#“and given how there’s no strip clubs for miles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emilemily · 2 years

Text

My experience doing OF: a novel

In 2020, I needed some extra cash. At the time, OF was becoming a major trend.

Backstory: I’ve never been super outwardly sexual or even provocative. Even whenever I used to go to the strip club, 9 times out of 10 I was in my dress and blazer from work.

Growing up, I suffered from an almost debilitating lack of self esteem. Given the bullying I experienced as a child and teen, it wasn’t entirely hard to believe. I was a super weird kid and in return, was treated like I was a monster by my peers. My home was just within a mile of the school district for a wealthy school, which means I, being very poor and very weird, was the odd one out in the majority of my classes.

When I was in my later school years, I moved and transitioned into a school that taught all walks of life, but primarily underprivileged kids. I thrived there and made many friends. I was accepted in a way I’d never experienced prior. It was wonderful. But it was too late, as my low self esteem was sort of a scar on my heart and I would do anything to make and keep friends. I even got arrested at that school for doing things I shouldn’t have been, just because I was a doormat who wanted friends.

Either way, the point is that my self esteem had always been extremely low and as such, I was never one to partake in things that required an abundance of it, or required being bold with my body. I have a low amount of sexual partners because I was so hesitant and when any opportunity presented itself to be intimate with someone, I’d bolt. I’m infamous for bolting.

“Oh Woops gotta work tomorrow and just realized”

“Oh hey I’m sorry my mom needs me”

“Ah man I’m just so tired can you take me home”

I wanted to be this super bold person who took what she wanted, who wasn’t afraid to show off or enjoy my thin, beautiful body. I knew I had a good body, but I just had this weird flaw. I couldn’t follow through with anything. I always ran away.

So back to 2020. As OF started to rise in popularity, I began to imagine a world where I could make a ton of money and stay home with my dogs. Having more time to do the things I loved. Escaping the corporate hell that the majority of us live in, where our lives aren’t truly our own and we belong to our corporation without the contract signed in blood.

I contemplated it for a few days, and then I made one on a whim. I figured I’d simply post provocative photos, but I would not show anything that would shame my family. I just wanted to see how far I could take it without showing more than I was comfortable with.

I purchased ring lights, tripods, lingerie and began taking photosets. I’d shower, shave, blow dry and straighten my hair, put on makeup, and pep talk myself in the mirror. I’d tell myself that I AM that bitch, that this doesn’t mean my value has lowered, that I’m taking back power over my body that has been violated multiple times over the years by men who should be castrated. This was my decision and I was the one making it.

I took beautiful photosets, in fact I was in awe at how beautiful I looked in my photos. Though my self esteem has come very far in recent years, it has yet to fully repair itself. I won’t lie, the power of taking these beautiful photographs and having men lined up at the door to pay for them was fucking with my head.

The subscribers began pouring in. I was so incredibly blown away by my reception. I was $4,000 in my first two months. This may seem like a small amount in the grand scheme of things, but consider the following: I am an uneducated woman. I dropped out of high school and got my GED, and I had primarily worked front desk positions in offices, or in restaurants.

$4k is a lot to someone like me. I began to get hungry for it. I’d take my photos while blasting Lana Del Rey in my living room. I bought a lighting kit. I really enjoyed my photo sessions, solo and just having a good time.

All went well for a few months, and then I began to see that my subscribers weren’t renewing. I had made almost 10k at this point and was money hungry, starting to panic as I saw that money train leaving the station. I decided to go online to Reddit and see what other girls were doing.

What I found sank my stomach. Videos. Boy/girl (another word for porn videos with a man and woman) were everywhere. These women were beautiful and they were experts at making the right eye contact as they did these sexual acts on camera. Their subscription rates were low to get as many subscribers as they could.

How could I compete with that? Did I really want to do that? Wasn’t that something I’d always told myself I wouldn’t do? These were the questions that raced through my mind as I weighed the pros and cons of the decisions I was contemplating making.

Ultimately, I set my price high and decided to do it. The very first time I made a video with my boyfriend at the time, I was filled with nervous energy. It wasn’t exactly something that felt good to do. Having to play up and perform something that is usually done privately and intimately with someone I cared about did not come naturally to me. In fact, it was hard to watch the footage back to edit it.

I filmed, edited, and posted my first video. The reception was out of this world. I’ll never forget the feeling of waking up the next morning and checking my OF to see new subscriber after new subscriber. My balance climbed by over $300 that night. I felt bad about myself a little because it was something I’d always said I wouldn’t do, but I was staring financial security in the face and lost sight of who I was in the process.

I continued to make videos for months. My subscriber count got so high at one point that I was making thousands a month. I quit my job to focus on my content with the goal of getting out of debt and enjoying my life more. This is where everything took sort of a turn for the worst.

Being alone in your apartment all day analyzing the metrics is not a great place for someone who is naturally inclined to suffer from poor mental health. I would obsess over what I could do better, what the men who subscribed to me told me I needed to improve, how I could improve the overall situation and cash in even more. Once the money came flowing in, I always wanted more. I was no longer content with just being comfortable

As my subscriber list grew, so did the comments. I would work hard on a 15 minute video and post it, feel accomplished only to wake up to messages and comments that made me sad. There wasn’t enough tits, there wasn’t enough ass, why did I not think to bring in a third?, why did I not take my bra off?

The pressure of meeting expectations began to weigh heavily on me. I retreated into myself, neglecting my friends. I began to eat a lot to comfort myself which in turn led to weight gain. I was on a birth control implant at the time that exacerbated the weight gain. I quickly reached the highest weight I had ever been and my self esteem plummeted further.

I would look in the mirror and hate what I saw, I’d inspect each soft roll, each new stretch mark, and agonize over it. As someone who had been a size 00 for most of my life and previously struggled with anorexia, this hit hard. It affected my mindset regarding making content. I’d take photosets and upon reviewing the photos I took, feel sick to my stomach seeing what I had become.

When I would film videos at this weight, I would make sure the angle was just so in an effort to hide my weight gain. Nobody commented negatively on the weight, and those who weren’t into it just quietly stopped resubbing. This continued for a few months.

Eventually, I was so depressed that I was laying in the same spot on my couch every single day, fighting myself mentally to get up and make something for my OF. The stress of waiting too long and losing subscribers ate me alive, but I was paralyzed by my own depression. I failed to manage expectations because it was impossible. Everyone wanted all of their desires catered to in every video and it simply wasn’t possible.

I began to hate sex, or sexual acts. I didn’t want to even touch my boyfriend sexually. Portraying this sexual figure on the internet makes you so numb to genuine sexual desires because you’re so exhausted from putting on the show that you don’t want to even be touched afterwards. This was the turning point.

I moved out of my apartment and into a new one and decided I wanted to go back to work. I thrive on routine due to my ADHD, and when I don’t have a strict routine I become a neurotic mess. The only option to save myself and lose the weight I was still piling on was to get back a sense of normalcy.

I secured a wonderful job with a great company. I was prescribed Adderall XR for my ADHD and I thrived. I killed it! It was the best I had ever performed at any position prior. I informed my subscribers that I would only be making content on the weekends as I had decided to go back to work. I lost quite a few of them because of this, but I wanted so badly for my life to return to normal that the monetary influence this had over me began to fade.

I took a couple of really long breaks from content, and when I returned my subscribers were always ready to jump back in and support me. One thing I can say is that I have some of the best fans in the world. They would send me money for no reason, they always understood when I needed to step away, and they cared about me as a person and showed it. My core fans are people I’ll always appreciate and think fondly of.

After my last big break, I resumed content and realized my heart was no longer in it. On the weekends I would anxiously sit around knowing I’d promised a video. I couldn’t enjoy my time because I would procrastinate making a video until it was Sunday and I had the Sunday Scaries on top of feeling the pressure of making a great video for my subscribers.

The final few videos I made lacked heart and soul. I had dead eyes, I’m sure. I did the bare minimum just to say I’d filmed and posted something. This is when the comments from newer subscribers (not my core group) really began to get to me. One man told me that he didn’t feel it was worth paying for given I only posted on the weekends.

1. My description was very transparent about the schedule I had for posting. 2. He was getting access to thousands of posts for a monthly fee that is very low, one that I set with the mindset that not posting often means I should lower my price. I reminded him of both of these things and kindly thanked him for trying out my content and wished him well. I was always kind when people were rude, because I don’t know who these people are on the other side of the computer screen, nor do I know what they’re capable of.

After that, I wrote up a very long post that was not kind. I’d had enough. I allowed them access to my body, my sex life, the extremely intimate part of my life, and all for a low monthly fee. I was never a professional and all of my content was homemade. I could not meet everyone’s expectations and I was tired of trying to do so when I received nasty messages. As I said, my heart was no longer in it so what’s the point?

I officially quit OF in July after barely hanging in there for months. I was focused on my career and I wanted to thrive professionally. My self esteem had skyrocketed with my hard work and gradual success at work. I was no longer in the same place mentally that I had been when I decided to start doing OF. I loved what I saw in the mirror, and I loved what I was capable of.

OF was extremely helpful to me monetarily for a time. It helped me pay my bills, buy food, buy myself nice things I’d never been able to afford, and also help my friends financially if they needed it. I don’t fault OF for the way it all went down.

My main takeaway from this entire experience is that OF should, ideally, NEVER be something anyone turns to out of desperation. When I started, I was behind on all my bills with accounts in collections. I wasn’t making enough at my job to do anything but live day to day, just barely. I saw this opportunity to make money and traded my soul for it. I say that because I was not mentally well enough to do it, and I did a lot of things I was not particularly okay with to compete.

If you look on Reddit in the same subs I used to advertise in, you’ll see beautiful young women advertising their entire collection for $3. Girls who are freshly 18 starting the day of their birthday. Women who are pregnant and desperate posting content to cater to pregnancy fetishes. Girls similar to the way I was, making blowj videos in their dumpy rooms, just trying to compete and make money.

But you will also see women who are confident in their content, women who thrive doing sex work, women who provide for their families and have no qualms with doing so. More power to them, because I crumbled in the face of pressure. They have strength I’ll never have.

OF changed my life in multiple ways and I’m incredibly grateful for the experience, but I am also regretful about how far I allowed myself to go. The fact that there are videos of me out there posted on the internet is humiliating. One thing about OF is that you can never fully delete it. People steal your videos, people save them and keep them, and there are archives of everything out there.

I cannot control the fact that there is sexual content of me all over the internet, and that eats away at me. I always wonder when someone I know is going to see it. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve had multiple people find me online and start viewing me sexually only, messaging me on FB for free nudes. I’ve had former managers subscribe to my OF. You will be seen by people you know and you have to accept that.

And this all goes back to desperation. The thing is that I should’ve known the repercussions of what I was doing before I did it. I should have weighed the pros and cons of it, and I should have probably not advertised as widely as I did on Reddit. But I was desperate and I had a giant golden carrot dangling in front of me. I chased it. Got a few bites out of it, but as I lost my inspiration for making content the carrot disappeared.

In my final months, I made about 3k a month. Enough to pay my bills and use my income from my job for savings. That was cool, but it wasn’t really enough for me to continue. I made the decision to stop and with that decision, lost thousands of dollars a month.

I’ve never been happier with a decision in my life. I began to enjoy weekends again. The weight of everyone’s expectations is no longer breaking my back. I’ve lost all the weight I had gained and I’m secure with who I am, even after everything I’ve done. I have learned very valuable lessons and escaped with my self esteem intact.

However, I cannot change the way people who know of my content view me as a person. I cannot take back making or posting those videos for the world to see. I made those moves at a time in my life when I needed money more than anything, and the consequences of that very rash decision are just something I have to live with.

I have a great heart, I’m incredibly intelligent, I have a will that is made out of fucking platinum, I’m the friend who will drop everything to help you if I can, I take incredibly great care of my dogs, I’m goofy with a sense of humor, and I happened to make and post homemade dirty content for a few years.

I have made peace with my decision in a way, but I do believe that the only thing capable of washing away the regret I feel is time.

Das my OF story. The end.

3 notes · View notes

beigehearts · 3 years

Text

Yandere Illumi soulmate au

You are given the assignment to assassinate the Illumi Zoldyck. It doesn't go exactly as planned

TW: blood, gore, murder, mentions of drugs, violence

Life as an assassin isn’t easy- especially when you’ve climbed up the chain of power. You were paid to kill one person that no other person in their right mind would. One of the Zoldycks, arguably the strongest one. If you were smart you would have declined this offer, but money can blind you. You wouldn’t have to work for the rest of your life if you successfully killed your target. You would be set for life, and set for death.

You already know that following your target directly would get you killed instantly, so you have other people doing it. People who owe you ‘favors’, two of your spies have already been killed, but they knew better than to mention your name. You definitely have a reputation.

And in a world where people are obsessed with their soulmates? You’ve killed quite a few ‘soulmates’ and people who have harmed their lovers. After people started evolving this weird soulmate quirk, it’s become an obsession. Whether this means tracking that soulmate down or killing them. You would be surprised how many people want their soulmates dead. And for you? You couldn’t care less.

Apparently your target, Illumi, has his own target tonight. He will be going to this persons headquarters and kill them after torturing information out of them. So you’ll be showing up to the same place to assassinate him.

It’s dark out, especially while you’re at an old factory in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere. By now Illumi should have already infiltrated the building, so you walk right up to the front doors.

Two guards stand there with rifles in their hands, they eye you and begin to laugh. The bigger guard cocks his gun but keeps it aimed upwards.

“I think you’re lost snowflake. The strip club is a mile down the road.”

You look down at your outfit, your midriff is showing and you’re wearing heels. As all good assassins should. You look back up and smile to the guards, “I guess I am lost, this looks like the small dick manufacturing company.”

The guard on the right furrows his brows, “You better get going before we decide to keep you to ourselves.”

You chuckle and crack your knuckles, “I’ve always wanted two guys at once.”

One of the guard goes to speak but you kick him in the stomach and his rifle goes off in the air. You duck when the other guard goes to throw a punch, you grab his rifle and butt it into his stomach. He leans over and you smash his head with the end of the rifle, he’s out.

The remaining guard stands up and groans, holding his stomach. His face goes red with anger and he points his rifle at you. You jump at him and he fires, but you push the gun upwards, shooting another round into the sky. You grab the back of his head and bring it down onto your knee with a satisfying crack of his nose. He collapses onto the ground next to his partner and you huff. That was anti climatic.

You step over the guard’s body and enter the old factory. There are huge containers all over, 30 ft talk cylinders that must be containing some type of new drug. You continue walking through the factory and admire the place. For some dumpy drug manufacturers, they do a good job. You look down at your wrist when you feel a tingle and see something written on it. Did your soulmate write something down on themselves? You squint at it to make out the words… ‘purple squirt’. Purple squirt? What the fuck?

Whatever, now isn’t the time. You locate the main office after passing some laborers, they pay you no mind. It’s at the top corner of the building and you have to climb a ladder to get to it. You open the door nonchalantly and see a man crucified. No really, his hands are nailed to the wall and so are his feet. There’s blood everywhere and all of his limbs are mamed beyond belief. You can barely recognize his fingers as fingers.

Standing in front of him is a tall man with long hair. A very tall man. You look up to his face, he has big, empty eyes and an unreadable facial expression.

“So you are the one that has been following me.” He says calmly.

Before you can respond, the man against the wall screams, “HELP ME! PLEASE! SAVE ME! HE’S A MONSTER!!”

You ignore his pleas and so does Illumi. He continues screaming until Illumi walks over to him and grabs his jaw. You’re a cruel person, but your could barely watch what comes next.

With his bare hands he grabs his bottom jaw and rips it straight from his skull. He screams and his tongue hangs low. Blood pours from his head, covering him and the floor, leaving a puddle. Illumi drops the bottom part of his entire face in the puddle of blood. The man only has seconds to live at this point, so you ignore him. He let's out pathetic moans and whimpers that irk you in a way you've never been irked before.

You watch the man in front of you intently and narrow your eyes, "Before I kill you, why were you here?"

Emotionlessly Illumi walks towards you. "I'm not going to give you unnecessary information."

He stands right in front of you, and you have to crane your neck to see his face.

It all happens in just a few seconds, he draws his hand from his pocket and you, your own. He has the pin point of a needle pressed lightly against your forehead. Your blade digs into the skin of his neck, drawing a drop of blood. You were going to enjoy killing this man, this cruel cruel man.

You grit your teeth and press the dagger further into his skin, "He's right, you are a monster. A fucking mons-"

You reaction time compared to his is pathetic, he grabs your wrist and squeezes it tightly and brings it up to his face. He looks at the words inscribed on your wrist, suddenly seeming very intrigued. His one hand that still has a needle against your skin falls to his side and he drops your arm.

You jump back a few steps and watch him closely.

"Come with me." He commands.

You raise an eyebrow at him and scoff, "Excuse me? I'm not going anywhere with you."

He lifts his hand and points at his wrist, "It says 'purple squirt' on your wrist. It's the name of the drug being manufactured here that I wrote down."

"Okay and? What does that have to do with anything?!" You spit.

He cocks his head and looks genuinely confused. "You are my soulmate. You will be coming with me. I thought that was obvious."

You drop your defensive stance and feel your mind go blank. All you can utter is, "What?"

He approaches you and grabs your wrist once again, but this time he's not going to let go. "It it futile to resist. You will be coming home with me."

You pull against his grip but it hurts you more than it does him. "Like fuck I will!"

He squeezes your wrist even tighter and you hear a crack accompanied with a sharp pain up your arm. You try your best to look unfazed but the pain is undeniable.

He leans down some so he can see you eye to eye, "You are my soulmate. You are my property. We are going home."

#illumi #illumi zoldyck #yandere illumi #illumi x reader #hxh #hunter x hunter

147 notes · View notes

writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde (2/?)

Part two: Caught

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After reader’s first introduction to Spencer she can’t wait for the next meeting and tries to look for him.

Part One, Part Three

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hey guys!!! This is my final fic for my 1250 follower celebration!!! Plus this is part two to my new series 🥰 I’m like so excited for this guys I’ve got so much planned for this one!! Thanks again to @spencers-dria who came up with the way I started out this story 😘 and @andiebeaword who gave me the prompt that spiraled into a series!!! Let me know how y’all like this series so far 🥰 also I will be mass accepting the rest of the requests for my 30 fics in 30 days tomorrow so be warned for a bunch for posts lol and I’ll be making a Masterlist for this series as well- maybe with a cute moodboard?? Thanks for reading guys!!!

Warnings: 18+, Speculation on how dark Spencer can be, mentions of kidnapping, Dom Spencer, Public sex (of course), Fingering, Use of the nickname Doctor, Slight size kink, Muffling, Spencer gives Reader a nickname at the end (I won’t spoil it 😉)

Main Masterlist Word Count: 3.6k

Ever since the last meeting you had been itching to lay your eyes on Dr. Reid. Even though you could have waited until next month when there’s another book meeting happening, with a new theme, your impatience was not having it.

The library that housed the book club and apparently now any of your interactions with the mystery man had never been frequented as much by you- until now.

Everyday after work now you stopped by to try and find him. You did other stuff there for sure, making your way through a full fantasy series while you kept your eyes peeled for his fluffy hair. Sometimes you did walk through the shelves that were stacked high with every book you thought imaginable just to maybe get a peak at him, or maybe speak to him if you were lucky.

You felt like you were both dancing around each other, never touching or even getting close enough to speak. But, a little look of his curls, a spot of his mesmerizing eyes, or a glimpse of his cardigan assured you that he was there.

You were sure he had to have seen you just as you had seen him at some point. Maybe he only wanted to see you during your book club or maybe he was done with you after that one time in the empty room.

Seeing him without half of his face covered seemed to make the shroud of mystery surrounding him get pulled back further. That however didn’t change the fact that you barely knew the man that danced between the shelves. You had called him by his earned prefix more than his real name and even then it was only his last name with the earned prefix attached that had slipped between your lips.

It was not like you did not know his first name, you had heard his full name with his title attached when he had first introduced himself to you, albeit behind that mask of mystery. And, even with his physical mask removed even with one look it would be obvious to anyone that there was an invisible mask still covering most of him.

There was this strange pull towards him that you could not explain. You felt like Christine being entranced by the phantom, his twisted face or in this case his soul behind the mask not shocking me away. You still hoped I was not dealt with a man that was as demented as Christine’s phantom. You could take a damaged man, not a kidnapper along with whatever other things the phantom of the opera had done to Christine. With one look at his face he hooked you in, perhaps unintentionally. But, if it was intentional and his bad didn’t squash the good in the end you didn’t mind at all.

Your feelings teetered on a precarious edge, you’d willingly take the plunge off if he’d just give you a peak at what was underneath. It all hinged on whether or not he’d let you take a look. He’d given you a taste of his Dr. Jekyll plus a little of his Mr. Hyde, but it left you nowhere in determining who Spencer was underneath.

Spencer- that was the first time you had even thought of his first name by itself without a prefix attached. You wondered how good it would sound if you let it stop dancing on the edge of your lips and let it slip out.

The ghost of his name danced on your lips precariously at the edge just like you were, so close to being whispered out. Only the pages of old books would hear you, there was no harm in saying his name. It was only a name after all.

Even though it was just a name made up of two syllables it was stuck on your tongue like it was one of the hardest words to pronounce. Your lips did finally speak in the softest whisper when you finally managed to stomp out your hesitation, “Spencer-“

“You called?” A gasp left you, way too loud to be appropriate in the library, but then again you had already bucked many of this library’s rules. You whipped around to face the voice that you recognized instantly as you had been closing your eyes tight every night trying to remember his voice and picture what he had done to you.

Seeing him without the mask up close, not through quick glances when you caught his fugue from afar was somehow more intriguing to you than when he wore the mask two weeks ago. When you did not come up with a response for at least a minute, he cut through the somewhat awkward silence, “What book are you looking for?”

“I don’t know.” That was an honest answer from you, you had other motives for hiding between these shelves.

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline clearly spotting your skittish behavior. You thought you were a good liar too, you wondered how it was so easy for him to read you. It made you feel vulnerable considering you couldn’t get a read on anything about him, besides the basics. Maybe you were just a bad liar and he was a master at it. “So you were just browsing? In the nonfiction section- specifically in the ancient and medieval philosophy section?”

His questions flustered you even more. It was like he knew that you had spotted him once in this very spot speeding through a stack of books a mile high while sitting cross legged on the floor. You would admit you stood there in awe for a moment to admire the way his fingers slipped down the page to track what sentence that he was on at an inhuman pace. You had been too shy to approach him that day, even though it was a perfect opportunity to do so, mostly because you were intimidated by how fast he seemed to be reading. Though later you thought maybe he had just been skimming to find what interested him, you wish you were brave enough to ask. That was why you had been loitering in the last spot you had your last chance to speak with him. It was possible he had already spotted you from your staring. Your voice shook a little as denied, having no suitable white lie to say, “No…”

“Not interested in philosophy then, no Plato for you??” He knew you were here before, watching him, his tone made it obvious.You shook your head from side to side slowly with your breath held tightly in his chest. He looked away from you for a moment to glaze over the spines of the books ordered by the Dewey Decimal System, maybe looking for something that sparked his own interest. It was only a small moment that his gaze wasn’t fixated at you, but you still felt like whining at him to get his attention back onto you. Luckily, you did not have to make such a sound as his pupils fixated back onto yours before he spoke again, “I thought so, you seem more like a fiction lover.”

“You’d be correct.” You confirmed, still barely breathing.

Your breathing wavered when he moved a little closer, if you hadn’t been paying such close attention to every minute moment he made, you might have missed it. The warmth of him was closer than it had been since the last time he had touched you, the desire for him was urging you to pull him in to touch him. Last time he had initiated every touch. his hands were closest to you, with nimble fingers that could work you over the edge skillfully and you knew that from experience. His head cocked to the side with eyebrows in question pulling you away from your daydream about pulling him in with your touch. He cleared his throat, then questioned you, his voice dropping down a bit, “So, if you weren’t looking for a specific book and you weren’t just browsing for a new one- what are you doing here in this section?”

“N-nothing…” A stutter still escaped you despite your best efforts.

It seemed like he was circling you like a hawk over head, though you wanted to be caught up in his claws. A little yelp of surprise escaped you when he suddenly grabbed your wrist rather tightly and yanked you forward towards him. You stumbled slightly into his chest, but you were quickly stabilized by him pushing you back into the shelves.

You were getting whiplashed again from his transition from delicate to sharp when he carefully put both wrists into one hand, then pinning them above your head. Your jaw was dropped down in shock and you almost stammered out another reply when he hit the nail on the head as to what your intentions were, “Were you looking for me?” At first you gave no response, but he pulled one out of you by sharply commanding you, “Answer me!”

“Yes!”

His lips were on you in a familiar fashion, harsh, almost enough to where your lips might bruise a little. When he bit your lip rather hard, you thought that there was definitely a chance that the bruise would form or at least it would be swollen. You loved it though, letting him guide the kiss to make it as rough as he wanted. When he separated his lips from you, you went to open your mouth to protest, but was cut off by a harsh shush from him that would make the librarian proud.

Each of the shelves you were pressed into pinched painfully, not that you cared all that much. You were more focused on the man who was now unbuttoning the front of the jeans you wore. On the inside you were cursing yourself for not wearing a skirt so he could’ve had easier access, it’s not like he could have stripped you down out of them- even if you wanted him to.

You’d both have to settle with your pants being pulled down to the tops of your thighs, he did leave the panties pulled up though, for the moment at least.

His other hand still held your wrists firmly while he started to tease by rubbing slow circles to your clit through your panties. When you tried to buck your hips into his hand you were punished by putting one of his thighs between your own and pushing what felt like his full weight onto you. There was no way you could move underneath him, even if you tried squirming he had you pinned to the too firmly shelves like a piece of art hanging on the walls.

All you could do was try to beg for what you wanted, “Please, pull them down.”

“But, I like seeing you in them.” He looked down at you with his eyes that looked like black pools because of the mood lighting in the library. You whimpered again, but cut you off by saying. “If you want me to oblige you, maybe you should ask me nicely and use the name you know you’re supposed to use.”

You knew exactly what title he was referring to, it had been ingrained in your mind after the last time. Part of you wanted to use a similar comeback of last time and call him Mister instead, or maybe even dare speak his first name again. On the other hand, your legs were shaking from being just simply teased a little. You had been looking forward to having him touch you like this again, and if you did not comply there was a chance his punishment for you would be taking away all touch.

“Please- Doctor, please pull them down.” Your volume was undoubtedly much too loud for the normally dead silent library. You were confident that you would not be caught just like last time, this was a scarcely traveled area, plus the librarian was farthest away from here. There had been another motive for picking this area to try to spot the morally gray doctor.

Instead of pulling your panties down, he ripped them off of you. The tearing of the seam echoed off the shelves along with your gasp. Even if you had really liked the pair, it was too hot to really be angry for him ripping them apart. And- when he stuffed them in his pocket a sharp spike of arousal ripples through your core. You could even still see the wet spot you had created on them despite the rip before he had shoved them into his pocket.

When his hand returned to your core you mewled desperately. He returned his nimble fingers to rubbing circles into your clit, this time a little bit faster than before and with a bit more pressure. You had to bite down onto your lip when he started alternating the circles with pinching your clit, knowing that the sharp cries that wanted to escape would be too loud for the librarian to miss, despite being far away from her.

“Do you want my fingers inside you?” He asked gruffly- as if I’d refuse having his long fingers crooked inside me, dragging across my g spot.

You didn’t need him to prompt you to say “Yes, please Doctor!” You were becoming easy for him to bend to his will, just to get another taste of his touch on your body. Maybe next time, if there was one like you hoped, perhaps if you were not so desperate for him to bring you to your peak, you’d smart off to him again. After all, from what little that you had experienced as a punishment from him like last time, you knew you’d enjoy it.

The smirk on his face told you that he was pleased with your eager submission to him. He pushed your head to the side slightly with his own to suck a hickey at the underside of your ear then nibbling slightly up the shell of it, “Good girl.”

Your eyes rolled back farther than you thought possible when he spoke, plus the added sensation of him plunging his fingers into your dripping hole added to that as well. The thrusts of his fingers were slower than you expected, as if he did not care that time may be of the essence, that anybody could walk by soon. Curling them upwards on one swift motion helped him easily find that perfect spot inside you which made your body try to squirm underneath his grip again. As you squirmed you could feel his hard bulge pressing into you making your mouth water and you drip down your thighs even more. Despite wanting to grind into it more he reaffirmed his grip and started to plunge his fingers into you faster. Your eyes shut tight at the onslaught of pleasure.

“No- look at me while I’m doing this to you.” Wrenching your eyes open with effort you followed his command, locking his eyes with yours. His eyes entranced you, you could almost feel the dark hooks pulling you in impossibly closer. Those hooks were pushing you towards the edge of your orgasm as well.

“Can I cum pleassse-“ You gasped almost too late as you were having trouble staving off your release, you didn’t know if you could handle him holding it off at all, “Doctor?!”

“Come on, cum for me- only for me, you’ve been really good for me.” A man being possessive towards you would normally have your orgasm fall away quickly- but when he said it your orgasm snapped through you on command. Your hands fell limp at your sides as he released his steel grip on them to clasp his hand around your mouth to quiet the noise that you tried, and failed, to stifle.

He had you still almost fully pinned down as you rode the waves of your orgasm out. You gripped the shelves with your free hands tightly, trying to hold onto something. You’d touch him, but there was the unspoken rule to not touch him without permission hanging in the air.

He let you come up for air once you had finished by removing his hand from your mouth, along with the one from your pants. He also tried to move you off of his thigh so you could stand, but your shaky legs would not allow you to do so, still weak from the force of your orgasm.

He only pulled away from you when a small thud was heard that judging by the source of the sound, was somewhat close to where you both were. He helped you button your pants back up, it felt kind of weird to wear them without your panties. The reminder of him stuffing them into his pockets still outweighed the discomfort.

Your whole being was probably much more disheveled than he was, there was only a slight cock to the right with his tie, that he quickly fixed. He then leaned, capturing you in a kiss that was much softer than any others he had given you. It did not feel like a goodbye kiss, more like see you soon.

“Until next time, Shelley.” His words that were whispered like a ghost on your lips, it was the quietest thing he had said throughout today’s dalliance. He almost seemed afraid. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the nickname, knowing it came from the time that you first had encountered him. It made him seem even closer to you than you had thought, him giving you the nickname made you feel somewhat claimed by him. Hopefully this was not all in your head.

“Until next time- Spencer.” You hesitated a little before saying his given name. You already had a nickname for him, one that seemed less intimate than the one he gave to you. Calling him by his first name seemed like a way that you could express similar thoughts without spilling all your guts to him.

Once the butterflies had faded a little you realized that he had not let you reciprocate any pleasure. You wanted to chase him back down through the library, get down on your knees and take his cock into your mouth until you swallowed his cum. There must have been a reason though, why he did not let you reciprocate. You hoped he was just busy and that at the next meeting in two weeks time, he’d let you take him into your mouth.

You yearned to touch him rather than to have him touch you. The thought of running your hands through his hair slowly enough to appreciate every wave and curl sent butterflies a flight in your stomach. Would he ever let you get that close? Close enough to study every curve of him in earnest instead of being pinned against something in a way where you could only appreciate a part of him. However much you felt desire being stoked whenever he took control over you, pinned you like he did, the butterflies in your stomach at the thought of exploring him with your own hands was too much to ignore. You just wanted to explore every inch of him with no semblance of time, no rush to be somewhere else, just to examine every part good or bad.

You’d have to tiptoe close, dance around him like he did with you until he let you see truly what both sides of him were behind the mask.

You still hardly knew the man before you, the one that was retreating away from you, sadly. Today had felt like your first glimpse into something more, mostly his good side. Dr. Jekyll was the one that you had seen the most of, but you could deny your desire to see every part of him, that thought had not wavered. There was that dark part of him that remainder hidden under the mask, if he showed it to you would you know him? Or would it just deepen the mystery of which is his dominant side- Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde? And even though you were undoubtedly curious to see every facet of what made the morally gray doctor you could help but fear whether or not you’d like everything that you’d see.

Part One , Part Three| Series Masterlist

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

Dr. Jekyll or Mr.Hyde: @rainsong01

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Dom!Spencer: @rainsong01

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds series #spencer reid series #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #1250 follower celebration #1250 followers

177 notes · View notes

oldandkinky · 2 years

Note

15+51 Geralt/Jaskier(/Eskel?)

Criminal AU & Accidentally Married

Jaskier is the youngest son of Alfred Pankratz, infamous mob boss. He's more or less given free rein to do as he pleases (within certain boundaries), so it's not unusual for him to spend a whole weekend at his club, getting absolutely hammered on whatever he can get his hands on. He'll drink, he'll flirt, he'll fuck patrons in his office, whatever. It's not like his dad cares.

One such weekend, he's already slightly sloshed when he goes on the prowl. There's a couple of pretty ladies at the bar, and the booth in the very back is filled with a whole group of men who all look like they could break him in half between two blinks, and Jaskier is just about to head over there when the door opens and he walks in.

He is tall and built like a god, broad shoulders and thick arms, slim hips and muscular thighs. His long hair looks white even under the dim light of the club. Jaskier almost drools into his drink.

He waits only long enough for the man to get to the bar, then he slips easily into the space beside him. His initial flirting is met with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smirk, but when Jaskier invites him to the VIP area, something glints in those brilliant eyes.

Geralt, sex on legs says his name is. He's supposed to meet his brother, and Jaskier waves a hand and tells him to just invite said brother along, to text him just to give his name so he'll be let up.

When Eskel, the brother, arrives, he finds Jaskier in Geralt's lap and Geralt's hand down the back of Jaskier's trousers. He doesn't seem particularly surprised.

They all proceed to get quite thoroughly plastered, and later Jaskier will vaguely remember being caught between miles of pale and dark skin, hands and mouths all over him and two thick cocks spearing him from both ends.

His recollection of slumping onto Geralt's broad chest and slurring, "I think I love you. Marry me?" is even fuzzier, but it must have happened, because when he wakes the next day, he's in a hotel bed, Geralt and Eskel snoring on either side of him, and matching gold rings on his and Geralt's fingers.

Later, after they've all had their own private meltdowns - Jaskier's very loud, Geralt's stoic and Eskel's somewhat normal - they'll piece together what happened, how Jaskier's driver took them to the 24h chapel of Melitele down on the Lettenhove strip, stopping only long enough to pick up rings at one of Jaskier's dad's jewellery stores.

Geralt cried, and Jaskier puked into a vase immediately after their vows.

It can't be legally binding, they all protest, right? They were obviously drunk off their tits. But no, the nice elderly lady at the local chapter of Melitele tells them, marriages officiated inside a temple are considered binding both in this life and the afterlife. Even if the temple is a cheap little novelty chapel on the strip.

And that's how Geralt ends up as the trophy husband to the kid of a notorious crime boss. Eskel can't decide if he's glad it's not him, or jealous since he mostly remembers the sex.

#oldandkinky #OldandKinky fanfic trope mashup #fanfiction tropes #geraskier #jaskier mob au

27 notes · View notes

chaotically-zen · 2 years

Text

humans are so fucking cool.

being in Hawaii has been so refreshing for the soul. It’s only been a few days and I have already made so many connections and heard stories of real people living. I am living such a beautiful life full of stories and excitement and am so grateful to have people like Devon and alex to share it with. Can’t wait to continue building my “vibe tribe” as well.

the people I’ve met in Hawaii

- frank driver: this man has fucking LIVED. (Maybe too much haha). Frank was our 79 year old Uber driver who was a real ass hippie in LA in the 60s and 70s. He was in the army and after felt he needed to be radical. He smuggled weed in and out of LA and Hong Kong. And with that money made music. Then, after 5 years he got caught and went to jail. At the time, acid was his preferred drug of choice. Yet, he found Jesus and it really helped him in Jail. He is now a whole ass preacher. And lives between Alaska and Hawaii with his kids. Man is wild. Says girls r critters. Jesus is all.

- bee lady: we met this lady in a little shop in Paia. She was so sweet and worked at a local shop that sells honey from their bee farm. Bees are endangered right now and are essential to our food and daily life. We ended up talking about natural foods and how much better they are for our body. She is also Native American and Hawaiian and talked to us about the culture their. It was an impactful conversation. Indigenous people have been treated so poorly. It is so sad and their culture is so beautiful. She really appreciate talking to us and told us we have her hope for the future.

- Chris and Audrey / Mia: this was a magical interaction. We were in Lahaina and wanted to get henna. We first found a tattoo place that we really liked but it had a long line. However, the cutest kids ever talked to us there. We continued to walk around but alex (who usually doesn’t feel this way) insisted we go back to this henna place as he felt that it had a good vibe. So we went back and it was such an amazing experience. The family with the kids was still there. Mia, the tattoo artist, and them were talking and we inserted ourselves naturally into the conversation. It ended up being such a deep talk about the universe and holistic wellness, etc. Mia told us how each Hawaii island is connected to a Chakra. Chris and Audrey talked about how they are raising their multi culture kids and want them to be spiritual, healthy, and happy. They own a holistic wellness business making sea miss which has many health benefits. They were so warm and welcoming and told us they were here us and would show us the way. We exchanged contact info. Truly magical. It’s so nice to find like minded people and talk deeply about the uinverse and health. The universe has so much to give and we can use it heal our selves and hearts and souls.

- Mauricio: this man was a character. He was our Uber driver on the way home from Lahaina and told us all these insane stories. He was going on and on about business and sneaky ways to Make money. He is planning on being a multi millionaire in the next years. He used to work in a strip club and told us how much money can be made in bathroom attendant work and vending machines haha. So odd but interesting. We also were given secrets to Haleakala from him.

- lauren and Sara : both of these girls were so sweet and our age. They live in Kihei and moved to Hawaii. I feel like they would be whole ass friends of mine if I lived there / when I do. Sara worked at three rivers grill and lauren worked at local boys shaved ice. Good energy af.

- Helen (Uber driver): lived on a commune ran by Elizabeth Taylor’s brother, was a fisherman until her boat sank 50 miles out from shore, she then became a nurse and lives here to take care of her son. Had a mysterious in her passenger seat

- Uber driver earlier today Anita: is Hawaiian and her husband is too. Told us about some of the history and what is is like growing up there

- migmar : He is a young owner of a new crystal and holistic wellness / art store. He focuses on bringing different culture and people together and believes in universal love and community. He is Tibetan but has workers from Peru, Canada, Hawaiian, native Americans and more. The store he owned was beautiful and all is locally created things. It felt so vibrationally high and magical. We got really cool gifts and crystals. He is also friends w hitomi and plantiful soul. The store does a service project every Sunday too because they want to get out and help the community.

- Jewish hiking couple: saw them on the sleeping giant trail, super super friendly and had a beautiful baby named sunny! Love the name. They complimented my Janis Joplin tee.

- mike : our kayak guide and instructor who had radiant energy. was so sweet and energetic and told us all about living on Hawaii. He was born in California and moved all around working in the cannabis industry. He loves being a kayak guide bc u notice new things about the outdoors and landscape every day. He can call the birds and makes lots of food from the outdoors. Taught us about crazy plants and their natural uses.

- uber driver who gave us history:

4 notes · View notes

suituuup · 3 years

Photo

pieces - chapter thirteen

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

It didn’t take long for Beca to realize that Sarah was right.

She probably had been oblivious to her feelings for Chloe or chalked them up to close friendship because Sarah was in the picture, but as soon as her guilt over breaking-up with Sarah faded away a couple of weeks ago, it felt as though a veil lifted.

Her whole being lit up every time she saw Chloe, and she craved those soft moments with her, either talking about Bean, or working on the nursery, or cuddling up on the couch.

Beca didn’t know if Chloe felt the same way, and even if she did, she was probably miles away from being ready to launch into a relationship, between the baby and her recovery.

She focused on her music in the meantime, writing three more songs to go with that one piece she came up with the day after she saw Chloe again. One was about being brave, another about getting redemption, and the last one about finding happiness. All about Chloe, and how much her journey inspired Beca.

Beca came home pretty late from the office that night, wrapping up the final versions of all four songs with Luke. She found Chloe on the couch watching a sitcom and padded over. Chloe was now shy of 22 weeks and sporting the most adorable baby bump.

They had worked on the nursery over the last two weekends, hanging cute, colorful pictures of several woodland animals and sticking colorful, minimalist tree wall decals on the opposite wall. The crib, changing table, and car seat had been ordered, and Beca was planning a surprise baby shower with Aubrey, a month after the Bellas reunion, which was taking place in two weeks at a cabin upstate.

“Hey,” Beca murmured, plopping down beside her. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good. Bean and I went for a walk, then we met up with Aubrey for lunch, and napped for most of the afternoon. She’s kicking like crazy right now, though.”

Beca grinned. “Yeah?” She cleared her throat, hesitant. “Can I… feel?”

“Of course,” Chloe said softly, taking Beca’s hand and setting it on the left side of her stomach. “That’s where her foot was just a second ago.”

Beca folded her legs under her and sat back on her heels to be more comfortable, silence descending upon them as they waited. After a minute, she glanced at Chloe. “Maybe it’s not strong enough to be felt from the outside, yet?”

“No, it’s not that. I think she’s stopped.”

“Oh,” Beca let out in slight disappointment. Just as she was about to pull her hand away, she felt a light tap against her palm and gasped. “Oh my god, I felt it!”

A giggle burst from Chloe’s mouth. “That was a strong one.”

“That’s amazing,” Beca mused aloud, her voice sticking to her throat a bit. Yes, she was about to cry over Chloe’s baby kicking, that’s how soft this whole thing had made her. “Jesus Beale, your kid is turning me into a giant puddle of mush.”

Chloe chuckled, moving Beca’s hand to a new spot and keeping hers on top. Bean kicked again, pulling another gasp from Beca.

“Does it hurt?” Beca found herself asking, her gaze sweeping upwards to watch Chloe’s expression.

“It’s a little bit uncomfortable whenever she kicks in the ribs, but other than that, no.” Chloe moved her hand to another spot, tracking the next kick. “How was your day? You’re home pretty late.”

“Yeah, Luke and I added the finishing touches to my EP.”

Chloe’s eyes lit up. “When is it going to be out?”

“We still have to get the art for the cover, so probably in a couple of weeks, right after the Bellas reunion.” Chloe nodded slowly. “Are you excited to see the girls?”

“I’m… a bit nervous to be honest. What are they gonna think?”

Beca smiled. “They’re going to think that you’re a badass.” Chloe broke eye-contact, shaking her head as looked down to her lap. “Hey, I’m serious. None of them are going to judge you. And just like Aubrey and I, they’re going to be so happy to have you back in their lives.”

Chloe hesitantly met her gaze. “You really think so?”

A firm nod. “I know so.”

Chloe managed a smile and a faint nod. “Okay.”

The following two weeks were busy for Beca as she focused on promoting her EP and tied some loose ends before the Bellas reunion so she wouldn’t be bothered that weekend. Early on that mid-August Saturday morning, they set off to Lake Placid, having planned to meet the Bellas there by lunchtime. Chloe didn’t mention anything, but Beca could tell she was nervous from all the cooking she had done in the past few days, enough to feed an army.

She was glad, however, that Chloe used that as a stress-reliever as opposed to falling back into bad habits.

They made it to the cabin Beca rented just before 1 pm, and Beca heard Chloe suck in a sharp breath as soon as she killed the engine, her expression similar to when they made it to her parents’ two months ago.

“It’ll be okay,” Beca murmured, covering Chloe’s hand with her own and squeezing it. She was a bit worried about there being alcohol, as Chloe insisted they shouldn’t have to restrain themselves for her sake.

“Thanks,” Chloe breathed out, flipping her hand over and holding Beca’s for a moment. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Most of them had made it there last night as they were flying in, shouts and laughter carrying from the backyard, where the outdoor pool was. It was sunny and way too hot for Beca’s liking, but she didn’t say a word, as being pregnant in that weather was definitely worse.

If Chloe was uncomfortable with the temperature, she didn’t let it show, looking gorgeous in her yellow maternity summer dress.

Stepping inside, they set the food bags on the kitchen island and Beca walked towards the open bay window, Chloe following behind.

“Hey nerds,” she called out as she stepped out on the patio just as Amy made a cannonball, the splashing water nearly drenching her. “Dude!”

“Sup Shortstack?” Amy greeted as she emerged a few beats later.

“Chloe!” Beca turned around to see Stacie striding over and hugging Chloe tightly. “I’ve missed you.”

“Hey Stace,” Chloe murmured, embracing her back. “I’ve missed you, too.”

As Beca had predicted, the Bellas took it all in one stride, greeting Chloe like it hadn’t been over six years since they last saw one another and making her feel like a part of the group without a second thought.

Now able to relax, Beca helped herself to a drink, watching from afar as Chloe met Stacie’s three-year-old daughter for the first time, a fond smile etched in her features. It was clear from that first exchange with Bella that Chloe would rock this mom thing, given how much of a natural she was around kids.

After lunch, the girls made the most of the pool, either playing various games in the water or sunbathing in the lounge chairs. Beca was content soaking it all in at the table, sipping on a margarita. Her gaze often wandered to Chloe as she chatted with Jessica while reclining on a chair, clad in a bikini with one hand rubbing her belly.

It was easy for her thoughts to escape towards what it could be if she and Chloe were to become something more. Raising Bean together, buying a house somewhere outside the city, getting a dog, possibly getting married...

“Oi, Mitchell.”

Beca snapped out of her reverie, clearing her throat in embarrassment as Stacie plopped down next to her. “What’s up, Stace?”

“You good?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow. “You looked like you were having a moment.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Beca assured her and smiled, setting her drink down before pushing to her feet. She wanted to get in on the pool action, but her bathing suit was upstairs in her overnight bag. “I’m gonna go change.”

“Be quiet if you’re going upstairs?” Stacie asked. “I just put Bella down for her nap.”

“No problem.”

Beca headed to her room and changed into her bikini, sliding her denim shorts back on and grabbing her sunscreen as she didn’t want to resemble a lobster tonight. As she quietly headed down the hallway towards the stairs, she couldn’t help but freeze when she heard her name behind a door left slightly ajar.

“Feelings? For Beca?”

It was Aubrey’s voice. Beca knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but she really couldn’t get her feet to move, curiosity rooting them down.

A sigh that belonged to Chloe followed. “I was convinced it was just my hormones going wild at first. But then something happened the other night when she felt Bean kick for the first time. You should have seen her reaction, Bree... she was completely moved by it, and it’s like I felt my heart double in size. And I think about her non-stop, even when I need to… take care of myself.”

“Oh my god, ew, Chloe!” Aubrey hissed while Beca nearly choked on her saliva, her entire body feeling as though it just caught on fire. “I don’t need to hear that.”

“I’m sorry!” Chloe whispered, stifling a laugh. “What I mean by that is that it’s not just platonic love or gratitude because of everything she did for me lately. I’m physically attracted to her, too. It feels exactly the same as it did in Barden.”

Beca’s heart stuttered at that. Chloe had feelings for her back then, too?

“Are you going to tell her?” Aubrey asked softly.

“I…” Chloe hesitated. “I want to. But I’m just getting my life back together, I’m not ready for a relationship yet. And I’m also… scared she might not feel the same way.”

Beca forced herself to walk away, knowing that what she was doing wasn’t right. Her brain reeled from the onslaught of information all evening long. She was physically there, but her mind felt thousands of miles away, her thoughts going back and forth between that night at Barden, and if she should tell Chloe about how she felt.

She retreated to her room before the others, not that it surprised anyone as she was, along with Aubrey, considered the grandma of the group. She had just slipped into bed when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she called out softly.

The door opened just wide enough for Chloe to step inside, and she shut it behind her, padding over to the bed. “You okay? You’ve seemed off tonight.”

Beca nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. I promise.” She patted the space next to her. “Wanna hang out here for a bit?”

As Chloe nodded and shuffled to lie next to her atop the covers, Beca felt her heartbeat quicken. It was odd, knowing for certain Chloe had feelings for her and holding the cards in her own hands.

“Today was a lot of fun,” Chloe murmured as she sat propped against the pillows, bracing a hand over her stomach. “You were right. The girls don’t care about my past.”

“Well, your past doesn’t define you,” Beca said with a soft smile. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

“Are you nervous about tomorrow? About your EP coming out?”

Beca shook her head. “Not really. I didn’t write those songs with the goal to hit the top of the charts, so I don’t exactly feel any pressure.” At Chloe’s slight tilt of the head, she added, “I wrote them because they helped me work through some of my feelings. Especially the first one.”

Twisting her head to the right, she grabbed her phone and her headphones, plugging them in before gently setting them over Chloe’s ears. She puffed out a breath and pressed play, willing her ratcheting heart to chill the fuck out as Chloe closed her eyes and listened.

The song only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like the longest of Beca’s life. Chloe’s lids slowly opened, and she lowered the headphones so that they hung around her neck, her gaze full of questions.

“It’s about us,” she whispered, no doubt having picked up the few hints woven into the lyrics.

Beca swallowed, nodding. She had never felt at ease pouring her heart out, and she sucked in a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out through her lips. “You remember when I told you about listening to your gut?” Chloe gave a faint nod. “That’s what I should have done that morning after because not telling you how I felt was the biggest mistake of my life.”

She briefly glanced down. “I had broken Jesse’s heart just a little while before, and I was scared that I just wasn’t made for relationships. So I didn’t say anything, because I couldn’t break your heart, either. I would have never forgiven myself if I did.”

Chloe remained silent for half-a-minute, processing Beca’s words. “I knew you were in love with me,” she admitted softly. “And I had the feeling you were just scared, so I didn’t push you. I figured… you just needed time, and I was ready to wait for you. But then…” she cleared her throat, her eyes flickering down. “My life skidded out of control.”

Beca’s heart suddenly feels heavy with the weight of regret. She can’t help but wonder how different things could have been, had she been honest with Chloe that morning. But she willed her mind to come back to the present because there was no point in wallowing in the should-haves and what-ifs. Not when she was being given a second chance.

No chickening out this time. She wasn’t a kid anymore.

“I want to be with you, Chlo,” she murmured, her throat shrinking with emotions as she forced her gaze to remain locked with Chloe’s. “These past few months… living with you and being by your side through this journey-- it made me fall in love with you all over again.”

Chloe closed her eyes, and a few tears toppled down her cheeks. She released a long breath. “I want that, too. I do,” she croaked out, and something that had been poking at Beca’s heart suddenly vanished. Chloe reached out to swipe her palm over both cheeks, her other hand sliding into Beca’s. “I just need some time. I need to find a more stable mindset before I open that door.”

“I know,” Beca whispered, blinking back her own tears. “And I’ll wait, this time. For however long it takes. I promise.”

“I know,” Chloe echoed, her thumb slowly stroking Beca’s knuckles back and forth. “I trust you.”

They shared a soft smile, and Beca didn’t think she had felt this light, ever.

“I guess I should head to bed,” Chloe said after a moment of comfortable silence.

Beca nodded. “Okay.” Releasing Chloe’s hand, she rubbed her palm over Chloe’s belly gently. “Night Bean.”

Chloe stood up and cast her short wave when she made it to the door, shutting it softly behind her.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #pieces

61 notes · View notes

carriagelamp · 3 years

Photo

April l was apparently the month for me to revisit some children’s authors who are steeped in controversy at the moment. So here’s my hot (well, lukewarm) takes on issues that absolutely do not need a single other person talking about them. Also some actual good books that I read this month!

Badger in the Basement

The Animal Ark books are a childhood classic — though I recently found out that apparently there’s a difference between American and British publications, and the American versions didn’t include a lot of actual COOL animals which is… bizarre. As a Canadian stuck in the middle of this, this nonsense drives me nuts. This one was about the main character, the daughter of pair of vets, trying to protect a local badger sett from men wanting to participate in badger digging and baiting. These books are always feel-good, and it was a nice single-day-read while I waited for a library book to come in.

Chi’s Sweet Home

The cutest manga series about the misadventures of a little kitten, Chi, who has been adopted by a loving family. I’ve never bothered to read them in order, but apparently this time I stumbled across the last in the series -- whoops! Still, stood on it’s own pretty easily, and it was a fun read! Things get tense when the family realize that they may have found Chi’s original home… and may have to give up Chi forever.

Earth Before Us: Dinosaur Empire!

This was an odd graphic novel, I feel like I’m not sure who the target audience was exactly. It was a nonfiction comic done in a Magic School Bus style, with the purpose of teaching current, up-to-date facts about the animals that lived in the Mesozoic Era. If you’re into dinosaurs, you’ll probably enjoy this! The art is absolutely adorable, I love the dinosaur illustrations, and I learnt some really neat facts. That being said, the pages are really dense, and there’s a lot of info crammed in… some of it will probably go way over a child’s head without specific additional teaching or a very strong personal interest. But that being said, a dinosaur obsessed kid is still probably going to really dig this… as would a dinosaur obsessed adult. It wasn’t my cup of tea exactly but I’m sure it is someone’s.

assorted Dr Seuss Books

I love these types of controversies because it means getting to listen to every moron who has never had an opinion on Dr Seuss ever start generating a mile of them out of the aether. So many people are so mad about the six books that are getting retired and I bet most of them haven’t even read them. These are not the friggin Cat In The Hat or The Lorax or even the likes of Yertle The Turtle. I was raised by a grade one teacher, was a voracious reader who loved Dr Seuss, and wrote my university thesis on children’s literature, and I still only knew two of the six books on that list. So by all means, if you want to write an essay explaining why those specific books are worth clinging to, feel free, but if you haven’t even heard of them maybe it’s not a big deal. *grumble*

Anyway, my grousing aside, it gave me the urge to reread a bunch of Seuss books, including the two retiring books I personally knew: McElligot’s Pool and To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street. I do still enjoy both, especially McElligot’s Pool which always sparked my imagination, but it’s obvious why they’re being retired and I personally think it’s the right choice. There’s so much good kidlit out there, we can survive without these.

Goodbye, My Rose Garden

A f/f romance manga, fairly standard fair though cute if you’re looking for some historical angst, pretty dresses, and mutual pining. A young Japanese woman moves to England in the hopes of meeting a writer (Mr Frank) who she has long admired. Along the way she is employed by an enigmatic woman with plenty of money, rumours, and melancholy following her. I’ll be honest, uncut romance isn’t really my genre, but I’ll probably still try to the second book to see if the story picks up.

From The Holocaust to Hogan’s Heroes: The Autobiography of Robert Clary

It’s no secret that I’ve been on a Hogan’s Heroes kick. This is the autobiography of Roberty Clary, who plays my favourite character in the show, Louis Lebeau. And holy shit what a life this man has had. He was a Jew growing up in France before the start of the war, and who was one of many children taken away from his family and sent off to the concentration camps in Germany. This was an amazing, intense, inspiring, and heartbreaking read… it has Clary’s voice all over it, and it tells everything from the charming childhood he had, to the horrors of the concentration camps, the brutality of survival, and then about his exciting journey into the entertainment industry afterwards. It’s an experience, would recommend if you’re a fan of the show.

The Ickabog

The second controversial author I read this month. Originally I was going to give Rowling’s new book a miss, given everything that’s been going on over the past few years, but in the end my curiosity got the better of me. Politics aside, it was a fun read! Not groundbreaking, but enjoyable enough and written in an interesting style. It didn’t read the same as a lot of modern kidlit, it felt more like a cross between a classic fairytale and a Dahl book. Perhaps a bit like Despereaux. It tells the tale of how an idyllic country gradually falls into ruin through the ignorance, inaction, and greed, and how a supposedly fictional monster hides the very real, human monsters at the heart of the country. It was cute and pleasant and I’m glad I decided to get it from the library, though for anyone who is choosing not to engage for political reasons: you aren’t missing anything major.

Franklin In The Dark

A Canadian classic. I don’t think there’s a single person my age who hasn’t read or been read a pile of these books, and the nostalgia is so comforting. I found this on Youtube and listened to someone read it to me, and honestly 10/10 would recommend for a calm evening.

The big reason I decided to seek this one out though, was because I finally got to the M*A*S*H episode that inspired this entire series! In the episode C*A*V*E, in which Hawkeye is freaking out over his claustrophia while the camp is forced to take shelter in a nearby cave during some intense shelling, he mentions that if he had been born a turtle he would have been afraid of his own shell, and that the other turtles would make fun of him cause he’d be forced to walk around in his underwear. And so this first story about a young turtle who’s afraid to sleep in his own shell and drags it around behind him. So if you were ever curious, Franklin the Turtle is in fact named after Dr Benjamin Franklin Pierce. (this is also why the French version is named Benjamin!)

Wolves of the Beyond: Lone Wolf

I loved the Guardians of Ga’Hoole books as a kid but I never read the Wolves of the Beyond series. This first book was an interesting read, Lasky does a great job creating worlds and societies for the animals that inhabit them. Lone Wolf is about a deformed wolf cub who was abandoned in the wilderness to die. And he would have, if a desperate mother bear, who had recently had her only cub killed, hadn’t stumbled across him and saved him, vowing to raise him as her own...

Petals

A “silent” graphic novel. It has beautiful artwork and is told entirely through pictures, no text at all. It’s loves and heart-wrenching, though it left me feeling somewhat unsatisfied… I felt like there should have been more. Still, a neat story.

The Southern Book Club‘s Guide To Slaying Vampires

What a banger of a novel!! I can’t recommend this one enough. It’s about a group of suburban mothers in the ‘80s who form a book club out of a shared need for community and a love of grisly true crime novels. But when a strange drifter appears in town and starts setting down roots… and when children begin disappearing… these women need to band together to confront the horrors that have invaded their neighbourhood, and face down not only a terrifying monster among them but the patriarchal system that allows it to flourish. To quote the preface:

“Because vampires are the original serial killers, stripped of everything that makes us human — they have no friends, no family, no roots, no children. All they have is hunger. They eat and eat but they’re never full. With this book, I wanted to pit a man freed from all responsibilities but his appetites against women whose lives are shaped by their endless responsibilities. I wanted to pit Dracula against my mom. As you’ll see, it’s not a fair fight.“

The Weirn Books: Be Wary of the Silent Woods

I love Chmakova’s graphic novels, though I’ve only ever read her slice-of-life middle grade series before. This one is pure fantasy and very fun. It’s about two cousin “weirns” — witches with demon familiars — who attend the local night school. Things get strange though when an ominous figure appears outside the old, abandoned school house deep in the Silent Woods, and begins tempting children down its path…

I’m very much looking forward to word of a second book and was honestly kind of surprised that I haven’t heard more about this book given how popular her other series is. This has all the same charm and quirks but for those of us who prefer stories based in fantasy rather than reality.

And A Bonus...

For some masochistic reason I got a Garfield book out of the library. Jeez, if I didn’t love these as a kid, I found them absolutely laugh out loud hilarious, and now I just don’t see it anymore. But here I will share the one strip in the book that actually made me laugh

38 notes · View notes

missjanjie · 3 years

Text

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 4

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~12.1k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Kamjie (Kameron Michaels/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Brooke Lynn and Kameron finally meet, Denali starts spending more time at the diner, Jaida starts her OnlyFans, and Gigi realizes she can’t avoid her feelings for Crystal forever.

Vanessa has never been the best at focusing all of her attention on one task. Often, when she was dancing on stage, her mind was in three other places. It was a little more obvious when giving a lap dance, but most men didn’t seem to mind or even notice. Except for this time when she called attention to it by stopping mid-gyration and exclaiming, “holy shit!”

The man wasn’t annoyed, instead, he curiously looked behind him. “What? What happened?”

“Some dude’s getting hauled out of here, dumb fucker’s trynna put up a fight. Fly ain’t undone so he must’ve been getting too handsy,” she observed, though her eyes were honed in on Kameron, who took the offender down and dragged him out of the club. “God damn, she’s good,” she murmured, fanning herself.

“Wouldn’t it be more effective to have a man–”

Vanessa decided she was no longer interested in what the client had to say, and was already walking towards the front of the club, getting a better view as Kameron unceremoniously tossed the man out of the club. “What’s his damage, huh?”

Kameron shrugged. “Jan flagged me down, dickwad kept trying to play grab-ass and started throwing a temper tantrum when she cut his dance short,” she explained, then looked over at the bar. “Looks like Nicky’s taking care of her now, though.”

“I’m tryna take care of you, though,” she winked. “You know, take you into the VIP room and…”

“I’m still on the clock, Vanjie,” Kameron gently reminded her, but looped her arms around her waist. “But once our shifts end, we can go in the back and play grab-ass instead, okay?” she offered, punctuating her point by moving her hands down and squeezing Vanessa’s ass.

Vanessa huffed and pouted, but nodded nonetheless. “Fine, but you know how impatient I get.”

Kameron chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Don’t I always make it worth the wait?”

She couldn’t argue with that, so she went back and did her next set, alternating between being on the stage, among the clientele, or waiting in the back. It was the late shift, at least, meaning she and Kameron would be able to clock out at the same time.

There were still about ten minutes left before closing, but Vanessa had considered herself done for the night. She tied her robe around her waist and sat beside Kameron until the last customer left the club. “Fuckin’ finally,” she murmured.

Kameron snorted. “You’re such a fucking brat,” she teased.

Vanessa smirked, getting up and pulling Kameron with her. “You knew what you signed up for, boo. Bratty as hell, but you know I make it worth your while.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic,” she chuckled and allowed Vanessa to drag her across the club, back to the VIP room. Then, she scooped the smaller woman up in her arms and carried her to the couch, gently dropping her on it before crawling on top of her. “I bet you’re expecting me to take care of you now, huh?” she purred, kissing at her neck.

“We ain’t here to talk politics,” Vanessa retorted, already trying to tug off Kameron’s shirt and grinning when the taller woman acquiesced.

Meanwhile, Brooke Lynn had done a lap through the club, stopping at the bar with a perplexed expression. “Pri, is Vanjie still here? I told her I’d come to pick her up.”

Priyanka shrugged as she loaded up a tray of glasses to take into the back. “She’s probably still getting pounded out by Kameron in the VIP room,” she told her before taking the tray into the kitchen.

At first, Brooke figured Priyanka was joking, trying to get a reaction out of her. But as she sat and thought for a moment, she realized that there was no reason she would lie about that. She thought she would feel some semblance of jealousy or anger, but they were noticeably absent. Instead, her curiosity – and perhaps arousal – was piqued. She got up from the bar and made her way into the VIP room, quietly opening the door and slipping inside.

Just as Priyanka had predicted, Kameron and Vanessa were in the midst of a passionate encounter. They were both naked and Kameron had one hand loosely wrapped around Vanessa’s throat, the other was steadily thrusting two fingers in and out of her while she showered her with a mix of praise and dirty talk.

Brooke’s eyes widened. She couldn’t have predicted how it would feel to watch her girlfriend having sex with another woman, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Still not announcing her presence, she moved to the loveseat perpendicular to the couch and let her legs spread. She hiked up her dress and dipped her hand into her panties, biting her lip as she touched herself to the sight.

“You just gonna sit there and enjoy the show?”

Vanessa’s words caused the other two to stop in their tracks. Kameron looked confused while Brooke froze in place. “You knew I was here?”

Vanessa scoffed in response. “You think I wouldn’t recognize my woman’s pumps click-clacking from a mile away?” She didn’t wait for a response before she continued, “you want in or not?” She nudged Kameron lightly, who nodded in agreement.

Brooke scrambled to her feet, shedding her dress as she moved over to the two of them. She finished stripping down before kneeling beside Vanessa and kissing her languidly. “You want me to sit on your face, baby?”

Vanessa nodded enthusiastically, helping Brooke position herself on top of her and grabbing onto her thighs for balance. Her nails dug in as she eased her tongue into her, trying to match the pace of Kameron’s fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby. Such a good girl,” Brooke praised, her head tilting back as she moaned out. But when she held her head upright, her eyes locked with Kameron’s and she didn’t think, she just kissed her heatedly, smirking a bit as she felt the other woman melt into the kiss.

Kameron balanced one hand on Brooke’s shoulder while she thrust her fingers steadily into Vanessa’s pussy, alternating now and then to rub her clit with her thumb. Although the brunette was stifled verbally, it was very obvious when she came. She sat back on the couch, getting herself off while she watched Brooke ride Vanessa’s face.

Brooke’s hips stuttered to a halt as she rode out her orgasm shortly after, then gracefully dismounted off of Vanessa, then sat on the couch. “You know,” she said to Kameron, “I’d been meaning to reach out and get to know you, but this method is a lot more fun.”

------

Denali leaned against the jukebox, humming along to ‘Those Magic Changes’ until she saw Rosé walk in, which prompted her to relocate to sitting at the counter. “I thought you said your shift started at ten.”

“Today’s Tuesday, babe. I start at ten on Wednesdays,” Rosé replied as she tied her apron around her waist. “But it’s cute that you waited for me,” she winked.

“I had to, muñeca,” Denali insisted with a pout. “No one else makes the coffee as good as you do.”

Rosé couldn’t help but laugh softly as she got a pot of coffee going. “It’s the same shit every time, Dee,” she pointed out. But still, she had to look away and focus on the coffee to hide the broad grin that spread across her face. She poured a mug, setting it down in front of Denali. “What’re you eating, today?”

“You, ideally,” she murmured under her breath before looking up at her and replying, “patty melt, extra crispy onions, please,” while batting her lashes. “And a side of fries.”

The waitress nodded, scribbling the order onto the notepad. “You got it, baby,” she hummed, ripping the page out and hanging it up in the window, then ringing the bell for someone in the kitchen to come grab it. “So, how’re you liking the club? I’ll tell you, Jackie is the only person around here I’d trust running a place like that.”

Denali smiled, adding two packets of sugar and a splash of milk into her coffee, stirring slowly before taking a sip, though her eyes never left Rosé. “I mean, of all the strip clubs in the city, I’m glad I managed to find the one run and entirely populated by lesbians. You can’t plan for that sort of luck.”

Rosé snorted softly. “Guess not. You live in the neighborhood?”

“Nah,” she shook her head, “moved to Flatbush from Chicago.”

“Chicago, huh? You get into any fights with anyone over pizza yet?”

Denali shook her head. “Can I tell you a secret?” she leaned in closer, speaking in a stage whisper, “I’ve always liked New York-style pizza better.”

Rosé leaned in closer when Denali did, their faces only inches apart, close enough for her to take in the scent of her perfume – something woody and spicy with a hint of something heady, something almost as intoxicating as she was. “Oh, she’s a culinary rebel, huh?”

She let out a soft breath of laughter, biting down on her lip. “It does sound kinda hot when you say it like that,” she mused. The distance between them seemed to lessen, albeit by the tiniest bit at a time. But then she became aware of the background noise. “You have an order in the window, I think.”

Sure enough, one of the cooks had been ringing the bell for several seconds in an attempt to get Rosé’s attention. “Oh shit,” she laughed, turning and grabbing the plate, setting it down in front of Denali. “Enjoy,” she winked.

“I sure will,” Denali grinned and batted her lashes, her eyes following Rosé as she went to wait on another table. She gazed at her from across the restaurant. She would make a move, she thought, as soon as the moment was right.

------

Jackie stepped out of her office and noticed Jaida on her laptop in the common area. “Whatcha working on, honey?” she asked, sitting down beside her.

“The next great American novel,” Jaida told her. “Nah, I’m finishing up my OnlyFans page. Denali gave me a crash course in how to get this shit done right. Turns out it’s more than just taking what I do on stage and doing it in my room for a camera.”

“I mean, you’re welcome to make whatever content you need to on the stage or whatever if it helps,” she offered with a slight smile. “Anything I can do to help, let me know, okay?”

Jaida smiled warmly. “You’re the best, Jackie,” she tilted her head in thought for a moment before continuing, “maybe you could review the content before I post it? I’ll know it’s ready for the public if it has your seal of approval.”

Jackie nodded, ignoring the warmth that rushed to her cheeks. She nodded quickly, enthusiastically. “Oh my god, yeah. I’m honored you trust my judgment like that.”

“Hey, you stocked this club with top-tier bitches, you’re clearly onto something,” she offered with a reassuring grin. “Check it out, though,” she turned her laptop towards Jackie, “she’s open for business.”

Jackie leaned closer to the laptop, committing Jaida’s username to memory. “Impressive, I’m sure this is going to go over well for you.” She got out, smoothing out her skirt. “I have to take care of some paperwork, you alright from here?”

Jaida nodded. “All good, do your thing,” she said and waved her off. After Jackie retreated into her office, she continued working on her page. She was sitting in silence, which was why she jumped when she realized she was no longer alone a few moments later. “Fuck, how did you do that?”

Gigi shrugged. “I’m not convinced I’m not a Victorian ghost that’s taken corporeal form.” She kicked off her heels and turned to sit cross-legged on the couch, facing Jaida. “Listen, babe, I can smell an ulterior motive from a mile away. You’re trying to show off for Jackie, aren’t you? What’s the tea?”

“Guess it does take one to know one,” she murmured, reclining into the couch and letting out a sigh. “Yeah, okay, maybe I am into Jackie,” she conceded, “but unlike you, I have a good reason for not acting on it – she hasn’t been out of the closet all that long, I’m not tryna bombard her with shit, you know? It’s a delicate situation.”

“My situation is delicate too,” Gigi insisted, only to sigh and quietly add, “okay, maybe not as much, but still. So you’re just gonna wait it out?”

Jaida shrugged. “I don’t wanna freak her out. You, on the other hand, are crushing on someone that popped out of the womb with Doc Martens on, so you have no excuse.”

Gigi flopped onto her back and let out a dramatic sigh. “I know, I know. I just wish there was a way to just… send out some feelers, you know?”

“I cannot fathom how someone can dance naked in a cage one minute and not be able to look a girl with a One Direction tattoo in the eye the next. Literally, all you gotta do is take that confidence you got in the cage or on stage over to Miss Crystal Methyd, it ain’t that complicated, sis,” she did try to stop herself from talking to her like it should have been obvious – Gigi was almost ten years her junior, she had to remind herself. “You just need to try to stop overthinking,” she added in a more calm and gentle tone.

It wasn’t that Gigi didn’t know that, it was simply much easier to think about than to implement. “I know you’re right,” she murmured and sat up. She looked at her phone, chewing on her lip. “Okay, I’m gonna do something before I talk myself out of it,” she decided and stood up. “I’ll report back to you.”

“Good luck, my lil ghost baby.”

Gigi took a deep breath as she walked downstairs to the main floor. Crystal hadn’t arrived yet, so she perched herself on the bar as she waited, swinging her legs and fumbling with the hem of her skirt. Her head popped up when she heard the door open and her heart started to race when Crystal came into her field of vision.

“Hey Geege,” Crystal greeted, playfully tugging Gigi’s ponytail as she walked behind the bar.

“Hi Crystal,” she replied with the lilted laugh that was only ever elicited by the bartender. She reminded herself of Jaida’s words as she got off the bar and followed Crystal behind it. Just use your stage confidence. Picture yourself naked, she reminded herself. “You’re looking hot today.”

Crystal arched her brow. “Thanks? It’s just my usual uniform,” she shrugged and smiled. “You look hot though, but you always do.”

“Thanks,” Gigi twirled her hair around her fingers, batted her lashes, she was doing all of the textbook flirtations she could think of, but she stopped just as quickly, frowning. “Fuck, why does this feel so weird?” she asked herself, but out loud.

Crystal’s perplexed expression deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Gigi groaned and stomped her foot. “I’m trying to flirt with you, but I don’t know how to flirt with someone I actually like because I haven’t in so long. But you’re here and you’re just… fuck, this was supposed to be easier.”

The confusion on Crystal’s face morphed into pensiveness. She was quiet for a moment, then took a few steps towards Gigi. “I’m gonna kiss you now, unless you stop me.” She waited, giving her ample time to back away or speak up. Instead, she got a quick, eager nod. So, she gently cupped Gigi’s face, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

And Gigi melted into the kiss, relief washing over her body as her arms draped around Crystal’s neck. Her leg went up like the girl in every single rom-com she’d watched and for a moment she felt like she was sixteen, having her first kiss behind the school while cutting gym class. The magic of the moment was only broken when she sensed they were no longer alone. She turned with a glare. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ us,” Lemon retorted, gesturing between herself, Jan, and Vanessa. “We’ve been waiting for this to happen for ages.”

“You kind of owe us a satisfying conclusion after subjecting us to your mutual pining fuckery you subjected us all to,” Jan nodded in agreement. “We’ve been along for this whole journey whether we wanted to be or not.”

“What they said,” Vanessa chimed in for the sake of being included.

Gigi rolled her eyes, though she did not attempt to let go of or move away from Crystal. “You guys are so fucking weird,” she muttered. “But I guess it’s kind of endearing or whatever,” she added reluctantly.

“We’ll leave you guys to finish your moment,” Jan said gently, guiding Lemon and Vanessa out of the main room and upstairs to the common area.

Crystal watched them leave, then looked back at Gigi. “I love our friends,” she grinned.

“I could take them or leave them,” she joked. “Look, we don’t… need to put a label on this or anything just yet. I know this was sudden… I just needed you to know how I felt.”

“You’re overthinking things again, aren’t you?” Crystal looped her arms around Gigi’s waist. “Listen, I know you only allow yourself three emotions a year, so it means a lot that I got to be on the receiving end of one of them. And like, I’m pretty bad at talking about feelings too, so… I dunno, let’s just see what happens.”

Gigi exhaled in relief. This was why she had gravitated towards Crystal so effortlessly, they understood each other, they were on the same wavelength. “So… how about you come back to my place after work? We could get high, pretend to watch some movies…”

Crystal pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “It’s a date.”

#branjie #kamjie #rosnali #crygi #jaidie #rosenali #bvk #rpdr rpf

18 notes · View notes

zmediaoutlet · 4 years

Text

have a cigar

new fic for the Sunday Morning Porn Club; having some s2 feels and thinking about how big and wild and uncertain Sam was in those early days. But also thinking about porn.

title: have a cigar pairing: Sam/Dean rating: E length: 5500 words tags: Season/Series 02, New Relationship, slight D/s, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Post-Episode: s02e05 Simon Said

summary: What happened with Andy and Ansem unsettles Sam. Dean doesn't seem worried.

(read on AO3)

They’re over the state border from Oklahoma into Kansas when Dean indicates that he’s getting off the highway. Sam looks up at the sound of the blinker, looks around. "What, gas?" he says. They’re not that far out from Guthrie, so unless Dean has to pee—

"Nah, we’ve still got a hundred miles left in the tank," Dean says, rolling the car smoothly onto the offramp. Wellington, Kansas: population 8,105, and exactly no reason for them to be stopping. Sam frowns across the bench and Dean glances at him, and then rolls his eyes. "Jeez. A guy can’t want a break? We were up all night, man, dealing with the psychic twins. Plus you got a head injury. Sue me, I’m taking a minute."

"It's not really a head injury," Sam says. Kansas outside the car windows—mid-morning, green. "We told Ellen we’d be right there." He rubs his hand under the edge of his cast, rolling the tendons under his thumb. "What if she’s got a case or something?"

"Then it can wait half a day," Dean says, and it’s a little louder than it needs to be. He’s got a grip at ten-and-two, his jaw square. Sam looks at him and hears his voice in a perfect echo, saying you’re all part of something that’s terrible, and he bites the inside of his cheek so hard that it throbs but he doesn’t say anything, after that.

Outskirts of towns tend to look the same. Truckstop, motel attached. A McDonald’s. Dean pilots them to a vaguely dirty Mexican place that looks like it last had its decor updated in 1987, and when they’re at the dented formica table with their plastic menus Dean lets out a sigh that sounds like it came from his feet. "You think they’d give me a margarita at, uh, 11:32 in the morning?" he says.

He does look tired. Sam sucks the sore inside of his cheek. "Probably goes great with huevos rancheros," he says, and gets Dean to smile at him, so—all right. A little break.

The food’s bland, given the cornfields all around, but comforting too. They don’t talk much. Dean looks over a copy of the Wichita Eagle that someone left behind, in some obituary-scanning reflex; Sam swirls his fork through his larded refried beans and looks out the window, thinking. Andy, and Ansem. Brothers, though Andy didn’t know it until it was too late, and Ansem went bad but Andy—

Dean knocks his boot into Sam’s ankle, and Sam flinches but when he refocuses Dean’s looking at him, kinda soft. Kinda not soft. Kinda defiant, in that weird way that he’s started to do, and Sam feels heat rush into his cheeks, seeing. Dean smiles like he won something, even if his ears go pink, too, and he wipes his mouth with the balled napkin and says, "I’m going to the can," and Sam says, "Oh, great, thanks for the update," because they are brothers, and Dean smirks and walks off with a kind-of swagger and it’s not Sam’s fault that that calls attention to the shape of his ass, but Sam’s looking, either way.

The waitress offers more iced tea, when Dean’s gone. "No, gracias," Sam says. She raises her eyebrows a little but puts down the check. Sam leans back in the booth, spinning his unused knife as best he can in his busted hand, looking again out the window. Trucks, and a cornfield, and blue skies. Plain and familiar, and if he tries to imagine a demon coming here, a darkness swarming over it, somehow it just—doesn’t compute. But there was Andy, and Ansem, just a hundred miles south of here in an easy calm town that had no idea what was coming, and they brought murder with them. Killers, and freaks, and the town and its people hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve it.

"What, you forget how to pay a tab?"

Sam jerks, brought back to earth. Dean’s standing slouched, one hip leaning on the table, rifling through his wallet.

"Swear, you’re a lousy date," Dean says, dropping a pile of cash onto the little plastic tray, but he’s got a smile threatening, tucked into the corners of his mouth, and Sam’s—god, he didn’t know it could—this is—different.

A motel. Corn-themed. "Real original, huh?" Dean says, under his breath, but he gets them a room, and when they’re inside with two queens and steady A/C and the shades pulled, leaving them in privacy, he drops his bag on the closer bed and looks at Sam sidelong and says, "I’m gonna shower first, ‘kay."

The bathroom door closes before Sam can say a thing. He blows out the breath stuck in his chest and sticks out the Privacy Please tag, and then he sits on the end of the bed he guesses is his, and looks at the bathroom where the shower’s hissed on, the pipes clanking inside the walls.

Not so—obvious, usually. They’ve only been—it’s been like this, between them, for—what, a few months. Barely. Since Dad, and the brutal weeks after it, and a weird raw conversation in pre-dawn light that led to Sam putting his hand on Dean’s face and Dean snarling and then practically shoving him onto his back, and—

It’s new. Dean seems to seesaw back and forth between pretending like it doesn't exist, in the light of day, and a raw grasping want that kind of scares Sam, even if it's maybe the hottest thing that's ever happened to him. No one he's ever been with has wanted him this much. He's never wanted it this much.

He washes his face in the sink. When he pushes the damp edges of his hair back he looks—okay. A little tired, but decent. His head does hurt, actually, where Tracy tried to brain him. Where she was forced to.

Sam closes his eyes. Jesus, he is tired. And—pissed off, too. When he thinks about it. Freaks, all of them, and Sam's got the visions and the migraines and this horrible feeling in his gut like something's gonna happen, some tidal wave of shit that's going to crest the horizon, and he's not going to be able to do a damn thing about it.

Andy, and Ansem. Speaking their wants into reality. Max Miller, moving things with his mind. Sam, and his dreams, and it wouldn't have to be bad. Except it always ends up bad. Death, somehow waiting, and he strips off his jacket and his boots and crawls onto the nearer bed, and buries his face into the pillow, and tries to listen to the steady familiar sound of the shower going and tries not to think about that dark wave. Drawing nearer, cresting.

A honk wakes him up. He blinks, drags in muffled air. When he turns over Dean's sitting on his bed, frowning at the curtains. "Just 'cause you can't drive," he mutters, and then looks back down at Sam. "Oh, finally."

Sam drags a hand over his face. No drool, that's something. He yawns, stretching out on the bed. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Dean says. He points the remote and Sam sees the TV on, muted, a newscast—and off, just as fast. Politer than Dean usually is.

"Should've woken me up," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and says, "You need all the beauty sleep you can get," and Sam smiles, can't help it, and he goes to sit up but Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and he stays put. Surprised a little. Dean, looking at him.

"Sammy," Dean says. He's tipped in toward Sam, in a t-shirt and boxers, and the look he's giving Sam is steady, considering. "You didn't have any crazy dreams, right? No big visions?"

Sam blinks. "No."

"No," Dean repeats. "So we don't have to light out of here and haul ass to, like, Weehawken or something?"

"What?" Sam says. "No. Weehawken?"

Dean shrugs. "Tried to think of somewhere that'd suck." He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, looking at Sam, and then throws a leg over Sam's and settles himself in Sam's lap, just like that. Sam grabs his hips, startled instinct, while Dean shifts and his ass sits warm and heavy against Sam's dick. "So. Want to screw?"

Jesus. "How romantic," Sam says, but his mouth's dry. Light of day, just straight-out like that. Yeah, this is new. Dean pops his eyebrows, grins in that goofy way where he's trying to be funny or sexy or something, but for Sam it just reminds him how this is—them, the two of them together like this despite all sense or reason, and his stomach flips like encountering some new nasty thing but it's just—Dean. He gets a steady look, that grin going smaller, and then Dean leans down over him and braces his hand on Sam's pec to balance and kisses him like it's his right to do it, plush and immediately wet, his mouth like something—like a dream—

Sam pushes up on an elbow, kisses back. Dean tastes like toothpaste. His stomach, warm and soft under the warm soft t-shirt, and when Sam squeezes his ass with his good hand Dean makes a little noise into his mouth, tips his hips down. Hard already, pressing into Sam's stomach, like he was waiting maybe, like maybe he'd been fooling with himself hoping Sam would wake up. Sam bites his lip because it turns out Dean likes that, even if he bitches after, and he dips and kisses Dean's throat because it turns out Dean likes that, all his vampire comments notwithstanding, and Dean cups the back of Sam's head and digs his fingers into Sam's hair and Sam flips them over, easy reversal of their weight with Dean's thighs splayed out around his hips, and Dean says fuck under his breath when Sam tugs his shirt-collar down and bites at him there, but his chest pushes up into it like a chick wanting her tits played with, so that's clearly okay. "Vampire," Dean says, predictable already, and Sam grins and then sucks there, slicking his tongue against the little dents of his teeth. Dean's hips kick up and his thighs squeeze Sam's hips, but he groans too, and says, "Moving me around. You're such a control freak."

Their hips grind together. Even through his jeans it feels incredible, his dick chubbed up to match Dean's. "Like you mind," Sam says, even if he can feel the heat rushing up into his face to say it, flat-out like that. When he picks his head up Dean's eyes are heavy, his ears that bright red they always are when he's turned on, and Sam licks his lips and watches Dean's attention drop to them. Jesus. "You want me to stop?"

"Didn't say that." He tugs at Sam's arm and Sam lifts up, kisses him open, and Dean's leg slides against his, his hands framing Sam's waist, dragging up his back. When Sam pulls back to breathe Dean's lips are puffed-wet, red as his ears, and he's—fuck, he's hot. Sam drags a thumb over his cheek, swipes the wet off his lower lip, and Dean smiles a little. Like he knows what Sam's thinking. "Just saying. You gotta be in charge, huh? Never would've guessed, Sammy." He catches Sam's wrist and fake-whispers, like a shared secret: "That was sarcasm."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, you're hilarious." He braces his cast on the bed, tugs out of Dean's grip and slides his hand down to grip Dean's dick. So close it's easy to watch Dean's eyes go a little wide, his lips parting. "You wanna shut up now?"

Dean's thigh slides against his hip. "Make me." Sam squeezes and Dean sighs out hot against his face. He blinks then, a flash of smile. "Hey, maybe you could. Use that mojo."

Sam doesn't understand for a second. He pushes up higher on his elbow, frowns.

"Get me to do whatever you want, huh?" Dean's cheeks are very red. "No control issues then. What Sammy says goes."

With his dick this hard Sam doesn't know how to react. "Dean," he says, helplessly—some mix of turned on, of pissed off. Like Sam could be like—like he could be Andy. Ansem. Some nasty magic, getting Dean to do anything. "I wouldn't."

Dean licks the point of one canine, eyes on Sam's mouth. It's not picking a fight because he's so obviously hot for it that Sam's body reacts like a strange compulsion, stretching out over his brother, pinning him down. He rocks his hips into Dean's, pins one of Dean's arms down by the wrist, and Dean groans, arches into it. "I know you wouldn't," he says, rough. Sam leans back, his stomach flipping uncertainly, and Dean grabs his neck, arches up, wild and intense and amazing like Dean always is in bed—wholly present, wholly wanting, like no one else ever has been. Everyone is always thinking about something else, always holding a little apart. Not Dean—Dean's here, pressing his dick up against Sam's dick, holding Sam close, leaning up and kissing Sam's jaw where he hasn't shaved in a day, breathing hot against his ear, saying tight and sweet, "Tell me, though—tell me, what you'd make me do—what you'd say, Sammy, tell me—"

—and Sam says, coming up from some deep place, "I'd tell you I was gonna fuck you," and Dean groans like Sam punched him in the solar plexus—a deep short breathless grunt, breaking Sam's grip to grab his hips, his ass, hauling him in like Sam's already inches deep. Jesus, jesus, Dean wants it, even here in this little dump of a motel room at three in the afternoon, the light coming in muffled through the blinds. Vivid even in the muted grey, Dean's eyes visible and his mouth wide and his face an open book, a crazy thing. No secrets, anymore, Sam's sure of it. Sam grabs his face, dips his thumb between Dean's lips. "Jesus, Dean—yeah, I'm gonna fuck you. You're gonna let me. Aren't you."

"Yeah," Dean says, deep and ready, and Sam kneels up, drags Dean's boxers down and watches his dick slap up against his stomach, and he rips his jeans open one-handed, feeling wild. Feeling powerful, and right, especially with how Dean's eyes drop immediately to see him get his dick out and his mouth works like he wishes Sam would just feed it in, like he wants it there, wants it bad, wants it—wants Sam—

"You're gonna open right up for me, aren't you?" Sam says, lightheaded almost, and Dean nods dumbly and spreads, grabs one leg up by the back of his knee so Sam can burrow fingers down into the dark place between them—soft a little, damp a little, and when he looks up into Dean's face Dean's bright fuckin red like he knows exactly what Sam's thinking, like he knew what Sam was gonna ask for. Sam spits on two fingers and feeds them in and finds Dean—open, kinda wet, and Dean says—"There was—the conditioner, in the shower—" and Sam groans wild because it's like magic, like some wished-for thing, like he's Andy and he said to Dean open yourself up for me and Dean willed himself fuckable. He feeds himself inside, inch after inch, and Dean's face flinches and his eyes squeeze tight but he's rearing up, gripping into Sam's shirt, his legs wrapping around Sam's waist, lifting off the bed practically with how he's trying to shove Sam deeper, gasping for more than Sam can give.

Sam gets his cast bolstered under the small of Dean's back, keeps his weight tipped up into the perfect place for Sam to grind into. It's not wet enough and Dean's not loose enough but it feels outrageous, and Dean's panting for it, pulling at Sam's shirt hard enough that a button pops. "Fuck, you can hold me up, huh?" Dean says, shuddery, and Sam presses up on his good arm enough that Dean really does go airborne, the strain intense but worth it for the noise Dean makes when Sam's dick jolts inside him at the new angle. Dean's face presses against Sam's, his nose bumping Sam's ear and his mouth wet at Sam's jaw, and Sam curls his hips in these short shallow pumps that wouldn't usually do it for him except that Dean's so wrapped-up close that he can feel every shaking thing it's doing, the insanity of what he can make his brother feel.

That he can make him feel—Sam groans, sits back, and Dean's clinging to him so tight he gets hauled upright and his ass shoves down on Sam's dick through sheer gravity, enough to make him tip his head back on his shoulders and groan out loud. Sam keeps him in place, holding his hips steady, and shoves up, up, watching Dean's throat go bright red, kissing there when he can't stand not to, anymore. Dean's thighs squeeze his sides and his dick's rubbing all over Sam's shirt and he gets both hands in Sam's hair, keeping him in place, and Sam's biting and fucking up and keeping both their balance and so it's a surprise, sort of, when Dean says nearly breathless against the top of his ear, "Tell me—Sammy, tell me something else, tell me what you want me to do."

Fuck. Sam bites Dean's collarbone hard enough that Dean yelps, squirms and yanks at Sam's hair to get him to pull back, and both feel so good that Sam just sucks harder before he lets go. When he tips his head up Dean's looking at him, red-faced and glassy-eyed, and Sam says without thinking much about it, "I'm gonna come in you, and then I want to eat it out. You're gonna let me." Dean's jaw drops further and Sam actually feels the spasm around the root of his dick, Dean's whole body clenching. Anticipation, he's pretty sure. Sam hasn't—they haven't done that, yet, but now it's all he wants, and he knows Dean will practically cry for it. Sam smiles at him, a weird sort of power filling up his chest, watching how his working dick makes Dean feel. "Later, too. If I want you to blow me. Tonight. Or at a rest stop—shit, parked out where someone might see, Dean. You'll do it, won't you?"

Dean groans, when Sam pushes up into him hard, keeping his hips held tight against Sam's so that he's full. The way Sam's learning he likes to be. "All right, Sammy," Dean says, soft, and Sam—fuck, he can't, he can't wait anymore, and he bears Dean back onto the mattress and lets his head bounce, and when he shoves in at just the right angle Dean shouts at the ceiling and then Sam's free to just—fuck him, to get his dick inside that hot friction where Dean's so ready for him, where he wants it because he—because he wants what Sam wants. Something Sam didn't get, when they first started this up, and it was rough and unspoken and awkward in the night. Everything he tried, something Dean just accepted and built higher, and when they kissed for the first time that wasn't like fighting it was something that—that Sam doesn't—god Dean feels good, and he's moaning against Sam's temple like he's getting some kind of dick-based religion, and Sam grips his hips and slams in without care or finesse and when he comes it's brutal, some unloading from the base of his spine, and he says—something—but his ears are roaring and his hips are flexing deep and Dean's nails are digging so hard into his back under his shirts that it hurts but even that feels good, at that second, the world aligning for a half-moment into being for fucking once in Sam's life—right.

He barely holds himself up, breathing hard into Dean's throat. Dean's still twitching, his dick like iron against Sam's stomach. He rocks against Sam, churning Sam's dick inside him where it's still hard, and they groan together, feeling it, but Dean groans louder when Sam slips out. They've fucked like this—a handful, two handfuls, of times, and they've swapped back and forth but Sam's only felt insane this way when he was on top, when he was in charge. With his body still ringing like a struck gong he licks his lips and then bites Dean's throat very deliberately, just below the amulet cord, hard enough that it'll leave a mark, and only when Dean's hissing does Sam think to ask—but. But he doesn't have to ask.

He releases his jaw, stretches it. Licks, against the hurt mark, and then crawls down the bed, kisses Dean's pec and his nipple and his soft belly and his hip, and brushes his cheek stubble and all against Dean's straining dick and feels Dean's thighs jump around his shoulders. When he looks up Dean's watching him, head off-center on a pillow and his eyes slitted, dark. "What am I going to do now?" Sam says.

Dean licks his lower lip. "You—" He swallows. "What you said."

"Yeah," Sam says, and pushes Dean's thighs up in time to watch his sore-fucked rosy asshole flex and drip, a runnel of white that Sam dips and collects with his tongue—salt, and bitter, but good enough that Sam's bones shiver in his skin. He laps across Dean's asshole and feels it so hot and soft, and Dean moans rich enough up above that Sam's own dick twitches, caught in a semi between his hip and the bed. He licks deeper, his tongue almost dipping inside, and then hooks two fingers in easy on the wet he left behind, and Dean cries out but only spreads wider, fisting himself and letting Sam do—whatever he wants, whatever he needs, because Dean is—because Sam is—

Dean comes quieter than Sam expects, every time. His whole body freezes for a second and then he makes this deep sound in his chest, in his throat, arching toward Sam like for comfort, almost. Almost. Sam licks him through it and then lifts up, holding his fingers tight up where he'd buried them, watching Dean's face while the last of it spurts from his dick, while he slowly, slowly relaxes into the bed.

It's—god. Afternoon. Why is that what Sam thinks, but it's what he thinks. Afternoon and the sound of a semi roaring to life in the parking lot, and Ellen waiting a few hours north of here, and the world resettling into something that has to be dealt with. Sam works his jaw, lets his fingers slip out when Dean spasms around them. He doesn't—he doesn't regret this, ever, not since that first time when they both had to take a minute—but he feels… He swallows, and sits back on his knees. Jesus, he's still dressed. Jeans and button-down and socks, sweat and worse griming him up. He zips up, feeling weird.

Dean rubs a hand up his stomach, smearing his own jizz over his belly and undershirt. His amulet's swung around on his neck, laying against the pillow. "Dude, that was sick," he says, but in a way that's weirdly admiring. Sam licks his lips, the remaining afterglow twisting in his belly. Dean lets his heels slip down the bed, his legs splayed around Sam, and he's red-faced still, but maybe that's just because they're both so—out there. Exposed. Even so, Dean touches his knee against Sam's hip, the corner of his mouth turned up. "Seriously. You're like a freight train when you get going, you know that?"

Sam swallows. Thick aftertaste in his mouth. "Shut up," he says, and finally goes for the buttons on his shirt. Jeez, Dean really did rip one off—Sam'll have to hunt for it on the carpet or wherever. He likes this shirt, it doesn't deserve to get ruined by—this.

"Hey, did you hear me complaining?"

Sam keeps unbuttoning, wrestles the shirt off his sweaty arms. He's gonna need a shower before they go anywhere.

"Sammy," Dean says, and Sam swings a leg over, goes to get off the bed. Shower, and clean clothes, and maybe they won't be late enough that Ellen asks questions—"Hey!"

Sam's forearm is grabbed before he can get away and Dean tugs hard enough that Sam'll have to wrench something to get away. He pauses, still on one knee on the bed, and when he looks Dean's up on one elbow, still naked from the waist down, frowning at him. "What," Sam says.

"What." Dean squints at him, and he's not blushed up anymore, not turned on. Looking at Sam like he wishes he could peel back Sam's skull and see what he's thinking, but Dean's never been good at that, really. Sam wishes he were, sometimes. All his life he'd wished for some kind of privacy, but then when he got it everything just ended up—worse. When it mattered Dean couldn't see him, see what counted, and now, with what's happening—

"Come back here," Dean says, firm, but his tug on Sam's arm is gentle as anything. Sam sits, half-on the bed with his hip tucked up against Dean's hip, and Dean's still looking at him with that intense so-thoughtful look, and it's—it's killing Sam, kind of, deep in his gut, that Dean doesn't know, that he can't know, that Sam's by himself here even when like five minutes ago they were about as close as Sam's ever been, will ever be, to anyone.

"You're wigging out," Dean says, after a few beats of silence, and Sam snorts and says, "Yeah, that’s me," and maybe it's bitter and too much and too weird but Sam doesn't know any other way to be, now, but Dean sighs and says, "Fuck, Sammy," kinda quiet. He reaches up and gets Sam by the neck and tugs him down, down, until there's no choice really but to kiss, and Dean opens up soft and wide and easy like they've been doing this for years, like he knows exactly what Sam needs. Sam gets a hand on his jaw, holds his face. His lips a little chapped, toothmarks on the inside like he was biting himself before to stay quiet, and when they stop Sam leans his forehead against Dean's, lets their noses brush together, breathes his air. Dean runs his fingers through the hair at the back of Sam's head, a slow carding pull. Sam sighs.

"I don't know if I need to give you like a signed customer satisfaction survey," Dean says, in his normal voice, "but that was good. For me."

Sam's eyelids squeeze tight without him even meaning to. Purplish sparky bursts against the darkness.

"Hey," Dean says, and pushes him back an inch. Sam doesn't open his eyes, just lets Dean move him, and feels Dean's hand on his throat, his thumb braced right over Sam's pulse. "Seriously. If it's too weird, or—or if you don't—damn, Sam, I know you want it. Talking like that. And I'm obviously good with it too, I just practically came my brains out. So don't let it be weird, okay. It's just you and me."

"Like that's not weird?" Sam says, weirdly croaky and feeling how his voice vibrates against Dean's grip. When he looks again Dean's face is striped with the light from the blinds, the sun dipping just enough. A band of shadow across his eyes, a band of greyed-out yellow across his nose, showing the freckles he pretends he doesn't mind. Sam pushes further up and Dean lets him go, frowning at him while Sam picks the amulet off the pillow, resettles it into its place over Dean's sternum. He fiddles with it, avoiding Dean's eyes. Sharp little horns pricking his thumb. How haven't they blunted, he wonders, after all this time. He presses his thumb harder into one, letting it hurt, and watches his hand rather than look at Dean's face. "I don't know, man. I'm just—that stuff last night, it's not—it's bad. I don't want that. The power. The dreams are bad enough, you know?"

Dean gets a grip in Sam's t-shirt—loose, but enough that if he held fast Sam probably couldn't get away. "If you hadn't had 'em we wouldn't have gotten there," Dean says. "Tracy probably would've died."

"Ansem might've lived," Sam says back, and Dean makes a tch sound, not very under his breath. Sam sucks the inside of his cheek, that sore spot. Still sore. Dean's better at this, Sam thinks. This calculation. Who deserves to live and who deserves to die. Who's good and who's not. Tracy for Ansem, Sam thinks, but Andy still murdered someone. Bullet to the brain, and now who's a monster.

"Sorry," Dean says, and for that Sam does look up, frowning. There's a glimpse of white teeth as Dean worries at one corner of his lip. "I guess it's not really a—I wasn't trying to make like it's not a big deal."

Sam shrugs. "Scares you, doesn't it?" Dean blinks, expression tightening. "You said. Freaks me out, too. I don't think anybody here's saying it's not a big deal." Sam lets the amulet go, rubs the pad of his thumb to feel the deep dents he's made. They look like holes in him. "It just—first it was Max and now Andy. It goes wrong every time."

Dean sits up, fast. "We don't know that," he says, more intense than he really ought to be when he's half-naked. "Sammy. We're not gonna let it go that way, okay? You and me. We can handle it."

He gets his hand on the turn of Sam's jaw, makes Sam look at him, and Sam does because it's not like looking at Dean's a hardship. He tries a smile and Dean nods, like Sam's agreeing to something. He really can't read Sam's mind. Sam wonders if that's something he'll be able to do, soon, coming down the pipe of this shitty year, but before he can tug away at that miserable thought Dean's leaned in and is kissing him, again. Soft, coaxing when Sam's stiff, and he puts one hand solid on Sam's chest, grounding and warm. Sam sighs, leans into it. It's nice, and he might as well let Dean have something.

"Better," Dean says, quiet, when they pull apart, and Sam nods even if it wasn't a question. He's let his hand fall onto Dean's bare thigh and he squeezes the muscle there, trying to say—he doesn't even know what. Dean kisses him again, quick, and then lifts his eyebrows. "You still going to make me blow you at a rest stop? That's nasty, man."

Sam huffs and Dean grins, even if it's small. "Don't need magic powers to know you're easy," Sam says, and even if it feels like an effort he manages to make it sound light.

"Damn right I am," Dean says, and Sam smiles and says, "Okay, okay, I'm taking a shower," and lets Dean pat his chest before he closes himself into the little room, fluorescents and yellow tile, bright and just a little dingy.

Andy said Tracy was scared of him. Sam believes it. He saw her face, this morning in the ambulance. That dim horror. Dean's not there. Scared of the situation, about what might happen, but he's not afraid of Sam, yet. Sam tips his head back against the door, imagining it. Taking Dean's hand and pitching his voice a certain way—that weird tone that he'd heard in Andy's voice but which hadn't affected him—and saying kiss me, and Dean going soft and easy and smiling, and doing it, no questions asked. Doing other things, just because Sam asked.

His stomach turns hard enough that for a second he really thinks he's going to puke. Hits different than it did when his dick was doing the thinking. The things he could do, with that power—he's lucky that it's just the dreams he has to worry about. Although—back with Max—there was that wardrobe, that he moved—

"Hey, get a move on," Dean says, muffled through the door. Sam opens his eyes, shocked back to the moment. "We get cleaned up and out of here, I only got to pay for a half day, and we've got to get up to the Roadhouse by tonight."

"You're the one who wanted a break," Sam says, and Dean says, quieter, yeah, yeah. Sam's breathing hard, remembering. That wardrobe. It came out of Sam like a punch, pure instinct, but—Sam's learned how to do a lot harder things than to throw a punch.

He strips out of his clothes, turns on the shower. Hot. Runs his hand under the water, waiting for it heat up, and thinks that, in the right circumstances, anyone can be pushed.

"Sam, seriously!" Dean calls out.

Sam folds his hand into a fist, hard enough that he feels the tendons strain. They're not going to let anything happen. He might have to ask Dean to swear that's true. For now, his skin's crawling, but that's okay. He gets in the shower. They have road to cover, before the day's done.

#wincest #sam/dean #my writing #ref to mind control but everything's consensual

71 notes · View notes

mister-fleck · 5 years

Text

full of surprises: arthur fleck x reader

Prompt: Could you perhaps write a fic where Arthur has a praise kink?

“So, will you come?”

Shifting uncomfortably on the locker room bench, Arthur’s face scrunched into a hesitant wince. “I don’t know, Randall. Clubs like that aren’t really my scene.”

“C’mon, buddy,” Randall took a seat next to him and placed one of his meaty paws on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Don’t be a wuss. Birthdays don’t happen all that often, pal.”

Tilting his head, Arthur eyed him wearily. He had personally worked twelve birthday parties this week. “They kind of do.”

Randall tightened his grip and Arthur bit back the urge to shy away at the muted pain. He knew that he’d never hear the end of it if he acted like a frail little girl.

“It’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t,” Randall told him plainly, leaning in closer and raising his eyebrows expectantly. His bulky figure blocked out the sunlight from the window behind him and it casted a nasty shadow. “I thought you were my boy, Artie.”

My boy.

A wave of nausea washed over Arthur and he had to look away. There was something about that nickname, about the way Randall towered over him, about how he constantly reeked of gin and motor oil — it always smacked him in the face with unpleasant deja vu.

“I don’t want you to be upset with me,” Arthur eventually found himself mumbling, feeling helpless. He fiddled with the leather tongue of his clown shoe, green eyes focused on his own bitten-down nails and calloused hands. “I’d hate it if you were mad.”

“Then show up.” After firmly clapping Arthur twice on the back — almost hard enough to make him fall off the bench — Randall pushed himself onto his feet with an ugly grunt, slung his bag over his shoulder, and made his way toward the stairs. “Oh, don’t forget to bring some cash. You’ll be useless there without any.”

As Randall stomped off, Arthur tried desperately to figure out what it was about him that made him want to puke and hide. Every interaction with him left him with a headache and there was only so much of it that Arthur could take. He rubbed at his eyes after a few minutes of not blinking and forced himself to get ready for the long walk home.

Saturday night came quickly. With his mother tucked away safely in bed, Arthur paced around his living room, hair mussed and brow knitted. It had been an entire week since the forced invitation and he still wasn’t even remotely prepared.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Arthur scolded himself, echoing Randall’s distaste. He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt past his hands, finding comfort in the habit. “It’s just a party. They’re just dancers.”

Still muttering to himself, Arthur made his way over to the china cabinet against the wall and lifted the lid off of one of the delicate teapots. Inside was a meager amount of crumpled bills, his secret savings account that he had set aside for emergencies. It pained him to have to dip into what little he had, but with a grimace Arthur blindly grabbed at a handful and shoved the cash into the front pocket of his pants.

He’d be the butt of a joke if he showed up penniless to a strip club.

The subway ride there was bumpy and crowded and it didn’t help ease the queasiness developing in Arthur’s gut. His brain had kicked into overdrive, imagining every bad scenario and uncomfortable situation. What if he arrived first? What if the strippers didn’t want to go anywhere near him? What if he drank too much, made a fool of himself?

Arthur had never been taught how to properly act around a woman, let alone one scantily clad and asking for money. He knew that he’d have to be a little forward to fit in with the others, but he’d hate himself if he overstepped and made one of the dancers uncomfortable. A little lightheaded, Arthur lifted the fabric of his sweatshirt to his nose and took a sniff, making sure he didn’t reek.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood alone outside of The Centerfold. It was tucked away in the corner, the sidewalk illuminated only by the buzzing neon sign perched crookedly above the entrance. Arthur’s stomach twisted and he puffed out a sigh, scratching at his neck. He felt like a nervous schoolboy, but instead of teachers lurking the halls there were half-naked women.

“Hey there, Arthur,” came a soft voice beside him. Arthur looked around — and then down, to where Gary was smiling up at him kindly. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Yeah,” Arthur chuckled, pushing back his hair. He felt a little relieved now that there was a familiar face. “Neither did I.”

Gary shoved one of his hands in his pockets, the other holding onto a white envelope. He looked calm, almost bored. “It’s not too bad in there. Smells a little like piss and sweat, but aside from that — nothing awful.”

Arthur was too focused on the card in Gary’s hand to digest any of what he was saying. It had dawned on him that he hadn’t gotten any kind of present for Randall. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, leaning in to speak privately through his teeth. “I forgot to get him a gift.”

“I can add your name to the card, if you want,” Gary offered with a shrug. Arthur couldn’t help but smile a little — Gary was genuinely the only person aside from his mother that didn’t resent his existence.

“Are you sure?” He dug his shoe timidly into the gravel beneath his feet. “That would be great —”

But before Gary could open the envelope, Randall was pushing open the doors and grinning broadly at the two of them.

“Took you two clowns long enough. That for me?” He didn’t give Gary the chance to respond as he snatched the card out of his hand. “Better be somethin’ good. C’mon, we got a great table near the stage.”

Arthur felt his stomach drop and he exchanged a wary glance with Gary before letting Randall lead the way.

It didn’t come as a surprise to Arthur that he ended up having to frequently rush to the bathroom to hide his laughing fits. The club was a brand new social experience for him, one that he had never imagined having to tackle, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. The place was packed with guys that would happily taunt him if given the chance to. After decades of bullying, Arthur could spot them from a mile away.

Of course, the party of men he sat with all assumed that Arthur was escaping to the restroom to whack off, overwhelmed with all of the breasts and ass on display. The women working at The Centerfold were all beautiful, Arthur couldn’t deny it, but he was wound so tight with anxiety that he couldn’t even consider being turned on by any of them.

Upon returning to the table for the fifth time, Randall yanked him back into his chair by the fabric of his hoodie. “Just realized you didn’t get me anything, you son of a bitch,” he jabbed, and Arthur couldn’t tell if he was playing around or actually offended.

“I’m sorry, Randall,” Arthur spoke up quietly, rubbing at his arm. He tried to conjure up an explanation. “I think I left it on the counter at home.”

“Did Mommy help you wrap it?” One of his other coworkers cut in, leaning in with a sloppy grin. With the exception of Arthur, the birthday group hadn’t wasted any time on getting plastered. “Or did you do it by yourself like a big boy?”

Embarrassed, Arthur felt himself shrink in his chair, not knowing what words he could string together to defend himself. He settled instead for laughing a little, hoping to hide his discomfort and feign amusement.

“Don’t sweat it, pal,” Randall scooted his chair forward and slung a heavy arm over Arthur’s shoulder, making him nauseous all over again. “I know exactly what you could do to make up for it.”

Instantly sick, Arthur visibly shuddered and tried to push away that terrible deja vu. When he spoke, it was barely audible over the pulsing club music. “What is it?”

Randall leaned back — arm still very much around Arthur — and put two fingers into his mouth to produce a piercing whistle. A dancer from three tables over turned around on her heel, scanned the room and made her way over.

“You see, Artie, this isn’t just any strip club,” he informed him smugly through a sleazy chuckle. “They have… an array of special services available.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Arthur told him meekly, wishing he hadn’t left his cigarettes at home.

“I took the liberty of asking this young lady here to tell you all about it.” Randall finally retracted his arm, but only to smack the woman on the ass. She didn’t seem phased, but didn’t look particularly happy about it either.

“Hey there, boys,” she drawled in a low, silky voice, slender hands resting on her hips. She was wearing a black brassiere and a matching thong, red high heels giving her a couple of extra inches. Her eyes met Arthur’s and he twitched under her stare. “Is this Artie?”

Randall downed the rest of his whiskey and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a belch. “Yup. Take him away, hot stuff.”

Arthur stiffened, gripped at his throat in anticipation. This was all too much at once. “What’s going on? What do you mean?”

The woman sauntered around Randall and reached down to tuck a lock of hair behind Arthur’s ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you.”

—

You were able to spot him right away. He matched the brief description that had been given to you earlier — skinny, unkempt, timid. Kind of a loser. You fought back the urge to yawn. This wouldn’t be the first time you fucked a virgin. He’d be your fourth this month.

This really wasn’t how you had envisioned your twenties playing out. You were supposed to go to a respectable university, study psychology or ethics, maybe find some sort of garden apartment and adopt a couple of dogs — but all of that had gone to shit after getting knocked up at nineteen. You of course loved your son, he was your entire life, but being a single mother at twenty-five in downtown Gotham had unfortunately forced you into a dirty profession that guaranteed decent pay.

But you’d do anything to offer your son a good, clean life. And if that meant blowing strangers Friday and Saturday nights — well, that’s life.

Taking the man’s hand in yours, you gently led him through the bodies and crowded tables. His palm was sweaty as he stumbled behind you, almost tripping a few times over misplaced bar stools. The birthday boy Randall hadn’t been discreet about the purpose of all of this — he was nearly crying with laughter as he informed you that ‘his pal Artie’ would probably have an anxiety attack or cum in his pants thirty seconds into being alone with you.

You didn’t find the former funny at all — the latter was something you had experienced a dozen times, nothing special — and you ran your thumb over the back of the man’s hand as the both of you pushed through thick red drapes.

“How are you doing tonight, Artie?” You asked him smoothly, attempting to loosen him up a bit. He seemed like a good enough guy. “Having a nice time?”

“It’s Arthur, actually,” the man stammered, the lighter pitch of his voice endearing. “And I’m doing okay.”

“Just okay?” You teased, guiding him further into the dark hallway. You nodded at one of the security guards who stood rigidly against the wall. It always gave you great comfort, knowing that there were a handful of bulky men ready to defend you if something were to go sour during a session. All you had to do was call out.

“I’ve never been to a club like this before,” Arthur explained after a long pause, mousy and apologetic as the both of you passed several rooms. A loud groan erupted out of one of them, making him tense up. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

Stopping in front of one of the empty rooms, you took a moment to briefly look over Arthur. The poor thing looked like a stray dog with its tail between its legs. Giving Arthur a patient, sultry grin, you motioned for him to enter. “That’s perfectly normal, honey.”

Once the pair of you were inside and the door was closed, you watched as Arthur took in the space like a frightened child.

The room was something similar to a motel bedroom: a queen-sized bed, a small couch, a night stand. You had chosen one of the nicer rooms that had a small bathroom connected to it, figuring that Arthur might be more at ease if the space wasn’t too closed-in. Especially with the unnerving way he rubbed at his neck. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was claustrophobic.

Rolling your shoulders back, you approached the nearby table to fiddle with the CD player that had been placed there. No time like the present to kick things off. “Okay, Arthur. Take a seat on the bed and we’ll go over the rules.”

—

Arthur didn’t know how to process any of this. He had just gotten used to the whole table situation, finding that he could calm down and block out the pressure if he hummed a gentle tune under his breath, but now he was alone in a secret room with a stranger and his inner monologue had blurred into static.

He wanted to speak up, tell you that he wasn’t interested in this, that you didn’t have to do... whatever it was that you did. But once you began to rattle off your terms and conditions, Arthur closed his mouth. He didn’t want to be impolite.

“I’ll keep it simple. No choking, no leaving marks, no kissing on the mouth. We provide condoms and you must wear them. If at any moment I feel threatened, or if you break any of these rules, I will not hesitate to call for one of those big guys out there. Your friend prepaid for thirty minutes. If at the end of our session you’d like to buy more time, it’ll be an extra hundred bucks, okay?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, Arthur remained frozen, lips pressed together and fingers bunched up in his sleeves. You had said it all so quickly and he felt like he could pass out from the implications alone. He had heard the word condoms — were the two of you going to make love?

When Arthur finally mustered up the courage to respond, it came out jumbled and uncertain. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but — I, um — “ He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flitting all over the room, not knowing quite where to land. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You — I mean, you’re really beautiful, but I’ve never…”

He watched you walk over to him slowly, lips parting as you reached out to gently unfurl one of his fists.

“Arthur.” He had a hard time getting over the lovely, feminine lilt in your voice. “It’s okay if this is your first time.”

It happened before he could even attempt to stop it.

A jarring, strangled laugh surged out of him, loud and abrupt, and he felt you jump away from him in alarm, rightfully startled. Not wanting to frighten you, Arthur hid his face in his sleeve and closed his eyes tight, each spasming attack making him lurch forward. It almost felt like vomiting, the way his body contracted, but the source of it lived deep in his chest like a demon.

“What’s going on?” He heard you say after a few moments. You sounded guarded now, cautious.

Terrified that you might call one of the hulking security guards into the room, Arthur lifted his head and tried his hardest to speak through the laughter. “I have a — a condition — that makes me — “ Trying his best to muffle another series of hard laughs, he covered his mouth with both hands and ducked his head, buried deep in shame.

He hated the way he sounded during attacks. It wasn’t anything like his actual laugh.

There was a long beat. With his eyes cast downwards, Arthur couldn’t gauge your reaction, but the last thing he had expected after such a heavy pause was a pair of soft arms wrapping around him.

—

You switched modes before you even realized it. You had never seen anything like this before — this ambush of tormented laughter, but the panic attacks your son struggled with made it easy for you to recognize that this wasn’t intentional.

“Let’s take some deep breaths, honey,” you instructed calmly, rubbing careful circles on his back. Your fingertips wandered over the prominent dips of his shoulder blades and you wondered if this man ever even ate. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. We’ll do it together, okay?”

Arthur stiffened initially at the physical contact but it didn’t take long for him to warm up to the attention, nodding shakily through bursts of laughter. It was admittedly hard to watch — all of the choking and gasping, the pain in his eyes. Pursing your lips, you reached out for his hand and placed it flat against your bare abdomen.

“Here we go. Breathe in.” You took in an exaggerated breath, hoping that he would feel the deliberate rise and fall of your stomach to help him focus. “And out.”

It took him a few tries to properly inhale, his lungs hindering the process as they stuttered, but Arthur eventually found a stable rhythm. Not quite hunched over anymore, he kept his hand pressed against your stomach, the other now all balled up between his knees.

Lost in the transformation in front of you and more than pleased with how he had listened — men never listened anymore — you pushed his hair out of his eyes and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Good job, honey. That was very brave.”

With a bashful smile, Arthur shook his head and shyly retracted his hand from your stomach. “No, not really.”

Something had shifted in him. You narrowed your eyes a little, studying him. There had been a definite change in his demeanor upon your gentle approval. Some of the tension had faded. Running your teeth along your bottom lip, you hesitated a moment before testing it out. You had already gotten paid, there was really nothing to lose here.

“Yes, really.” Leaning closer, you brushed your lips against the shell of his ear and scratched at the middle of his back with manicured nails. “You were a very good boy.”

He whimpered a bit and you smiled. There it was. Priding yourself on your intuition, you let your free hand rest against his thigh and dipped your chin to kiss at the underside of his jaw. He smelled like an ashtray but you didn’t mind it. Anything was better than the terrible cologne most of your customers drenched themselves in. “Do you want to know what I think?”

You took a moment to look up at him and watched as he took a deep breath, seemingly steadying himself. His lashes were wet, the poor thing. When Arthur answered you, it was lost in the back of his throat like a secret. “What?”

“I think that this good little boy…” You tiptoed your fingertips up his chest before toying with the zipper of his sweatshirt. “Deserves to be rewarded."

—

Good little boy.

The phrase should have made him angry. If he was like any other man, he would have scoffed and retreated, asked for a refund — but the genuine approval in your voice filled Arthur with a belonging so poignant that it knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been called good. If ever.

Hot all over, Arthur watched you begin to unzip his jacket, his neck still tingling from that feather-light kiss. Although a part of him wanted to carefully take your hand and halt your intentions like a gentleman, he knew that this may be his only shot at being intimate with a woman. And if you were willing, if you didn’t feel disgusted, Arthur figured that he had to at least try.

“You have such pretty hands,” he murmured awkwardly, heat rising up his neck. “Do you play piano?”

You giggled next to him — giggled — and Arthur felt pride swell in his chest. “I used to.”

There was a playful tug to his sleeve and Arthur shrugged out of his jacket obediently, leaving him in his brown slacks and white button-up. His shirt hadn’t been pressed in ages and he frowned, reaching up in attempts to smooth away some of the wrinkles, but you playfully batted away his hands and popped open the top button.

“Why did you stop?” He heard himself ask, not knowing if it was proper etiquette to make small talk.

“Life got in the way, I guess.” Three more buttons undone.

Arthur watched as you moved closer and couldn’t hold back a groan upon feeling warm lips against his pulse point. Eyes fluttering shut, he felt his cock twitch hard in his pants, completely at your mercy. He had never been touched like this before and he was still fully dressed.

With the front of his shirt now open, Arthur shivered a little, his fingers bunching up the fabric of the comforter beneath him. When you nipped at the corner of his jaw, he gasped. “That — That feels nice.”

This earned him a warm chuckle, but then you were gone, the warmth of your body no longer pressed against his side. Worried that he had done something wrong, Arthur’s eyes flew open—

To see you ever so slowly sinking down to your knees.

—

You had to admit that there was something charming about Arthur. He hadn’t groped at you with greedy, dirty fingers, he hadn’t tried to smack your ass or tug your bra off. He was willing and kind, and more handsome than he allowed himself to be. You had to hold back your laughter — your faintest touch drove him wild and you wondered absently just how long he would be able to last.

Kneeling now, you smirked up at him from beneath long lashes and watched him squirm in anticipation. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you were great at giving head. You had recently developed a bit of an oral fixation, soothed by lollipops and toothpicks. But if the bulge in Arthur’s pants signified anything, there was an alluring alternative being offered to you.

“I can make you feel really nice.” You slid your palms up and down along his thighs, rolling back your shoulders again to accentuate your cleavage. “Would you like that, baby?”

Arthur heaved in a breath and nodded eagerly. “Yes ma’am.”

“So polite,” you tutted, fingers now dancing around the buckle of his belt. Once it was undone, you spread his legs and pressed a lingering kiss to the crotch of his slacks. “Such a sweet boy.”

As you expected, Arthur was a complete mess, trembling and speechless as you pulled down his zipper. You had neglected to press play earlier on the CD player across the room, but you didn’t mind it. The little noises coming out of him were…

Pressing your thighs together, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, thrown off by your body’s reaction. You never got aroused at work, but you had to pause after pulling his erection out of his pants, the dull throb between your legs unwarranted and distracting.

You must have been standing still longer than intended because Arthur eventually spoke up, voice tight with worry. “You don’t — You don’t have to, I know that I’m not handsome, I don’t want you to feel pressured —”

With pink cheeks you snapped out of it and kissed the head of his cock, effectively shutting him up. “You’re very handsome,” you assured him, trying your best to keep your confidence through the storm building inside you. You had half a mind to actually stop, not knowing whether it would be wise to continue with a foggy mind, but your mouth had a mind of its own: You flattened your tongue against the base of his length and dragged up, up, up before taking the tip of his cock into your mouth.

Arthur groaned again right away, low and desperate this time, and you found yourself grabbing onto the front of his pants to steady yourself, your other hand holding his cock in place as he trembled next to you.

“That feels so…” Swallowing hard, Arthur reached toward you for a moment before hastily retreating his hand, clearly very shy.

“You can touch me,” you told him in a breath, pressing lazy kisses to the side of his now very hard cock. You closed your eyes, thinking that maybe if you didn’t look at him, you could pretend that this was some other client and not Arthur. Not Arthur and his sweet little whimpers and — his now gentle fingers sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“Is this okay?” Arthur husked quietly, the pad of his thumb tracing along sensitive skin.

You shivered instantly and had to stop yourself from leaning into his palm, instead smiling demurely and nodding. “Very okay.”

With other clients, you had a bit of a routine. Some heavy petting, a little generic dirty talk, followed by a long, drawn-out blow job, hoping that you could take up most of the allotted time on your knees. Nine times out of ten, it would be more than enough for the men who frequented the club. They just wanted to get off, it didn’t matter how.

But with Arthur… you couldn’t stop yourself from taking the whole of him into your mouth, wanting to hear him moan again, wanting to please him.

Obviously not accustomed to this level of pleasure, Arthur yelped a little and sucked in a ragged breath. “I think — I might, I’m sorry I might —”

Knowing that he was looking for permission, you opened your eyes and finally looked up at him again. The sight of Arthur panting, his bare chest flushed, his eyes so dark — you realized that you were now very, very wet. You locked eyes with him and swirled your tongue just so, silently communicating that he could let go.

And he did with a ragged, handsome cry, cumming hard with quivering hips and the slightest tug to your hair.

You knew then and there that you were screwed. You never, ever, ever let any of your clients cum in your mouth.

But Arthur didn’t need to know that.

Swallowing slowly, you didn’t pull back right away. Partially because you didn’t want to, but also because a part of you knew that there was still at least twenty minutes left. You hadn’t been prepared for this. So you remained kneeling, in a daze as you dragged your bottom lip along his now very sensitive cock.

Arthur was out of breath and sounded a little hoarse when he spoke, clearly out of his element and overstimulated. “Thank — Thank you.”

This made you smile despite yourself and you dropped a kiss to his thigh. He was full of surprises. Still trying to pull yourself together, you squeezed affectionately at his knee. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“What about you?”

The question came so soft and you blinked a few times before glancing up at him, not understanding. “Me?”

Arthur’s brows were furrowed as he nodded, regarding you sincerely. “Yeah. I don’t — I don’t want this to be all about me.”

Heat rushed through your body like wildfire and you gaped at him, now completely caught off guard. Was he implying that he wanted to —

“I might not be very good at it, but I’d like to try,” Arthur continued, rubbing at the back of his neck. His eyes then grew wide. “Unless that’s against the rules. Or you don’t want me to. I just figured that I —”

“No, it’s — it’s allowed,” you cut him off, pulse quickening at the idea. You ran a hand through your hair and tried to seem nonchalant, knowing you looked anything but. “You can, if you want to.”

In a clumsy blur Arthur was helping you to your feet and watching as you climbed up onto the bed. You squeezed your thighs together again, realizing now that he’d be able to see just how wet you were. The two of you locked eyes, both a little uncertain, but Arthur surprised you by taking the initiative, shyly reaching over to pull out one of the pillows from underneath the comforter and setting it against the headboard of the bed.

Silently inviting you to lay back.

You blew out a shaky breath and smiled at him, charmed despite suddenly feeling like a teenager on prom night. Not wanting to make him feel unsure of himself, you slid to the middle of the mattress and stretched out onto your back as gracefully as you could manage, your chest heaving now that the tables were turned.

Arthur’s eyes trailed over your body for the first time all night and you found yourself melting beneath his stare. He wasn’t ogling you like the men outside did — he looked like he was appreciating every dip and curve and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Take my panties off,” you prompted, shame flying out the window. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this turned on and you’d surely combust if he didn’t touch you in some way.

Nodding quickly, Arthur bashfully tucked himself back into his pants and knelt beside you to do as he was told, warm fingers hooking beneath the hem of your thong and dragging the ruined garment down the long expanse of your legs. It got caught momentarily on your heels, making the two of you chuckle a little, but the nervous smile on Arthur’s face faded into pure lust upon gazing at your pussy for the first time.

You had expected him to pause, ask permission again, maybe procrastinate and stall a little — but Arthur was between your legs in a flash, settled on his stomach now, his tongue already lapping eagerly at you.

“Oh m-my god,” you spluttered, both hands flying up to sink into his hair, seeing stars as you tried to register how somebody so inexperienced could instantly figure out how to do that —

Arthur took your reaction incorrectly, however, his head shooting up, green eyes wildly apologetic. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No, no, no —” You shook your head, your mouth dry now as your hips bucked up. You were planning on saying something reassuring, something coherent, but all that came out was a slutty little whine that made something shift in Arthur.

With a renewed sense of determination, Arthur surged forward once more and went right back into eating your pussy like it was his job, his hands curling around your waist as you all but writhed beneath him.

“Fuck! That’s —” You moaned girlishly, arching your back. His blunt fingernails dug deliciously into your hips as he held you down. You laughed breathlessly, delirious in your pleasure. “Are you sure you haven’t d-done this before?”

Arthur chuckled low against you, a rumbling sensation that sent a shiver rolling up your spine. It was beyond you how the fumbling, timid man from before had the potential to turn into this.

He didn’t let up, learning as he went along, playing close attention to what really made you quiver — and yet somehow, holding back a bit, as if he didn’t want it to end just yet.

Almost on the verge of tears, you lifted your head up from the pillow to catch a glance at what he looked like and noticed that he was absently jutting his hips into the mattress, seemingly turned on all over again.

The words came tumbling out before you could stop them, high-pitched and wanton. “Come up here. Fuck me.”

This was enough to make Arthur pause, lift his chin, lock eyes with you as if making sure he had heard you correctly.

“You did so good, baby,” you told him in a rush, pushing back his hair to really look at him. With your entire body quaking with need, all you could do was whimper out a small, “Please.”

Arthur sprang into action, tugging off his pants — well, stopping a moment to kick off his shoes and then taking off his pants, which made you giggle behind your hand — and climbed back up onto the bed in just his open shirt.

He hesitated above you and you wondered for a moment if he had spotted some sort of flaw, if maybe up close you weren’t as attractive to him as he had thought, but then he nervously murmured, “You said you had condoms?”

Blushing furiously, you broke into a breathless smile and reached over to the bedside table, catching a glimpse of his cock in the process. The sight alone made your pussy throb hard and your hand trembled as it rifled through the top drawer. You felt around, knowing that there was normally at least a dozen condoms kept there. But, nothing.

Cursing under your breath, you sat up a little more and Arthur did the same, the both of you trembling with want and realizing at the same time that the drawer was completely empty.

Rolling back onto the mattress, you caught those green eyes again and worried your bottom lip between your teeth. In any other circumstance, this would have been the end of it, but there had already been so many exceptions tonight, and you were most definitely on birth control —

“Fuck it, just —” You reached out, grabbed ahold of his collar and tugged him forward to break another rule, kissing him hard.

Arthur didn’t respond right away, shocked and well aware of the terms you had set out, but soon kissed you back in earnest, his hands immediately cupping your face with a tenderness that made you sink into the mattress.

Smoothing your hands beneath his shirt, you scratched down along his back and he purred in response, grinding his cock against your inner thigh. Completely out of self-control now, you bit down on his lip and reached down to help guide his length towards your pussy, crying out as it brushed against your clit. He took this as the last bit of permission needed and broke the kiss to look down, and —

“Fuck!”

Arthur didn’t fuck slowly. Once he was inside of you, his pace was rapid right away, hips snapping forward with each unforgiving, bruising thrust.

You buried your face in his neck, bit down at the skin there and sobbed a little, overwhelmed with pleasure. “Arthur, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

This time, Arthur didn’t tiptoe around it. “I’m gonna cum,” he grunted, a throaty kind of whine that made you instantly clench around him.

“You’re — I’m —” You couldn’t fucking speak anymore, because he had tilted his hips up in such a way that made your vision crackle — and then you were cumming, hard, shrieking into his neck.

With your pussy clamped down hard on his cock, Arthur couldn’t have pulled out if he tried. He came inside you with a long, sensual groan that made you wrap your arms around his neck, just wanting to feel him.

The both of you sort of collapsed into each other simultaneously, all heavy breathing and rapid heartbeats and shaky limbs.

“Baby boy,” you eventually breathed out, a sort of sigh of disbelief, your hand returning to his hair.

Clearly exhausted, Arthur pressed a kiss to your temple and you felt his lips turn up into a sleepy smile. “Mm?”

“Your friend can go fuck himself,” you murmured, scratching lazily at his scalp and smiling right back, “Cause you’re coming home with me.”

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird@jesstaggartt@lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader@aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt @mapreza1 @the-jokers-wolf @nicimixerxoxo @catch-a-star-wish-from-afar @umetsa @skaravile @live-love-loki @clowneyrat @darknessisafriend @chaosheartjester @shikoshikomanzuri @myfaceisaturnoffsorry @foofee0924 @tearfuljokers

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message! sorry if i’m missing anybody, lemme know if i did!)

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #arthur fleck #joker #idk how this turned into 6k+ words but i hope you all enjoy it lmao x #drabble

1K notes · View notes

feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter eighteen: narcissus staring at his reflection

Another few weeks and another few weeks worth of having her ears blown out by the sheer amount of shows that took place before her, and Sam truly felt herself to be part of the music world as well as the art world. Every night, all the way until the final date in San Antonio, about a week before they had to prepare for the flight up to Oulu, in Finland, Charlie asked her to make a little sketch for him before he went up to the stage as sort of a good luck charm. He lent her a little blank notepad which he had found from the glove box in Anthrax's van, and he always made it specific, as well: they had to be in a sketchy style with strictly a black ink pen.

“Why exactly that?” she asked him one evening while the Cherry Suicides were setting up for their opening gig, and he gestured for her to move in closer to him.

“A little bird told me that Louie got one before I did,” he replied in a low voice.

“Zelda!” she hissed.

“Nah, not Zelda,” he assured her. “I did see it in the front window of Testament's van, though.”

“Oh, I see. Propped it up within their sight so everyone could see it.”

“Exactly! I'll get you more paper, too.”

“Yeah, I'm kind of starting to run low on this notebook paper, if I'm honest.”

But nevertheless, she sprung right to it: a little scratchy drawing of Charlie upon the lined paper, complete with the black curls all around his head. Sometimes, she drew a little drum kit before him to make it look as though it was in fact Charlie there: this was one of those times. Within a few minutes flat, she finished it and signed her initials at the bottom of the page, and then she handed it to him for good luck.

“You ought to compile all of those together in a collection of sorts,” she suggested.

“Like a little book!” He then snapped his fingers; from underneath his bangs, Sam made out the twinkle in his dark eyes. “There's an idea for you.”

“An art book?”

“Yeah! Something to do some day when you're out of school and you've made it big at some point.” He flicked his bangs back and he flashed her a little wink.

“Not soon? While you guys are over in Scandinavia with the girls and with Metal Church?”

“Nah, it'll take too much of your time, if I'm honest. Even I can tell you that. By the way—you heard this from me—” He glanced around him before he returned to her. “—we're gonna be with Ozzy, too.”

“No way!” Her face lit up at the sound of that.

“Yes way! But—” He leaned in closer to her again and he lowered his voice a bit. “—please don't tell Zelda, though. Scott and I want it to be a surprise for her. We got her and Minerva both into Ozzy and Randy Rhoads shortly after the announcement was made that we would be going to Finland. As far as the two of them know, it's just gonna be us with them and Metal Church.”

“Okay—” Sam was cut off by Frank and Dan skirting past her with their guitars in hand. She then glanced down at the notepad in her hands: two pages left, and of course not nearly enough to tithe her over until they left for England at the end of August.

“Also, Zelda wants to talk to you,” Charlie picked up again, that time with a slight clearing of his throat.

“About what?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Dunno,” he confessed. “She just told me earlier over breakfast that she wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Well, where is she?” Sam wondered about that especially since she had bunked with the Cherry Suicides every night on this stint of the tour. She could have easily spoken to her about it at some point during one of those nights.

“She and Morgan are both signing autographs right now, believe it or not. I guess those girls are getting quite the fan base now. You know it's only a matter of time before they go Testament's route and start their own fan club. Morgan and I were talking about that just this morning over breakfast and I was like 'yes! You totally should at some point. Eric'll probably help you out with that, too, because he's the driving force behind that.'”

“What they get for thrashing all around,” Sam chuckled.

“Right! In fact, I've been seeing a lot more women in our crowds now because of them. Definitely more of the punky type of women given their music—lots of dyed mohawks and black leather and studs, but women nonetheless. From a mile away, I can tell they're all women. Not only do I have to owe it to the four of them, but I want to hand it to you and—” He cleared his throat. “—Marla and Belinda especially. Our first real big female fans.” Without a moment's hesitation, he put his arms around her and Sam returned the favor.

She then tucked the notepad into her pocket and before she could step away, Charlie spoke again.

“Did—Marla move into her new place by chance? I know it's been a while. I'm just—you know, just kinda curious.”

“I think she did?” Sam recalled: every night seemed to melt into itself, despite the new surroundings each and every time. “I'll have to ask her when I see her tonight, because I'm not too sure if I'm honest. I called her from the room last night and she told me that she's waiting for a direct deposit from me. And I promised her I'll get it once you guys run off to Finland, 'cause that's when I get the money from Jon.”

“I see. You know, I, um—” He cleared his throat again. “I still think about her from time to time.”

Sam squinted her eyes at him, and she flashed back on the night in which Marla came with her and Joey to her parents' house.

“She told me—you guys broke up because you have feelings about someone else.”

“And I do,” he answered, frank.

“Do you mind me asking?” She lowered her voice enough to where only he could hear her over the commotion around them. He nibbled on his bottom lip and he gazed off to the side.

“I won't tell anyone,” she vowed. “I promise. I'm not like Belinda—I'll keep a secret.”

He chuckled at that, but then his expression turned serious once again.

“Rosita,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded at her. “She's just—she's a babe. She rocks, too. Just the way she plays bass, man, it just—it kind of reminds me of the way Frankie plays bass and the way Cliff used to play bass, too.”

Her heart skpped a few beats at the sound of Cliff's name.

“Real friendly and just—” He shook his head again. “I've tried to ask her out but I just never got the courage to do so yet.”

“You ought to,” Sam told him. “Cliff did and we just clicked from that point on. For all you know, she might be the one for you.”

Charlie sighed through his nose and he nibbled on his bottom lip again.

“It's a long flight up to Helsinki from here,” he said. “That's a long time to think of the right words. I just don't really like being put on the spot like that. When I asked Marla out, she and I were all alone. It's just—finding that solitary moment, you know?”

“Yeah. 'Cause we're surrounded by people constantly.”

“Right. Exactly, yeah! I can always pull her aside—like when people are getting off of the plane. I'll ask her right there.”

“You should.”

“I don't wanna make any promises, though, 'cause something always come up. Things always come up, especially while on tour.”

“Right...”

“But I'll give it a shot, though,” he told her. “That's the only promise I can genuinely make is that.” He sighed through his nose and he glanced down to his hands. “And thank you for this, by the way.” He flashed the little sketch to her.

“Just—an artist to another artist.”

“Exactly!” Charlie peered over his shoulder to the other side of the room to the front doors and he knitted his eyebrows together. “Time is it?”

“I think it's almost noon?”

“I think Zelda might be on break. Why don't you go talk to her?”

Sam then nodded her head and once she tucked the notepad into her purse, she ambled over to the stairs at the edge of the stage; she padded across the narrow strip of carpet before the stage and then she made her way up one of the two aisles that split the rows of seats into neat thirds. She reached the double doors at the top there and she pushed open the one on the right: indeed, right in the front lobby of the theater was Zelda and Morgan seated at a low white table with felt tip pens in hand. The former had combed her back into a slick pompadour upon her head while the latter had on a bright red cowgirl hat and red lace gloves on her hands, complete with a red and black lace brassiere under a red lace bolero.

Zelda then turned her head and her face lit up at the sight of Sam.

“Hey, there she is!” she declared. “We were just discussing special outfits for tonight's show, given we're in Texas and whatnot.”

“Kinda makes me wish I had my black hat with me,” Sam confessed with a pat of her own head.

“We could be dead cowgirls,” Morgan said with a smirk on her face. “With nooses around our necks and splatters all over our hats.”

“Dead punk cowgirls,” Zelda corrected her with a nod. She then returned to Sam. “So what's up?”

“You wanted to talk to me about something?”

She hesitated and then she gasped and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, that!” Her expression then turned serious. “Been meaning to tell you this for a couple of days now, and it just keeps slipping from memory. Just because I have other, important things to worry about and remember.”

Sam lingered next to her, and the edge of the table.

“Another reason to be nicer to Alex the next time you see him,” Zelda started again as she held the pen in between two fingers.

“What's that?” Sam asked her, and she hesitated once more.

“Do you ever notice how bullies tend to travel in packs,” she pointed out, and Sam stopped right in her tracks.

“What do you mean?”

“They travel in packs and the ones getting picked on are usually solitary.” She turned to Morgan. “Wouldn't you agree, Mo? That bullies travel in packs and their prey often stands alone?”

“Oh, yeah. And it's always a sign of vulnerability, too. They won't admit it, though. But why do you think—cowgirls—punks—metalheads—all travel in packs? Same mindset. Bullies have a similar mindset, but they refuse to admit it.”

Sam frowned at that as Zelda returned her attention to her.

“They travel in packs because they know they're weak on their own. So—my suggestion, Sam.” Zelda twirled the pen in between her fingers. “The next time you see him, like when we're out in California when we get home from Finland—talk to him. And really talk to him, too. That boy deserves it. He just looks—lonely to me. I don't really know his full story, other than what Louie, Zetro, and Greg have all told me about him, but I feel like he's an easy target. So—the little blow up you guys had makes me wonder if he sees you in a shitty light, and I know you're not like that at all. But he needs to know that. He needs to know that you're of good stature. I know it's gonna be hard, given he's so hard himself but—he's still just a young buck, though. We've met a few teenagers signing autographs in here—and it's just so cool to see. These young girls—a lot of boys, too—”

“The girls come for the music, the boys come for something else,” Morgan joked.

“Right!” Zelda burst out laughing, and then she straightened herself out. “But—we've been seeing these kids coming through here in Texas—and there were those kids in Portland, too. And I think it was that bunch—in Tacoma and also in Portland, that got me thinking about Alex again, because he's still just a kid and we haven't seen him in a few weeks 'cause they're with Overkill right now. And I just think—he's legally an adult, but he's still just a boy, though. So—try to talk to him if you can. Let him know that he belongs with the whole gang and everything.”

“It's a little bit hard for us,” Morgan filled in, “because we're punks. We're a punk band. A punk band opening for a metal band, so it just feels a little weird with us and whatnot.”

“But we think that,” Zelda continued, “—since you and him actually have a little bit of history with Cliff especially—you could do it better with him than any of us can.”

“Why us, though? Don't you think one of the guys from Testament could try and talk with him?”

“Because they're dudes,” Zelda replied with a flutter of her eyelashes, “they're not good with feelings like us. I actually tried doing that with Louie once and he was struggling with it, I could tell. One of the things that drove me nuts about him was how it almost felt like I couldn't talk to him about anything on an emotional level.”

Sam thought about that night in Boston, where Louie confessed that Zelda was his affair, and she tightened her lips at the very thought of that. Yet another secret to keep under wraps.

“Anyways—if you could do that, he could probably be a little more—present, I'd say? I was actually talking to Louie just last night and I guess they've been struggling lately.”

“Why's that?” Sam asked her.

“I guess they've been kicking serious ass with the music lately but—they're sorta lacking with the presence. Alex moves around a little bit but he's like stilted, though.”

“They're getting accused of being too much like Metallica, too,” Morgan added.

“Yeah, that's another thing! Chuck apparently sounds way too much like James which is horse shit to me. There's a little parallel there given they're all from the San Francisco Bay Area, but I don't really see it to be honest.”

A knock on the glass door to up the lobby from them caught their attention. Sam recognized that head of fiery red hair in the midday sun outside as she peered in through the smoked glass pane. Fiery dyed red hair coupled with large brown sunglasses, a white camisole over a matching long skirt, and a big shabby hand bag.

“Hey, it's Marla!” Sam called out; she padded over to the doors but before she reached Marla there, she returned to Zelda and wagged a finger at her.

“I'll remember that,” she vowed, and Zelda nodded her head at her. Sam then opened the door and she was greeted by a blast of hot humid air in stark contrast to the air conditioner around her.

“Hey, you!” Marla greeted her and she stepped inside the lobby and shut the door behind her.

“I was wondering when you'd get here,” Sam replied and they embraced one another.

“So Bel and Aurora helped me move my things into the new place in Hell's Kitchen,” Marla started again as she took off her sunglasses, “I just need the other side of the first month's rent and the deposit, too.”

“Well, this is the last date of the tour before they—” Sam gestured back to Zelda and Morgan at the table. “—head up to Helsinki next week. That's when I get paid.”

“Okay, good!” Marla then reached into her hand bag for something and she took out her big Polaroid camera.

“Hey, I remember that.”

“Oh, yeah, we got together at L'Amour—many moons ago, and you made that drawing of me and Charlie. And you used that Polaroid, too. I decided, eh, why not have it again?”

She turned back to Sam again.

“You wanna get something to drink? I'm like dying of thirst right now.”

“I'd love to.”

“You ladies wanna join us?” Marla called to Zelda and Morgan.

“We're shooting the rock star bullshit and signing autographs,” Zelda replied. “We should be seeing more people coming through here in about ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I saw a bunch of people standing out in the shade around the corner here. I thought maybe they showed up early for will call.”

“Nah, it's for them,” Sam told her. “They're actually starting to make serious headway in the music world now.”

“Right on! Anyways, there's a juice bar right up the street here. We can sit in the shade, too, and I just heard that we're not too far from the River Walk and the Alamo, either.”

“So you can literally call me Sam Houston now!”

Zelda and Morgan laughed out loud at that.

“Right!” Marla chuckled. “But anyways, it's actually not bad out—it's just the sun is hotter than holy fuck is all.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sam returned to Zelda and Morgan. “I'll see you girls later—”

The two of them stepped outside to the sun as it hung high in the clear blue sky over their heads. Indeed, it wasn't that hot out, but the contrast of the air conditioner and the sunlight on their heads and the sidewalk around them made Sam wish for one of those large oak trees to cover their heads all the way up the block to the corner.

“So we've got a nice view of the water,” Marla told her.

“And it's close to school, too, I remember you telling me that.”

“Yeah, it is! No more taking the stinkin' subways so much. And by the way, Bel told me to tell you that, yes—we will help you. We kinda have to help you.”

“I moved cross country,” Sam recalled, “with the help of my parents, and almost by sheer luck, I met Frankie and Joey, but yeah—I could definitely use a little help.”

They reached the juice bar in question and Sam took to the table right before the front door, right underneath an oak tree and a pair of short stubby palmetto trees, and she set her purse down before her. Marla offered to buy up for her given she hadn't a lot of money on her at the moment.

“I'm just gonna use the bathroom real quick, though,” she told her as she set her purse down on the table before her. Sam nodded her head as she watched Marla head inside of there: that cherry red hair as bright as the very sun itself. Sam gave her hair a toss back and a light breeze came up from behind her. Still not enough to beat the intense summer sun, and she reached into her purse for a ponytail holder.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something by the corner to her left. As she tied up her hair, she looked over and spotted Joey at the corner of the building. He was looking at something, but she couldn't tell as to what he looked at there.

She set her hands down on her lap and she watched him. He stood before the glass and he leaned back a bit. He was looking at his own reflection.

She had an idea.

That in and of itself could act as her newest painting, and she would put more thought into it this time around. She knew he would move at some point. He turned his back to her right then. She had nothing with her but the little notepad and the ink pen in her purse.

But then again, Marla's camera stood right there on the table next to her. Without a second thought, she picked up the camera and she pointed it in Joey's direction. All the times she thought of making a stained glass window about his likeness.

Slim and delicate, almost elegant in fact. The black curls sprawled down his back towards his thin waist. The white shirt he wore only accentuated the thinness of his body and the richness of his curls.

She took out the camera and she took the cover off of the lens. She peered in through the aperture and there he was, right within her line of sight.

“C'mon, Joey, turn to the side again,” she muttered to herself; she rested her finger on the bottom on top. For a second, she felt like a genuine photographer. “The other side. C'mon, Marla's gonna be back soon.”

Like magic, he turned to the right side. She pressed the button and the flash dissipated with the midday sun so he couldn't see it. The camera spat out the Polaroid and she took it before anyone could see it for themselves. She waved it about so the ink would settle in on the paper.

His slim body was as flat as a washboard, and his curls sprawled down towards his waist like tentacles. He had slightly bent his legs at the knees all the while, but she knew she had the perfect subject to work with no one was looking. The decision now was between acrylic paints on canvas once again, or to go forth with the stained glass idea. If she carried out the latter, she would have to take a better shot of him, or he would have to sit still for her again, and she had no idea as to when he would do that again for her.

But she chuckled to herself as she looked on at the photograph in hand. She glanced up and she recognized Marla's head of cherry red hair on the other side of the glass, thus she quickly slipped the camera back into Marla's hand bag and she stashed the Polaroid into her own. Joey then strode away from the glass reflection and towards the front door of the juice bar for himself.

Some day, she would carry out that stained glass idea with him. It was a matter of when and how. Add to this, as she peered into her purse once again, she spotted that little plastic bag at the bottom there. A little more inspiration was all she needed, courtesy of Joey himself. But she had no lighter to do that just yet.

She took another glimpse up to the front door of the bar, and Joey had made his way inside; Marla then doubled back outside, right past him and towards the table once again. She squinted her eyes against the hot summer sun.

“So they've got all manner of smoothies and good stuff for us.”

“I'll take blueberry if they have it,” Sam told her.

“The special for today is blueberry pomegranate.”

“I'll have that then!”

Marla opened her bag for her wallet and frowned at what she saw before her.

“What happened here?” she wondered aloud.

“What do you mean?”

She picked up her camera and she delved about the bottom of the hand bag for something.

“The cover came off of the lens.” And Sam shook her head at that given she merely tossed the lid in there. Marla stuck the cover back on and then she returned for her wallet.

“It is getting kind of long in tooth, though. I've had it a long time... anyways, I'll be right back. And Joey's in there, by the way!”

“Oh, boy!” Sam felt her face grow warm at the sound of that, and Marla returned to the front door once again. The sight of Marla putting the cover back onto the lens made her think of Zelda's words to her. She could keep a secret, and yet she needed to heed by that promise as well. She reached into her purse again, and that time for the notepad and the pen.

The last night of the North American stint for the time being and she could fill in the next two pages there with some other things. She lifted the penultimate page and then she set the pad down on the table before her.

“'Talk to Alex,'” she muttered to herself as she wrote the words down on that final page of the notepad. Now she had something else to live to, especially since Marla knew nothing about what had happened that morning in her own city.

#fanfic #fanfiction #anthrax fanfic #anthrax #charlie benante #joey belladonna #chapter 18 #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #book three #a skeleton in the closet #artistry #also on wattpad #also on ao3 #writing #text

3 notes · View notes

keichanz · 4 years

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

hey @britonell. do you remember Ride? yeah. that’s the one. anyway i have absolutely positively no explanation for this other than the fact that i’m a slut and also i’m blaming @clearwillow and @lemonlushff for this because they will know exactly where in the fresh fucking hell this came from.

now if you’ll excuse i’m going to crawl back into the hole i came from and actually attempt to finish my 654 WIPs i have kthxbye.

anyway this is a follow up of sorts to my oneshot Ride because i have no self control. so here enjoy Stripper Inuyasha in chaps and a Stetson as i make him fucking line dance across a stage *cackle*

brief smut at the end but nothing exceedingly detailed because i’m lazy.

“Kagome,” Sango groaned, following her friend through the packed club and raising her drink above her head in order not to spill it as she meandered through the sea of people and tables. Jesus, this place was huge! “Why are we here again? And how the hell were you able to bypass that line? It was like a mile long!”

“I told you already,” Kagome called back over her shoulder, keeping a tight grip on her beer as she headed toward the only empty table in the entire establishment, reserved for a one Kagome Higurashi and guest. “We’re meeting someone.”

Sango didn’t fail to notice Kagome did not answer her second question and she sighed in irritation. Her best friend wasn’t telling her something and for the life of her she didn’t understand why. Kagome had always told her everything, and vice versa. There were no secrets between them, and that was why they were so close. But she also trusted Kagome and knew if it were truly important, her friend would tell her so Sango let it slide and muttered an apology as she bumped into a table while squeezing through the narrow paths. The tables were clustered so close together it was almost impossible to maneuver between them, but they managed and finally reached where Kagome had been leading them.

Gratefully sliding into the cushy seat beside her friend, Sango glanced around and couldn’t help but notice their table, which had been suspiciously empty in a fully packed club, was near dead center of the place and with a clear view of the stage not too far from them. It was empty at the moment, but the show hadn’t started yet, so not a surprise. Above the dull roar of chatter and laughter, Sango could hear a low beat coming from the speakers situated everywhere, standby music as the “performers” no doubt got prepared.

Sango flushed and took a sip of her Cosmo. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed Kagome to talk her into coming to a damn strip club of all places and she’d only given in because she was tried of her friend constantly bugging her about it. Hopefully after tonight, and after meeting whoever Kagome wanted her to meet, Kagome would be satisfied and never ask her again. These places just weren’t her scene, though of course she had nothing against strippers. Hey, you gotta do what ya gotta do.

Sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs, Sango sighed and set her drink on the table before turning her attention to the woman beside her. Dressed similarly like herself in a short jean skirt, cowgirl boots and a cami to give off that western sort of feel – something about the theme for the night apparently, from what Kagome had told her – said woman was grinning down at her phone with a soft blush on her cheeks, biting her lower lip as her fingers flew across the screen, no doubt typing a text message to her the new man in her life. Sango hadn’t met him yet, and every time she asked about him, Kagome would blush darkly and dodge the subject.

Not very unusual behavior for her friend, if Sango was being honest with herself. Kagome had always been reserved and shy, easily flustered and quick to stutter out an excuse if she was feeling embarrassed or awkward in a situation. So the fact that Kagome had chosen here of all places to meet their friend was very strange, to say the least. Still, despite herself, Sango was curious and knowing Kagome would just avoid the question again if she asked, she resigned herself to wait as patiently as she could for this friend of hers to show up.

Well…at least the seats were comfortable and the alcohol was good. And also free. Sango frowned. Wait a minute, how the hell—

Unbidden the lights shut off, plunging the club into darkness and instinctively Sango knew the show was about to begin. The lights lining the edge of the stage started glowing and there was a tangible buzz in the air, a heavy anticipation that blanketed the eagerly awaiting patrons. Sango was surprised to find herself actually a little excited, sitting up straight in her chair, staring hard at the dark stage and…

Wait a minute. She squinted, leaning forward. She could see figures on the stage, dark silhouettes moving into a triangular formation with one person in the front and four more branching out behind him. Her heart rate increased when she realized it was the dancers—the strippers. Ohmygod she was about to see a strip show—

Beside her Kagome could hardly contain herself, biting down on her lip to counting her squeal of excitement as she bounced a little in her seat. Though it was dark, she could just barely make out Sango’s face and she grinned from ear to ear to see her attentively staring at the stage, looking just about as excited as she felt.

Kagome couldn’t wait to see her friend’s face when she told her one of those dark figures standing motionless on the stage was her boyfriend.

Throughout the club, all the speakers hummed as the volume was cranked up, but at first there was nothing but static. Every few seconds a brief burst of music broke through before fading back to incomprehensible white noise, as if a radio dial was being turned to find that perfect frequency. This went on for another few seconds before the faint twang of a guitar was audible, the notes growing louder until an undoubtedly southern melody could be heard clearly above the gentle crackling of the static.

No lyrics accompanied the melody, no voice crooning out words of country roads, sweet potato pie, or mama. Instead all that could be heard was just the strumming of the guitar getting louder while steadily growing faster, the anticipation building, thrumming through the joint and creating a charged, restless energy until—

Silence.

A crackle, followed by an incomprehensible jumble of words, as if several radio stations were playing at once burst from the speakers, and then it was followed in short order by a widely familiar, but altered recording.

“Th-th-there’s a snake in my—”

A husky and positively sinful masculine laugh abruptly cut it off, echoing seductively throughout the club, and the wicked sound sent pleasant shivers down the backs of damn near every single female patron in the audience. Warmth pooled low in Kagome’s belly and she bit her lip because she knew who that laugh belonged to.

And then finally - finally - everyone’s attention was directed toward the stage as one by one, the dark silhouettes that were standing immobile were suddenly illuminated starting with the two in the back. The middle figures were next, first left, then right, and then finally at the head of their triangular formation, silver hair, golden eyes, and a positively devilish smirk was revealed on who was no doubt the star attraction of the joint.

While the patrons went wild and hollered their vivid appreciation, Sango’s mouth dropped and her face went very red as she took in the five figures standing on the stage. While fringed brown chaps coupled with black western boots concealed their legs, it was very obvious they wore nothing underneath them by way of the black briefs that were clearly visible. A matching brown suede western vest hung open from their shoulders with nothing else and expensive looking Stetson hats completed the cowboy look and honestly, Sango was kind of digging the look and she really wanted to know who the one with the small ponytail and charming smile was…

The response was deafening: riotous applause, exuberant cheering, screaming, shrieking, high-pitched whistling erupted from the audience. From beneath the brim of a sleek black Stetson, amber eyes found and zeroed in on a head of dark hair and melted caramel eyes in short order, sitting at her table as he knew she would be. Their eyes met and she smiled, a secretive curl of her lips that was returned with a flash of fang and a suggestive wink.

His girl blushed and bit her lip and fuck she was so goddamn beautiful.

If he’d bothered to take his eyes off of her for even a second, he would have noticed her friend beside her choking on her drink at the exchange, clearly shocked.

The beat dropped and forcing himself to tear his gaze away from her, Inuyasha adjusted the microphone headset – specially designed for his ears in mind – closer to his mouth and with one hand holding the brim of the black Stetson on his head, the other hooked into his chaps, and he waited for the next cue before starting the memorized choreography.

“Boys,” he spoke into the mic and behind him, his “boys” moved to the beat with him, holding a similar pose with one hand holding their hat and the other hooked in their chaps.

“Now, remember what we’re here for,” Inuyasha continued, purposely adding a southern drawl to his voice that elicited several hoots of appreciation from the crowd. “This ain’t no half-cocked or eight second rodeo. Ain’t no kiddie rides or little ponies up in here.”

In sync, Inuyasha led his fellow performers into a quick country two-step the flexed the muscles of his abdomen. More whistles and hollers of female appreciation were issued as he drawled, “Nah, what we got here is the real deal. We got them one of a kind”—slide a hand down the stomach—"large and in charge”—hip roll—“rough and ready”—step back, a little spin—“motherfucking stallions.”

Cheering amidst rowdy laughter and shrieked encouragement was the response to that and Inuyasha gave a fang-baring smirk, his low chuckle rising above the din of the crowd thanks to the mic close to his mouth.

“And believe me when I say,” he continued, kicking out his booted feet and transitioning smoothly into an easy line dance, “there ain’t nothin’ half-cocked about ‘em.”

More screaming and cheering, wolf-whistles and cat-calls abound and yeah Inuyasha had to admit, he was soaking it up like a fucking sponge.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen.”

The five men spun around in a brief circle and with practiced ease caught the prop that was tossed to each of them from off stage, not missing a beat before whirling back around to face the audience and straddling what they held in their hands—a hobby horse toy, the one where a stuffed horse’s head was on the end of a stick.

“A gentle reminder”—Inuyasha turned sideways, tilted his prop so the horse head at the end of the stick was pointing upward, and very suggestively stroked his hand up the wooden shaft—"that you must be this tall to ride”—feminine giggling, shrieks of laughter and more hollering met his ears at that and he grinned—“and that any lightheadedness or tingling sensations are completely normal.”

More hilarity and cheering, the crowd restless, impatient, so Inuyasha decided it was time to wrap up his little speech. After performing some rather provocative dance moves with their props that had every woman in the building feeling rather flushed, the five performers tossed their props back to the hidden stagehands and while Inuyasha strutted to the end of the stage, the other four took position behind him, preparing to put on one hell of a show.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, cowboys and cowgirls,” he began and once more locked eyes with his girl, a devastating smirk curling his lips upward at her flushed and star-struck expression. “We kindly ask that you sit back, hang on tight, and enjoy…”

Strobe lights flashed, spotlights swiveled and bathed him in an ethereal glow, and the smirk that stretched across his face was all fang as golden eyes flashed from beneath the rim of his hat, dangerous, alluring, positively wicked.

“…the ride,” Inuyasha finished in a husky growl and as the crowd once more roared their vivid appreciation, the hanyou whipped off his headset before tossing it carelessly to the side and then fucking moonwalked back to his position, tipping his hat forward so only his smirking mouth was visible as he waited for the cue. It started only seconds later, the music reverberating throughout the club, and as one the performers started the largely anticipated show.

Only vaguely did Kagome recognize the beat that was pouring from the speakers, some kind of remix of the song The Git Up by Blanco Brown but it hardly mattered. They could have been dancing to something as ridiculous as the big butt song and Kagome would have been just as captivated, as enthralled as she was right now watching her man gyrate and pivot on the stage like he owned it. A lot of his moves were familiar now – both from being considered a regular here now and from his private little shows he gave her after hours – and Kagome suspected no matter how many time she watched him work those hips and roll that toned stomach, it would still have the same effect on her every single time, warmth pooling in her belly, heart beating fast, and a familiar ache developing between her legs.

Stealing a glance at the woman beside her, Kagome was thrilled to see that Sango was in a very similar state, her face redder than she could ever remember seeing, mouth parted in awe, and if she wasn’t mistaken, her gaze was focused solely on Inuyasha’s friend Miroku. Kagome had met him shortly after she and Inuyasha had started seeing each other officially and though he could come on a little strong at times with his wandering hands and flirty nature, he was a good man and Kagome genuinely liked him. Charming, witty, and with a surprising sense of humor, she knew he would be perfect for Sango and she decided to ask Inuyasha what he thought about setting them up.

But not until later, though, because right now Kagome’s attention was thoroughly ensnared by one silver-haired, golden-eyed Adonis as he drifted across the stage, flexing muscle, smirking devilishly, and every so often tossing her little winks that never failed to make her erupt into elated, girlish giggling.

By the time the first show of the night ended a disappointingly short five minutes later, all five performers were sans their vest and chaps, strutting around on the stage in naught but their boots, briefs, and Stetsons and looking utterly fucking delicious while they did. For the finale, the toy horse props had been made a second appearance and then the show had taken a very unexpected, but also very appreciated twist that had captive audience roaring with applause, cat-calls, wolf-whistles, and general pandemonium as every woman collectively lost her shit.

Each performer, with Inuyasha going last, briefly disappeared behind a screen that had been discreetly rolled onto the stage while the audience had been distracted by sexy dance moves and when they emerged, the briefs were gone and the hobby horse was held between their legs in such a way that the stuff horse head deliberately concealed any stallions from their screaming fans.

The dancers bowed and in another move that delighted the audience, each man removed their Stetson and tossed it into the crowd. Predictably they were fought over, women clamoring over each other to get to the precious souvenirs first, but Kagome ignored them all. Conveniently Inuyasha’s black hat found its way to her and she blew him a kiss as she placed it on her head to which her man winked at her with a grin before the stage went dark.

Giggling, Kagome turned to Sango to ask how she enjoyed the show and found that she was holding he own hat in her lap, a flush on her cheeks and a slight smile curling her lips. She recognized it was the one Miroku had been wearing and she smirked. Her little plan might be easier than she’d anticipated.

“Sooo,” Kagome drawled, not even bothering to hide her smirk as raised a brow at her friend. “Nice hat. It’s safe to say that you enjoyed the show?”

Flush darkening, Sango muttered something and proceeded to ignore her friend by putting the hat on her head and tugging it down over her blushing face. Kagome cackled and without removing the hat, Sango flipped her off. Kagome cackled louder.

Deciding to spare her friend further embarrassment, Kagome left to get them two more drinks and by the time she returned, Sango had cooled down and smiled her thanks when Kagome set a Manhattan down in front of her.

“Yes,” Sango sighed as nursed her drink and her smile was almost dreamy. “Yes, I admit it. I enjoyed it.”

Kagome simply waggled her brows and sipped at her amaretto sour, but before she could say anything else, she spotted a familiar figure, now dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt, weaving through the sea of tables and people, fending off grasping hands of appreciative women. His honeyed gaze was zeroed on her, however, not once looking at any of the women that tried to get his attention and Kagome felt that familiar warmth bloom in her chest. She felt it somewhere significantly lower as well, but that was nothing new and she tried to ignore it as her boyfriend approached with his signature smirk.

“Ladies,” Inuyasha greeted and bent down to sweep his girl into hot kiss, caging her in his arms with a hand on either arm rest. “Baby,” he rumbled, pulling away and dropping a kiss to her forehead.

“Hmmm,” Kagome hummed and tugged him back down for another one. Inuyasha chuckled and happily obliged, getting lost in her taste, her scent, the way she twined her fingers in his hair and snagged his ear to massage the sensitive flesh. He growled, lifting a hand to cup the back of her head, tilting it back so he could plunder the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue, nip her lips with his fangs, and suck the soft flesh into his mouth. Kagome moaned for him and the sound went straight to his—

“Inuyasha, get your tongue out of your girlfriend’s mouth. You’re being rude.”

With a grunt, the hanyou reluctantly pulled away and leveled a peeved glare at the source of the voice.

Unfazed, Miroku stared blandly back, arms crossed while next to him, eyes impossibly wide and mouth open in shock as she sputtered incoherently, Sango gawked incredulously at them.

Rolling his eyes, Inuyasha grumbled something but nonetheless complied, dropping one last kiss to his girl’s mouth before standing up and gesturing at Kagome to stand up. She did, and he took her place in the chair before tugging her back down to sit on his lap. His arms went around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder and Kagome wiggled around to get comfortable before resuming sipping her drink, calm as you please, like she hadn’t just been making out with her hot as fuck stripper boyfriend.

Recovering from her shock while Miroku not so discreetly looked down Sango’s shirt at her cleavage, Sango jabbed an accusatory finger at her friend and screeched, “Your boyfriend is a stripper!”

Kagome blinked and smiled a mite sheepishly. “Um…uh, so, Sango, remember when I said we were meeting someone here?” She chuckled nervously. “Well…”

Without warning Sango snatched her drink off the table and drained it in three large gulps.

Miroku practically had fucking heart-eyes as he gawked at the woman who had just downed a strong cocktail like it was nothing.

“Fuck, marry me,” he murmured, barely aware of what he was even saying and then he promptly forgot how to breathe when the woman of his dreams suddenly swung her gaze his way, racked her eyes up and down his body in an evident once over, and then made a noise of approval as her eyes lingered somewhere considerably lower than his face.

Feeling warm not only from the booze in her system but also lingering effects from the captivating show featuring the very sexy man before her, Sango abruptly got to her feet and pegged her best friend with a look. Kagome blinked and innocently widened her eyes. Sango snorted.

“You,” she said, eyes narrowing. “We’ll talk later. And you.” She spun around and jabbed her finger in Miroku’s face. His eyes crossed as he stared at it. “You’re coming with me.”

Then with that, completely ignoring the couple nestled in the chair with matching knowing looks on their faces, Sango stormed off, head held high and like an obedient puppy Miroku followed after her, nearly stumbling in his wake and ignoring the hands that reached out to him as he passed by.

Kagome and Inuyasha stared after her, one gaze amused, one slightly bewildered.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome deadpanned. “Meet Sango.”

Inuyasha snorted and maneuvered her around on his lap until her legs were draped over the armrest and her arms were around his neck. He buried his face in her neck and kissed the soft skin, ears flicking at her soft sigh.

“I think Miroku likes her,” he pointed out a little needlessly since it was obvious the guy was already half-way in love with her. His friend always did like a woman that could hold her liquor well and Sango’s first impression had been stellar.

“Hmm,” Kagome hummed and her friend was the last thing on her mind as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and ran her fingers across the hard lines of her man’s defined abdomen. “I like you.”

Inuyasha smirked and kissed his way up her neck. “Yeah?”

“Mmmhm.” Scratching lightly with her nails just to feel him shiver against her, Kagome slipped her other hand into his hair and found one of his ears, fingers stroking the soft flesh. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me,” Inuyasha growled into her ear and nibbled on the tender lobe before trailing his tongue along the delicate line of her jaw.

Breath hitching in her throat as his devious mouth licked and nipped at her skin, Kagome swallowed back a moan and slyly slipped her fingers further south to flutter over the crotch of his jeans as she leaned up and confessed her secret in a sultry purr.

Inuyasha’s entire body stiffened as her naughty words registered in his brain and he groaned, head falling back to loll against the backrest of the chair as his devil of a girlfriend snickered impishly on his lap. Damn, but his girl was dangerous, and fuck if he didn’t absolutely fucking love it.

“Well?” Kagome purred and he could feel her warm breath wash over his jaw as she laved the skin with soft kisses. “How ‘bout it, cowboy? Shall we go for a nice hard ride on your stallion, or you gonna make me settle for a boring little pony show?”

Her fingers flitted over the hardening crotch of his jeans again and she felt an answering pulse between her legs, thighs squeezing together to relieve some of the building tension.

With a low growl designed to tell her just what he thought about her cheeky little teasing, Inuyasha surged forward, caught her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss and then suddenly he was on his feet and dragging her toward the employees only backstage entrance. Breathless, aching, and trembling, it was all Kagome could do to keep up with him, shamelessly admiring the flexing muscles of his back and his tight ass in those jeans, but then her back was suddenly against a wall, her hanyou had wedged himself between her legs, and his hand was up her skirt, claws hooking in her damp panties and tearing the fabric completely off.

Kagome gasped but it turned into a moan when her lover hitched her thighs around his hips and then hastily unfastened his jeans, freeing the stallion that was rearing and ready to go from within. He cursed, she laughed, and the next minute he was inside her, grinding her into the wall, swallowing her moans with his mouth and returning them with heated growls of pleasure.

He fucked her against the wall, in a rarely used dark hallway somewhere behind the stage, and as Kagome clung to his shoulders and begged him for more, harder, faster, please, Inuyasha snarled and complied as her naughty little confession rang in his ears over and over, fanning the flames of his passion, his hunger for this woman all-consuming and never ending.

“I want your full cocked, large and in charge stallion inside me in the next thirty seconds and it had better be longer than any eight second ride.”

i want you all to know hat i could not. stop. laughing. as i was writing Inuyasha’s sexy little speech and that i am very proud with how it turned out rofl also yes i did make Inuyasha line dance anD I’M NOT SORRY

on another note, i didn’t put as much detail into the dancing this time because one it’s a fucking pain in the ass to write out detailed choreography; two, the actual dancing wasn’t a huge part of the plot, and three, i’m a lazy piece of shit and just wanted this done. also yes i’m aware that last line is kinda lime and anti climatic but i couldn’t think of anything else lmao

for anyone curious, the eight second thing references bull riding. a cowboy must stay on a bucking bull for eight seconds without touching any part of the bull or yourself or using any spurs, ropes, ect.

#save a horse ride a cowboy #inuyasha #inukag #oneshot #keizfanfiction #fanfiction #fuck #now i remember why i never wrote a second part #this was a MASSIVE PAIN IN THE ASS TO WRITE

172 notes · View notes