. You truly believe that to be so.

Once you've ordered drinks, Oliver places his chin in his hand and gazes upon you with nothing but pure bliss and adoration in his eyes. "It's so fucking good to see you, love. I never thought I'd be able to again."

You look up at him through your lashes and smile bashfully, "I never thought I would either." You still can't shake the hurt of knowing that he was fully capable of contacting you the whole time but chose not to. Clearing your throat you lock eyes with him and press again, "I still don't really understand why you didn't call."

He sighs and looks to the side, avoiding the almost accusatory expression on your face. "I just... I was upset and confused and I really thought that your number may have just been a courtesy. I didn't know if you actually felt the same." The pained look on his face makes you reach out for his hands. You take them in your own and rub circles into the backs of them with your thumbs. His instinct at first is to pull away but quickly he melts into it and lets out a deep breath through his nose.

"I'm sorry."

Completely shattering in the moment the waiter walks over and places your drinks down. Oliver nods his head at the boy and then looks back to you. "So, do you come here often?"

A dumb grin pulls on your lips and you laugh. "I do, in fact. I live just down the street." You cock an eyebrow at him "What brings Oliver Reed to this neck of the woods?"

He looks surprised for a moment before you can see on his face that he realizes he hasn't explained his presence in your city. "I've got brunch with a director tomorrow, I was coming in tonight to stay and get my bearings before we met."

"Funny coincidence that you end up so close to me," you laugh, truly just so happy to be in his presence.

"You've got that right, love. What a surprise to see you on the same train as me, I thought I was hallucinating until you came right up and I could touch you."

"Well, I'm real and I'm right here and I am just as surprised as you."

You both sit in silence for a moment, just staring, taking each other in. What a situation you have found yourselves in, to being on the same train and now to knowing that Oliver will be staying a night in the place you've lived your whole life.

"What do you say we head back to mine after dinner?" You ask without thinking "You could even stay with me for the night if you want. Though I'm sure if you've booked a hotel you'd better stay there..." You trail off, slowly getting quieter and mumbling throughout the sentence but he shakes his head.

"How could I ever say no to you, darling. Let me worry about the hotel and I'll let you worry about leading the way." Letting go of one of your hands that you didn't realize he'd been holding he reaches to sip his drink. Taking the opportunity you run the toe of your shoe up his leg, you hope the gesture is sexy and not awkward. Guessing by the way his eyes darken and how he sets down his glass, you had the effect you were going for. Something about him makes you so much more playful and daring than usual. "I think I might take you up on that sooner than I had anticipated."

"Patience, Oliver, patience." You send him a flirty wink and he just smirks, a million plans of what he could do to you seemingly flashing behind his eyes.

"I'll show you fucking patience doll, just you wait." The look in his eyes has your pressing your thighs together.

You spend the rest of the night drinking and laughing and shamelessly flirting. It feels so natural and now that you've fallen into a rhythm with him you don't want it to stop.

You cash out and leave quicker than you'd anticipated, dragging him down the street. You truly do only live a couple blocks away and in this situation that is more than perfect. You're both itching to get inside.

The whole walk you're both giggling like teenagers and Oliver can't keep his hands off of you, the entire time his arm is firmly planted around your waist, effectively keeping you pressed into his side.

"This is my building, right here" You say, fishing out your keys as you walk up the steps and approach the door. Once unlocked you lead Oliver by the hand to the elevator.

Almost immediately the doors open and as soon as you step in Oliver is on you, pinning you to the wall and kissing your neck. He presses his leg between yours and grips your chin so he can give himself all the room he needs to suck and lick and kiss at your throat. You giggle and pull him off of you just enough to haphazardly throw your hand to the panel of buttons on the wall and hit your floor, all the while his hands are trailing down your top until he can slip them under your shirt and cup your breasts.

"So impatient" You breathe, the words holding the same cadence as a soft moan. Despite your words you thread your hands into his hair to pull him back and grind down on his thigh.

"Seems like you're the impatient one, you and your needy little pussy" He practically growls.

You can feel your cheeks get hot and when he looks down at you you almost melt. Every time your eyes meet it feels like an electric shock.

"I think you like it." You whisper, guiding his mouth to yours by a soft hand under his chin. He releases a content sigh when your lips meet, almost melting completely at having you this close again.

"Oh yeah? and what makes you think that?" His voices is taunting and his breath is warm against you cheek as he breaks the kiss to speak.

Instead of using words you slide the hand that isn't holding his face between your bodies, palming him through his pants. Usually it's him that does the smirking but right now you have the most smug look on your face and he does nothing to challenge it and regain control. A whimper-like sound shakes out of him and he leans into your touch, starting to press his hips harder into your hand as you rub your hand against him faster.

The elevator doors opening makes you both freeze, your bodies eerily still. He rests his forehead against yours and sighs. You're reluctant to break apart but force yourself to in favor of being able to indulge in the privacy of your apartment.

Once again, Oliver's hands refuse to leave your body and when you get to your door he presses himself against your ass, letting you know just how hard he is... as if you weren't already aware. "When that door opens... I'm going to ruin you" He murmurs into your hair.

"Oh I'm counting on it" You throw back, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Instantly following through on his threat he slams the door closed and spins you around, starting to unbutton your blouse. You might have assumed that he'd already been in your apartment by the way he walks you back to the couch without hesitation but you have a feeling that if there was no couch to run into he would've kept walking you back until you ran into something else. He just got lucky, apparently.

When the backs of your knees hit the arm you're almost forced to sit down which brings you level to his belt. You slide back so you can kneel on the couch and then pull him closer by said belt. He abandons any attempt at removing your shirt when he sees you unbuckle it and claw his pants down. You've waited for too long for this, you're not gonna waste any time with pleasantries.

As soon as he is no longer confined to the sleek black boxers beneath his slacks you put your mouth on him. First by flattening your tongue and dragging it along the underside of his cock, then by taking him fully into your mouth. He throws his hips forward at the feeling and hits the back of your throat. You recover quickly and hum around him, bringing one hand up to rest on his stomach.

"My god, you look so fucking hot like this" He mumbles, starting to guide your movements with the hands he's anchored in your hair.

Even after the short amount of time you spent with him you're relishing in everything that is Oliver. You missed it so... the feel of him, the weight of him on your tongue, his moans and breaths and the way his fingers feel dancing over your cheekbones to coax himself further down your throat. He's got you in a trance and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You tenderly rub your thumb over his hipbone, a far more gentle and loving action compared to the way you're lavishing him with your mouth. His hips stutter and you can assume he's already close by how desperate his thrusts have become. At this point he's controlling everything, holding your head in place and guiding himself in and out of your mouth at whatever speed he pleases. You don't mind one bit.

He lets up briefly, pulling away from you and stroking his hand over himself. Spit has managed to smear all over your lips and cheeks and you can feel that your makeup has fallen into a state of disarray. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and slide your eyes up his body "I've thought about this every single night since I left. I just can't get you off my mind."

That does something for him, maybe the geuninity in the admission or the soft look on your face, you'll never know but he pulls you up by your arms and kisses you deeply. His hands are back in your hair but this time, the way he's holding you feels so different, almost loving, like you'll break if he isn't gentle.

After a beat he pulls back and searches your face. The entire mood has shifted and the air has grown thick with unspoken words. You'd never guess what he says and when it passes his lips you feel so incredibly full of affection, "You're the only thing I've been able to think about. I spent so many nights just staring at that note. I really and truly am so sorry I kept you waiting."

"We're here now," You whisper and then you pause, thinking. "Do you think you would have called if we didn't run into each other today?"

Your arms are around his neck and you're still close enough that if you leaned forward your lips would touch. "I honestly... I don't know. I want to say yes but to be truthful, love, I was fucking terrified."

"Don't be... there's nothing to be afraid of." And that's that, any other words that could've slipped into the sliver of space between your mouths dies in the air as you pull him back in.

Slowly but surely you slide a hand behind you and lower yourself back onto the couch, bringing him with you. You're vaguely aware of him kicking off his shoes as he climbs on top of you, eventually making himself comfortable as your legs fall into place around his hips.

One more part left and then these lovebirds will have a complete story. Give me all your thoughts!!! Do we want part 5 and soon?

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greta-van-chaos · 3 months

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i need to stop taking so many breaks and actually release some fics. what do you guys wanna see from me? drop some requests and i'll see what I can do :)

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #danny wagner #sam kiszka #josh kiszka #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet imagine #greta van smut

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greta-van-chaos · 6 months

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happy truck month

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sleepy girls club™

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greta-van-chaos · 10 months

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hdhrhfjfjdkd this is the best thing i’ve ever read

Rosa - Part One

Word Count: 4450 Warnings: Mentions of injury and death, buccaneering, tensionnn. Author's Note: This is a backstory alluded to in my previous Pirate!Jacob offering, Siren. It’s an entirely different story but I urge you to read that first. As ever, I tend to start at the end, but here we are now back at the beginning.

“Blast. Good game, old friend.”

“Heh, I’ll take me payment by libation, Elio.”

“Rosa! Another drink for Mr Sawyer! And remind me to stop playing this crafty old fox at cards!”

My father’s hearty bellow reaches me with ease across the bustling room, earning laughter and jesting from the many trusty regulars that fill the chairs and tables.

I smile back, shaking my head knowing full well he’ll never stop. And furthermore, he’ll never bother himself to practice or improve his skill with cards, happy to indulge his favourite customer in the occasional game.

Thanking the young gentlemen at the bar for his payment, I hand him his measure of rum and dust off my hands before stepping out from behind the counter. Middle of the week and the place is thriving which we are always happy to see, the din lively and pleasant and the takings pouring in.

No doubt about it, our little port town was growing, easily double in size even from my memories as a child. Every day a new face arrives to mix in with the old, fresh from the road or the sea and making their way to my father’s tavern for a drink and friendly counsel. Some might stay here, brought by the tides to this unknown land, some simply passing with a dream to set out towards them. And yet still our friends and familiar faces return time after time, sharing happy times and sad with the kind ear of Elio Monte.

I could never see my father doing anything else, he fit so perfectly behind this bar and charmed everyone that came into it. Though make no mistake, he would never suffer fools, he just knew how to deal with them in a way that made him even more admired and respected. He told me from the youngest age, “The Starcatcher Inn is home to everyone, whether fallen or burning bright, we catch them all here.”

I’ve been walking these worn stone flags since the day I learnt how to, I know the place like the back of my hand and everyone within it. Treading the floor now, I can avoid the dramatic gesticulations of Rufus Cartmell’s storytelling as I pass, another hair-raising, yet highly dubious encounter with a sea creature that still enthralls his captive audience. I step over Sergio Munn’s outstretched leg without even having to check it is there, knowing full well that after three tankards of ale he will have nodded off under the brim of his hat and stretched out as if he is at home.

Three and twenty might make one think me a spinster, they all wonder why I’ve not married and made having children my job. True enough I have had an offer or two in my time, lotharios and hopeless romantics wanting to take me back to whichever distant land they came from to make me a trophy. I don’t want that, the notion that I could be picked up like a trinket and caged far away. I will wait until I can be treated as an equal, and until then I continue happy as I am in the Starcatcher.

I fetch Old Sawyer’s empty flagon with a smile, flitting back to the bar with pleasant hellos and how are yous for all. Tonight is a night like any other, a balmy summer’s eve during a period of plentiful catches leaving spirits high. Most happy of all is Sawyer no doubt, hustling all of us at cards to keep his supply of ale flowing, calling it his nectar and his life source. I know deep down it’s the human contact he really craves, that buoys him the most.

The late sun has just set bringing with dusk a cooler breeze on the tide, and after checking everyone’s vessels are filled I go to open the large oak door for a bit of welcome relief from the stuffy air. I stand for a moment taking in the vista as I do, the prettiest picture out to the ocean from our corner spot where the town’s main cobbled street meets the port and docklands. I’ve never been out to the horizon, but I know everything about the stretch of water from there inwards to the port and shore, and I could write a hundred books from the stories I’ve been told about what lies beyond.

A settled feeling of home and belonging, that there’s no one luckier than I to see this view every day, meet all of life’s rich tapestry that share it from The Starcatcher. The sweet, summer air tickles the cotton of my clothes against me, so refreshing I could forget it was only a few hours since I was out last running errands before our evening rush.

But I suppose with normalcy and inconsequential thoughts comes complacency, and as the rough hand comes from nowhere to throw me forcefully backwards to the ground, my eyes widen in shock followed with a sinking realisation as matters evolve quickly before me.

None of us had seen it coming.

I let out a cry as I hit the ground, but that aside there is no time to warn anyone as a sudden barrage of men pour through the door. It breaks the calm in two and instantly the tension hits the roof. Men jump from their seats and weapons are pulled from pockets, only to be met with a force greater than they could be prepared for.

Pirates.

Magnus Widowmaker and his crew of lost souls no less. I can tell by the gaping lesion where an eye used to be, that he famously refuses to cover with a patch. And his men, an obedient army of the beaten and broken with no love left in their hearts. Of all the bad luck this may be some of the worst.

Each of them look more sinister than the last as I watch them stream in. Skin blackened with dirt and striped with tar, the whites of their eyes piercing through as demonic as their actions are aggressive. No holding back, they stride through with purpose taking arms with gentlefolk who I doubt could even recall their last quarrel. We are surely no match.

I look to my father in desperation, seeking guidance with everyone else. He stands to show his authority, normally an aura that fills and commands the whole room, but he struggles now as he comes face to face with the Captain striding towards him. Formidable, imposing, a dark presence as though pulled from the murky depths himself and spilling over us like a shadow. All other commotion dulls as the two men square up to each other.

“Take what you need and be on your way, Sir. Just leave us in peace.”

“Sir?!” The bellow would drown out any other, and the way it spreads amongst all his men turn it into a bone chilling cacophony. “He thinks to call me Sir!”

But his demeanor changes instantly, smile gone and dagger in my father’s face quick sharp before I can even react. My hand clamps over my mouth to save a scream.

“Don’t presume to tell me what to do, old man. We’ll take what, and who we like.”

Sensing no reaction now firmly in control, Magnus begins to scan the room, scouring over each person in here and studying what they may have. Gold coins, jewellery, a pretty face. It had been known for pirates to take women away as prizes never to be seen again.

As he continues he turns his body on the spot, and with every inch closer towards my direction dread rises and hope shrinks. The only young woman here, and clearly outnumbered if they wanted to take me.

Elio Monte knows the same. His races the Captain’s stare around the room frantically, finding me half-hidden by the bar as his shoulders visibly loosen. His expression flashes, wordlessly screaming - get behind there - I tuck the rest of my body behind the counter as fast as I can.

My heart feels like it could burst through my chest like a cannonball, convinced surely they can all hear it pounding throughout the room as loudly as it does in my ears. I try to pull myself together, focus on slowing it down for a moment as the exchange between the two foes continues. The room is wrapt in anticipation, an amicable resolution or lives in tatters?

I know there won’t be long before we all find out, our unwelcome visitors’ eyes had been shifting over all items of potential value from the moment they stormed in, and I won’t have long before they come looking in my hiding spot for grog to fill their gullets.

“We don’t want any bloodshed, Magnus.”

I squeeze my eyes together in a silent prayer that he hasn’t said too much. I trusted that he was keeping his emotions measured, whereas deep down I know he wants to run and grab for the pistol above the bar. But he doesn’t, knowing it would be a price that everyone in here would pay for.

Pirates are hard to negotiate with, exerting power over any attempt to parlay. Oftentimes they would not even strike up a conversation, throats would be slit before even a word uttered and so this makes the situation evermore perilous.

Sensing precious few moments left, I eye the door that stands ajar to my right leading up to our living quarters. I had to hope they wouldn’t see me slip through, partially obscured by the bar and all to interested in keeping eyes on the others in the room. Edging towards the end closest, I gather my skirt and chance a peek around the corner at the room, fingers gripping the wooden panel for balance.

Patrons old and young huddled in fear, clutching each other for comfort and security. I could be the only hope of salvation among us if I can find a way to get help. And so with that, I crawl on hands and knees with my heart in my throat.

I can barely get up the stairs fast enough, lifting my skirt to take two at a time in my haste whilst trying to keep light on my toes. If I can get out of the window to my bedroom I can alert the watchmen, I can stop matters escalating or at least bring reinforcements. I try to quell the feelings of fear and tension, the churning in my stomach not knowing what could be happening to my father downstairs, trying instead to channel it into fuel for my determination.

But no sooner than I reach the doorway of my bedroom another hand grabs at the back of my dress, pulling me firmly backwards like a ragdoll into a strange, firm body. Tar and sulphur envelop my smell and taste, a hint of salt and sea identifying them before my other senses can catch up.

The grip is firm, one arm wrapping tightly around my waist and the other at my throat. I hadn’t heard him coming, but his footsteps ring around the room almost tauntingly as he walks us into the room. The slam of my door out of view is enough to awaken the fight in me.

“Unhand me!” I try to bat and smack him away with my free hand, but it does nothing to loosen his hold, denial in the form of a cold laugh, toying like this is a game he knows he can win.

“Not a chance. Can’t have you leaving so soon and spoiling our fun.” The voice is husky, dry, but a sense that he doesn’t often get to play with authority, a line saved up for just this occasion.

“You don’t scare me.” A lie and he probably knows it, yet still I double down like a defiant child.

“Are you sure? I’m a pirate, I should.” A hint of defensiveness at my retort and tensing the hold over my neck just a touch, a menacing tone into the shell of my ear as he brings his face closer and yet still out of sight.

Why, then, does it not deter me? Why do I shake back harder and test the patience of a dangerous man who could end me without a second thought?

“A pirate in training maybe, obviously not enough of one to be down there with the rest.”

“Quiet, wench!” The hand on my waist is gone for a moment, but the ring of metal from a scabbard is enough to stop me struggling as cold metal comes to rest over my chest. The tip of the blade sits under my chin, precise and perfectly close to the skin as I gasp and jerk my head back onto the stranger’s shoulder in fright.

With every outward breath I feel the sword pressing, the other hand poised to clench tighter at my throat at a moment’s notice. Trapped in quite the predicament and certainly not feeling calm, but yet his comment has riled me and I cannot stop perilously pushing my boundaries.

“I..I have a name…I’m no wench.”

He emits something akin to a gasp, or maybe a stifled breath of disbelief, caught off guard with no response to conjur. His grasp stays firm, but his breath shakes as we hang silently together, stuck in this moment of time that instantly feels different.

It wisps over my bare shoulder, down across my cleavage and shyly teases the frill of my cotton bardot. It seeps beneath my skin and shivers through to my bones. It should be fear, but it’s not. It cuts beneath the trepidation, a burning ember licking me over that wills him to speak again. It’s only a few moments before I get my wish.

“...What is it? Your name?”

Hos breath had been a sign, a hope of a crack in his facade, but the way his voice falters now, I sense he holds some intrigue for me as well. See me, humanise me.

“My name is Rosa.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure.”

He takes another breath, pensive in a way as though considering his next move. The blade is enough of a deterrent that I don’t feel I can run, the rubies on the hilt teasing at the color it would draw from me if needed. Maybe he feels it too.

For a moment, I could be forgiven for thinking I am being held as any loving man would, until he slowly removes his grip to nudge me into the centre of the room.

“If you try to leave Rosa I will use this. I know how.”

Stepping forward towards my bed, I still see it glinting at me in the reflection of the window opposite, keeping its watchful gaze on me. But the beholder is still dark in the pane behind it, and curiousity takes me over as I turn to see my captor for the first time.

He stands with a swagger I can tell straight away is natural, but with a broad and imposing stance that seems clear he has added in an attempt to intimidate, or impress me.

He looks to be close in age to me, no more than a few years older at most. Long, deeply brown tendrils of hair hang windswept around his face, the rest pulled back and tied in a sloppy way only men would be comfortable with.

I’m drawn in by his features, the tip of his nose and his Cupid’s bow, prominent enough as though inciting a kiss. The way he watches the sword, as though it is moving of it’s own accord, hearing it’s music, I’m captivated by their dance.

I try to snap myself from his trance, looking at instead at his dishevelled clothes and unwashed face, the sparse moustache of a young man that betrays the grown, accomplished persona he is trying to put forth.

I lower myself slowly to perch on the edge of my bed, eyes fixed on him waiting for any sign that I should stop but it does not come. The sheets are but a small comfort, a daring question on my lips.

“Have you killed a man before?”

“I have.” He puffs his chest with seeming pride. “Amongst others the man who wielded this blade, and so I took it as my reward.”

His chilling reply coincides with a sudden commotion downstairs, the combination shocking me, bolting me upright as my thoughts go to my father. I can’t hide the fear in my eyes as I look to the stranger for a sign, a reassurance that the worst is not happening downstairs, an outcome only I could have prevented if I’d just been quicker.

He gives me nothing so my nerve takes over. I cannot stand the silence up here and I sense that he may even be revelling in it.

“Are they going to hurt my father?”

He pauses, finger to his chin in exaggerated ponderment that sticks in my gut, while he watches the blade swish back and forth with the other. A small smirk blossoms as though tickled by the hair on his upper lip, or simply the pain visible on my face.

“Please tell me.”

But when his eyes meet mine, his expression cracks. The rhythmic sway of the sword interrupted. A weakness once again when he hears humanity that he can’t control, seeing a person and not simply an adversary.

“We won’t hurt anyone, unless they try to get in our way.”

I think about how long my father could keep calm and collected down there, stifling his usual exuberance and quick emotions for the safety of those around him. I think about the others, if they could have had enough fuel to give them the false confidence only a drunkard has. My eyes close in silent prayer again. Please let these men keep the peace.

With every crash or bang or shout my body flinches. Our furniture, belongings, friends thrown about and treated as though they’re nothing.

He has taken a stance leaning against the closed door, watching me slyly while beginning another slow, absentminded waltz with the blade.

I am closer to the window if I wanted to leap for my escape, but he is more at one with the cutlass with each passing swish and swoosh. A few coquettish glances won’t save me from being sliced for putting his fellow buccaneers at risk, and he may even still enjoy it.

I sense that it’s a confidence that brews in him, a piratical strength keeping him buoyant now even though he is alone with me.

I’m sat helpless, the first prick of troubled tears in my eyes for my father when his tone cuts through almost smug.

“Do you like your life here, Rosa? Still and stagnant with no adventure? Sat like ducks in a barrel until pirates come who are not as nice and forgiving as we?”

“This hardly seems nice or forgiving.” I seek comfort in dusting some of the dirt from my skirt, wanting to distract myself however briefly from the helplessness of my current predicament. But why is he so smug? Looking down his nose at my life, what right does he have?

“I’m surrounded by life and love here, I have purpose, people have need of me. You come here to tear down my father’s livelihood, all the things we work hard for. If you had come in asking for food and water he would no doubt have given it to you with a kind word and blessings for tomorrow.”

Had I realised I was standing? Feet taking me towards him that my brain must think to be utter lunacy if it was given a say.

“What of your life as a criminal? Full of greed and anger, never knowing kindness or love?”

His mouth becomes a thin, hard line. Face to face now with brows furrowed, he is angry but so now am I, and yet a small part of me knows he will not harm me.

“Who needs love?”

“Everyone!”

I can read him, I know by his microreactions he misses it, craves it deep down. In the way I watch his pupils grow perhaps at a memory, or just simply a desire to be loved or cherished by someone. He is stubborn, like me, but he cannot hide that my words have struck a chord.

“You don’t like that I’m right, do you, stranger?”

Through anger and bullheadedness, this time he surprises me. A smirk, not of goading or evil, but of some faint amusement.

His free hand raises, slowly and with purpose. Soft, gentle as he takes a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. The first time I’ve wondered how I must look after this encounter, our earlier struggle. It shouldn’t matter, and yet it does.

“Why are you blushing?”

Now my turn to be defensive.

“I’m not!”

Our breaths mingle growing heavier in the space between us, gazes unmoving and the very hint of happiness trickling, perhaps even flirtation thawing the chill, the frost between the pirate and the girl he has caged.

“You have pretty eyes.”

“And yours. Your lips..”

I can’t help but look to them as I say it, the Cupid’s bow catching my attention again. The heat in my neck as I register he never pulled his hand away, how it rests against my neck so differently to before.

It’s ludicrous. Nonsensical. That I’m willing him to close the distance between us. I despise him. I should…

The hanging silence is suddenly too loud, deafening as we seem to both realise in tandem that whatever commotion there was downstairs has dulled. Either the pirates have taken all they came for, or more worryingly there may be no one left to hear. Anything but a calming quiet it alarms us both.

The stranger moves first, the enchantment broken as he strides past me, walking towards my window and throwing it open. Noises pour in and my senses fill with the reality of the situation once more. Whatever was inside has now spilled out, faint cries of familiar voices as they flee, sounds of delight and victory from the monstrous invaders.

My heart leaps that this ordeal may be over, that I can go and look for my father. But I’m also struck that this face will disappear, and I will never know it again.

When he turns back there is a hint of the same, though it tries to hide behind a straightened posture and a clearing of his throat. Seeing his fellow shipmates, it sends him hurtling back into his shell and the smirk is so long gone I doubt whether I’d truly seen it at all.

“You know not what you speak of, of love and longing. You have it wrong, Rosa. Not all who wander are lost.”

He turns to leave, jump out of sight thinking that is our last exchange, but I cannot let him just yet. Even with all the other matters weighing on me, part of me does not want him to go.

“Sometimes it is the most lost who convince themselves of that!”

I break that facade one final time, all I could have hoped for. Lost for words again, clearing his throat to recover whatever composure he needs to leave me. His expression tells me to bite my tongue, though his eyes wish for me to continue.

“Farewell, Rosa, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

He turns outward preparing to jump, and once more I try to stop him with my words. But when I am left stammering blindly with mouth won’t, he gifts me the answer to the question my heart knew I shouldn’t ask.

“My name is Jacob.”

My legs take me without warning to the window as he springs fearlessly from view. The barbarous rabble moves out towards the dock as one foreboding being, melting ominously into the night and taking him with them, swallowing him back in whole.

The brick I removed to peer inside his garden is back up now surrounded by his band of brothers. A tingle runs through my insides, a thought that I’ve seen deeper than anyone might have for a very long time. He let me see him.

“Rosa! Rosa!”

Tearing myself from the window, no sight to be seen and their haunting shanty fading into a whisper on the wind, I’m brought back to the present. My feet fly down the stairs and back into the bar room.

Chairs and tables overturned, paintings ripped from frames and all the gold and silver, even down to the iron candle holders - gone.

But most importantly my father, more beaten mentally as opposed to any serious physical harm. Dignity bent and pride broken, he stands forlorn, looking at his world in tatters until I throw my arms around him.

“We’ll fix it, Papa. All of it.”

As I console him, build him up from the bottom of his ocean, I make a vow for us both.

Magnus Widowmaker daren’t show his face again. Next time there’ll be two guns behind the bar, and always one eye on them.

It’s some hours later before we force ourselves to sleep, departing on the landing with positive facades yet crashing into our beds utterly worn.

I lay my head wearily on the pillow, fuzzy outlines of my body under the sheet as darkness is already beginning to lift on the dawn of a new day. I need to sleep, at least for a few hours.

What tomorrow brings, I do not know. My father and I know that rebuilding the tavern will be a tall task, but our spirit will never be broken. We’re the only family we have and we can make it through anything.

But that is tomorrow. What of now? Right this moment?

Out on the horizon.

Is he there? Will I see the sails dotted in the haze where sea meets sky when I wake? Or will he have already paled to nothingness beyond that which I can see.

Why is he still on my mind?

Still holding me captive in the palm of his hand like an injured sparrow, just as when he was here. All the power and control yet still I managed to see beneath. Pulling the thread and seeing a human inside.

And now it seems he is inside me as well. That green pirate, full of intrigue.

I know why my mind stopped me asking his name, so it wouldn’t add an extra later to taunt me with on sleepless nights and sunny days looking out to sea.

Farewell to you too, Jacob. Now I might always wonder where you are.

Taglist: @gretavanfleas @jakeslovehandles @sammysvanfeet @doodle417 @dannysnipplehair @writingcold @aljen-malti @gretavanbitches @peacefulfuckinarmy @jakekiszkasbestie @sc2106 @tearsofbri @myownparadise96 @lallisonl @joshsindigostreak @gretasmokerising @thebesttears @highladyofasgard @jakeyboiiiiiii @loofypoofy @greta-van-chaos @gretavanlace @gardensgatedaisy @shesawomaninadream @joshyvanfleet @lightmylove-gvf @notthedroidz @gretavanslut @zoe-tally06 @Mamalikes-gvf @MyLeftSock @angelbabyyy99 @stillstreetjoshua @tookiomoon @hellowgoodbye @fakeplastiqtree @lexii-nv-c @ageofbajabule

#mars’ recs #pirate!jake #gvf fic

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greta-van-chaos · 10 months

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im gonna sit down and go through my drafts today, if you guys wanna give me some little blurb ideas that i can do to get back into writing that would be fun! i miss y’all :(

#mars' asks #greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #danny wagner #sam kiszka #jake gvf #greta van fleet smut #gvf smut #greta van smut #oliver reed x reader

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greta-van-chaos · 10 months

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i always leave for so long with absolute no warning and i feel so bad. i’ve just been so swamped. recently i’ve seen i will possess your heart is still getting attention so i’m gonna try as hard as i can to tie it up for you guys. i promise i’m not gone <3

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #danny wagner #sam kiszka #gvf smut #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #sam kiskza #jake gvf #i will possess your heart #oliver reed x reader

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greta-van-chaos · 1 year

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awe! 🖤🖤🖤

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greta-van-chaos · 1 year

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after taking a little break from tumblr this is exactly what i needed… holy shit!!!

The Emperor’s New Clothes

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol consumption, flirting, light impact play, dirty talk, oral (fem rec), etc

Inspired by this gorgeous little bit and this one, too. You’re all evil geniuses ❤️💋

“Seriously, what is wrong with you three?” Danny grabs the pool stick out of Sam’s hand and shoves him aside. “Is being a shitty pool player a prerequisite for being a Kiszka?”

“In fact, it is!” Josh sounds off, leaning against the table, finger idly dragging over the kelly green felt. “They pull us all aside in the hospital directly after birth, and say…hmm, I’ve forgotten, it seems. Samuel?”

Sammy takes a long chug of his fruity pink drink around a nod. “They say,” he gestures grandly, so much like his eldest sibling at the moment. “Be as useless as possible if you ever get your hands on a pool stick. Fuck every play up royally, for this…this is your duty. It’s all very dramatic.”

“Ah yes,” Josh raises his glass in thanks. “That’s it, little brother. Good man, better memory.”

“Idiots.” Danny shakes his head, and sinks three striped balls before scratching and turning in your direction. “Jake, you’re up.”

Jake rises from his stool beside you where he’s been watching the scene unfold with a gentle hand on your bare thigh.

“My time to shine, kitty cat.” He plunks his neat whiskey down and swaggers away, calling over his shoulder. “Prepare to witness mediocrity at its finest.”

“Mediocre would be a compliment.” Danny adds with another shake of his head that sends his mane of curls swaying.

“Hey,” Jake points a lazy finger at him, “you chose me as your partner.”

“Only because the other two are even worse, somehow.”

He sounds baffled by it, and you suppose that makes sense. Normally, the brothers Kiszka float through life with seemingly endless layers of talent. It’s more than fun for the both of you — strangers to such endless grace — to witness their struggle.

Danny hurries to your side, so that you might enjoy the moment together, falling into you as you both dissolve into a fit of half-drunken laughter when Jake flawlessly (and accidentally) sinks the 8 ball.

“Tired of this, is all.” He shrugs, lying his ass off. “We never do anything real. Let’s do something real.”

“I’m real,” You taunt jokingly after a swig of the whiskey he’s left you in charge of, “you could do me.”

“Don’t be cheeky.” He scolds half-heartedly, with a wavering point your way.

“I love it when you talk ‘shitty british accent to’ me, jakey.” You wink with another pull on his glass, draining it to the dredges.

Daniel tries an accent of his own on for size, mimicking his band mate. “Name’s Jacob, love.” He reaches forward to kiss your hand, and you allow it with a giggle and a blush Jake pretends not to see. “I’m terrible at pool…and that’s not the only stick I don’t know how to wield.”

The brothers erupt into laughter as you roll your eyes affectionately.

“Laugh it up, pricks.” Jake sounds unbothered in the sexiest way…it takes a bulldozer to get under his skin.

“Aw, that’s alright, you gorgeous thing, you,” Josh allows his stare to fall dark upon you after a conspiratorial wink. “If my perpetually stupid twin wants to waste opportunities, I’ll allow it and take care of you myself.”

“Sounds perfect, josh…” you lend a breathy tone to your words. “Upstairs in your room or right here on the pool table?”

He pretends to think it over, “I’d say table, but look at all the balls left on the felt. That doesn’t exactly scream comfort. If only Jake could actually sink one or two.”

“Yeah,” you nod with a solemn sigh, “such a shame. Upstairs then.”

“Me?” Jake sloshes more whiskey into his glass and slides it away from you while miming a kiss so you’ll know he realizes this is all in good fun. “You didn’t land a single fuckin’ ball, Josh. Why do you even have this?” He raps his knuckles quickly against the shiny wood framing the table.

“I happen to enjoy telling people I have a billiard room.” Josh smooths his shirt flippantly. “It makes me sound refined.”

“Yeah,” Sammy speaks up from the bar where he is chaotically preparing himself a refill. “Break out the brandy and Tchaikovsky, already. I’m not feeling cultured enough.”

“It makes you sound stupid, because this isn’t even a billiard table.” Jake points out. “Totally different game.”

In reply, Josh sends a square of chalk sailing through the air directly at his head. His twin ducks at the last minute, avoiding impact. “You’re just mad because your girl wants me to take her upstairs.”

“Is that true, kitty cat?” His stare lands on you with mischief glittering there. “You wanna go upstairs with the sun, or stay down here in the darkness where you like it best?”

He saunters forward and pulls you in close, lips soft against your pulse point…but for a split second, you can’t help the way your line of sight lingers, locked with Josh’s.

Jake’s knee slides between your thighs, just high enough to be a little inappropriate. He’s claiming you. Reminding the room to whom you belong, though it isn’t necessary…the whole world can see you’re his.

It’s all right there in the way you look at him. In the way you move with him like a devoted magnet. In the way your body comes alive with electric love when he walks into a room.

Yes, you’re his. Implicitly. But sometimes…..

Shoving the thought away, you push him aside as well, with an embarrassed swat. “Quit it.”

“See?” Josh teases, never one to shy away from giving his brother hell. “She’s ready for the superior twin. Aren’t you, pretty?”

He sends another wink flying in your direction. “And who could blame her? She’s seen me in a jumpsuit or two.”

“Here we fucking go.” Sam groans loudly. “If you’re going to start in on a big dick monologue, I’m calling an Uber.”

“I’ll split it with you.” Danny concurs.

“Ah, fuck off,” Josh waves a hand in the air wildly, dismissing them both “jealous bastards.”

He moves to grab his drink, drifting through the room with that careless elegance that follows him around like a shadow, and you find yourself unable to look away the way you sometimes fall victim to when he’s owning one stage or another.

At times, Josh is like a song you can’t get out of your head. You don’t want to sing it, you don’t want to listen, but there it is all the same…dominating your attention.

You shake it off, but when your eyes reluctantly abandon him, you find Jake’s gaze, narrowed and knowing, tracking and all seeing. It burns into you, lighting a tortuous flame of shame, and something else, within you.

It’s an unsteady feeling. Unsure. Mostly because you can feel emotion radiating off of him like wandering hands reaching out to stroke over your skin. He’s live-wire-alert, thrumming with galvanic energy, but he isn’t angry. Far from it.

It’s analytical, this look he has fixed upon you. It’s hot, there’s no questioning that…but it also boasts a peculiarity. He’s honed in on something you’ve tried very hard to keep hidden, and he doesn’t necessarily hate it.

Brushing away what can only be labeled as intrusive thoughts - he can’t have seen through you that easily - you watch as Dan and Sam begin a game of darts, squabbling over who should throw first.

The night drifts by languidly, becoming a little fuzzier and more dream-like with each trip to the bar to top up.

Jake has disappeared, but that’s nothing new. He tends to wander when inebriated. Likes the quiet. You’ll catch up with him sooner or later. Or perhaps you’ll find him curled up in the guest room that has been unceremoniously reserved for the two of you each time Josh hosts.

You’ve fought it as long as you can, ignoring the nagging ache in your bladder, unwilling to readily ‘break the seal’ that will render you popping off to the bathroom every ten minutes.

Josh is contemplating a song that has been trekking about in his mind, remaining hidden away despite begging to be written.

You nod sympathetically, offering up a squeeze of his hand in solidarity. “Hold that thought,” you smile, tripping on your slurred words so mildly no one but yourself would ever notice. “Off to the ladies room.”

“The ladies room?” He laughs, trotting out that barking belly laugh that is nothing short of infectious. “You make my home sound like an Applebees.”

“Applebees?” You hear Sam pipe up as you ascend the basement stairs “Are you ordering? ‘Cause they’ve got that queso I like.”

Danny’s reply comes muffled as you slip onto the main floor. “Applebees is fuckin’ disgusting, and anyway…”

Hands washed, and a smudge of eyeliner wiped away, you emerge from the bathroom, ready to rejoin the party when a hand slithers out in the dark, quick as a striking snake, to pull you into the spare bedroom.

“Hello, kitty cat.” Jake’s voice comes smoothly in the dark.

“Jake,” you’re working hard to quiet your hammering heart as your eyes fight to adjust in the darkness. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not.” You can nearly hear the smirk in his tone.

“Have you been hiding up here all this time?” You ask, as he holds tight to your hands, barring you from actually being able to touch him.

“Yes. Kept myself busy by going through my brother’s things.” He whispers, licking a soft trail along the side of your pinky. “Did you know he owns a vibrator? Wonder what he uses that for?”

“Probably the same thing you use mine for.” You breathe back in the pitch black of the room, picturing the way he sometimes holds it against his cock for you when you feel like watching. “Stop teasing your poor twin. And you shouldn’t go through other people’s things, Jacob. Naughty.”

“Oh? Shouldn’t I?” His lips skate across your own as he leans in. “I wouldn’t have found this if I hadn’t.”

He has timed his moment perfectly, and as the light flips on, the ability to form truly coherent thoughts becomes unattainable.

A completely self-assured expression warms his features as you stare on with parted lips and softly panting breaths.

Josh’s jumpsuit, stark white and swimming with mermaids and winking glitter, hugs his body like a second skin. It renders the tan of his complexion even more pronounced, leaving him standing before you like a sun-kissed god.

His hair is pulled back in a loose, low slung bun. It’s lazy and effortless. Obviously not executed before a mirror, and that makes it all the more right.

“Fuck, I…” you falter, unable to find the words for your thoughts. Probably for the best, lest you come off as some fucked out ninny in a poorly scripted porno.

“Will this do?” He bites down on his lip, hiding away a flash of insecurity that you spot anyway. It’s gone as fast as it came. Replaced quickly by that cocky smirk that makes your cunt ache for his touch. “Or should I go and gather my brother?”

“Jake…”

Your eyes are fixed on his cock, half-hard and deliciously on display behind the suit. So very much like his twin.

“What?” He yanks you in close and ghosts his mouth up along your pounding jugular until his lips are pressed against the shell of your ear. “I see the way you watch him sometimes. You look so pretty when you stare. Do you want to fuck him? Because you can. If you want him that badly, that is. You can have him.“

A moan in the negative is all you can hope for in the moment.

“No?” He’s got you up against the door now, grinding his fully hard cock against your clit, inching his fingertips up along the outsides of your thighs, higher and higher under your skirt. “You’ll settle for me, dressed up in the emperor’s clothes?”

“You’re the fucking emperor.” You correct, burying your hands in his hair, further loosening his haphazard bun. “I just like to think about it now and then.”

Oh, where did that little bit of honesty come from? Some things are better left unsaid.

“You like to think about fucking my brothers?” He couldn’t be further from angry if he tried. You can hear it. Territorial, perhaps…but that will do perfectly.

“Never said brothers,” you gasp, clinging to his bare shoulders for dear life when his fingers curl into the sides of your panties. “Just Josh.”

“Why?” He’s beginning to shine with sweat and need.

“I like his mouth…oh, fuck…” you whine when he slips your underwear down, mid-thigh. “It’s pretty. And the way he moves his tongue sometimes…”

“Alright, shut up…” he lands a harsh crack of a smack against your swollen clit. “That’s enough.”

“Jealous?” You smile, taunting him just a little before leaning in to dip your tongue into his warm mouth. He tastes of liquor, and cinnamon, and Jake.

“Maybe.” He smiles into your kiss.

“You’ve given me permission to fuck him, but you can’t handle listening to me talk about it?” You’re taunting him mercilessly, but he loves it and you both know it.

“Maybe you’re just needy.” He teases right back, easing two fingers snug into your warmth without warning. “Yeah? Maybe you’re just feeling slutty because you need to cum. Is that it, baby? Do I need to pet my pretty kitty cat a little?”

“Please…” you’re begging, and much too loudly given that there’s an audience one floor below, but you can’t find a fuck to give.

“Mouth or cock?” He curls into you, pressing perfectly inside your silken walls as you arch away from the door.

“Mouth.” You whimper, sounding as pathetic as you feel in your desperation.

It’s the correct answer. Had you said cock, he’d have worked himself into a frenzy thinking about the way you spoke of Josh’s mouth but didn’t ask for his.

He drops to his knees, without a word, eyes on yours until he disappears beneath your skirt, beautiful features now cloaked and hidden away.

You blush under the scrutiny of no one in the empty room when you hear him draw in a deep, lingering, lungful of you with his mouth on your dampened thighs.

“Pink and pretty,” his voice rasps from between your legs. “She’s just a little messy right now. Don’t worry, kitty cat…I’m gonna kiss her all better.”

A feral sound chokes out of you as you yank his face in close, burying him in your cunt.

At first, he’s louder than you are. Murmuring hungry little grunts and moans against your slick skin…sucking at you ravenously until the room is stifled up, full and hot, with the wet sounds of your cunt and his mouth.

Soon, though, you grow hotter, and lose yourself little by little, fucking against his face as he loves on your clit obscenely. Lapping at it, nibbling delicately, drawing it into his kiss tenderly as his fingers delve deeper inside.

He fucks you slowly, nudging you along as you whine and beg above him.

“Shh…” he warns around your pulsing bundle of nerves. “Or do you want him to hear you?”

“Only you.” You promise, rocking your hips frantically to meet him. “It’s all for you. Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop.” He swears, licking away at you like the sweetest lollipop is playing over his tongue.

It’s intrusive and definitely not called upon, but when the picture begins to tumble about in your mind on loop— both of them nestled between your legs at once with those gorgeous mouths of theirs, you’re cumming hard and fast…pouring over his fingers, likely ruining the front of a jumpsuit neither of you can claim ownership of.

Its blissful and for a moment, your soul is robbed from it’s earthly confines, spending a suspended breath ruminating with the universe.

“God damn…” Jake’s winded response scratches out of him as he peeks out from under your skirt, eager to get a look at your flushed face.

He’s covered in you. Glistening and catching the light in your release. “You came everywhere.”

His observation is beyond pleased, but when your eyes slide away, he presses you for answers while still on his knees. “What? Tell me.”

“It’s nothing.” You smile, stroking a bead of sweat away from his temple.

“Liar.” He grins lazily, licking the taste of you off his plush lips. “Tell me what got you off so hard.”

It takes a massive amount of charm on his end, but eventually, you admit that you’d been thinking about them both.

The look in his eyes is nothing short of devious when he goes to speak, only to be quieted by a soft knock on the door.

Your eyes meet in panicked anticipation when a familiar voice breeches the wooden barrier. “It isn’t nice to talk about someone behind their back, you know?”

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