#cork salad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roosterbruiser · 1 year

Text

𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟔

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Jake have an honest conversation about your pasts. Your love can be shared. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.3k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

You’ve been at the restaurant for hours now. It’s a newer one, one that is draped in red velvet and low, pink lights. There are fresh flowers on all the mahogany tables and the tablecloths are all sewn from fine French linen, their color a seafoam green.

All around you, everyone else is chatting away and ordering another drink or poking around their salads. The restaurant is alive with clattering silverware and popping corks and the live orchestra set up in the corner.

The food has been incredible: artichoke hearts breaded in sourdough and and crumbled with feta, gruyere fondue with broccoli sauteed in garlic and and butter, cobb salad with prosciutto and soft boiled eggs, decadent filet mignon with a mushroom creme.

Rooster watches you take the first bite of your filet, your jaw flexing as you chew. Everyone else--Coyote, Phoenix, Hangman, Fanboy, Payback--is so used to this kind of luxury. This nice cut of steak, this expensive wine, this rich cheese. But you aren’t. This is all new to you still. And the way your eyes are alight with unadulterated joy, the way your lips quiver with every moment the steak is between your molars--Rooster can see it. He can see how unfamiliar this all is.

“Whatcha think, baby?” Rooster asks.

You didn’t realize that he was watching you, but when you look up and across the table, when you see his whiskey-colored eyes crinkled with joy as he watches you chew--you sigh. The world doesn’t push down on you so heavily when he’s looking at you.

Carefully, you pat your mouth with an expensive napkin and reach across the table, taking Rooster’s hand. He strokes your skin, still grinning at you, and wishes that you were perched right on his lap instead of across from him.

“That’s the second-best steak I’ve ever had,” you tell him.

He scoffs.

“Second-best? Don’t break my heart and tell me the best steak you’ve ever had was in Nebraska, kid. Not a chance.”

You shake your head, laughing. Your hair tickles your naked shoulders when you move, a delicate and soft feeling that makes your chest warm.

Rooster lets his eyes fall to the soft slope of your shoulders, the elegant point where your throat gives into anatomy and becomes your collarbones. Your skin practically glows in the light of the restaurant, effervescent. You have your hair pulled up and it’s been falling all night--but it’s fallen so perfectly that it looks purposeful. Tendrils of your soft hair decorate your cheeks and forehead, giving you a very soft and sweet look even with the dark eyeshadow on your lids and the gloss on your lips.

“Well, don’t bogart this best steak,” Rooster says, leaning forward. “What’s the skinny?”

You lean forward, too, setting your cutlery on your plate politely.

“It was at this little place in L.A.. God, it’s really the shit, you know? View of the Hollywood sign, a pool, a tiki bar,” you list, squeezing his hand. “The chef’s, like, super hands-on, too. He was a good lay. Well, anyway, he made the best steak I’ve ever had. Cooked it up real nice, medium, wearing an ugly Hawaiian shirt and no shoes.”

Rooster chews a smirk.

“No apron and no shoes?” He asks. “That’s two health code violations, kid.”

You grin back, your lashes fluttering against your rosy cheeks.

“Cry about it,” you tease.

“What’re we crying about?” Hangman asks, throwing his arm over your shoulders.

You lean into him, grinning, resting your head against his. He fingers the silk dress you’re wearing, pressing a lewd kiss to your forehead. Rooster wishes you were perched on his lap fervently.

“I’ve got nothing to cry about,” you tell Jake, smoothing your gown and winking at Rooster. “How about you, Cowboy?”

Hangman likes that you call him Cowboy. He’s been called Hangman for so long--which is still a nickname he loves, one that tells everyone who utters it just how well-endowed he is--that he sometimes forgets that he can be something else.

“How could I cry when I’ve got you on my arm, honey?” Jake lips, kissing your cheek again.

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna cry about,” Fanboy pipes up, lips pursed. He’s nursing a martini, his silk shirt almost entirely unbuttoned and exposing the manicured curls across his chest. “Dennis only giving me six fucking films for the entire year. The entire year!”

“What?” Rooster asks, brows furrowed. He takes another sip of his Tom Collins then sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. “That’s bogue.”

“Totally bogue,” Bob agrees. “What, like, boy on boy isn’t popular anymore?”

Fanboy rolls his eyes.

“Exactly,” Fanboy agrees. He finishes his marini and flags down one of the waiters. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m a pioneer in my genre.”

“Well, that isn’t an opinion,” Phoenix says with a sigh, touching her lipstick up in her pocket mirror. “It’s a fact, honey.” She snaps the compact shut and puckers her lips.

“I mean, shit, I’ve got some jobs you can take,” Coyote laughs. He is ferociously cutting into his steak, shaking his head with his eyes wide. “I’m gonna be dehydrated by February at the rate I’m going. You dig?”

“Everyone digs,” Phoenix says, rolling her eyes. “Can’t have more shoots than Rooster, though. Right?”

Rooster is absently stroking his mustache, humming.

“Not necessarily,” he says softly, shrugging.

“Well, how many films you got this year, man?” Payback asks. “Dennis stiff you?”

“No,” Rooster answers. Dennis is a lot of things--but he isn’t stupid. And it would be stupid if Dennis were to stiff Rooster. “He knows better than that.”

“How many, then?” Fanboy asks. He’s smoking a cigarette now, his leg bouncing.

“Ten,” Rooster answers.

You’re tickled. You have more than ten. You have more than Rooster Bradshaw--who’s the biggest and the best in the business. It makes your stomach turn with a precarious sort of excitement.

“Christ,” Coyote says, sighing. “I haven’t had ten since I was a rookie.”

Everyone echoes some sort of murmured agreement, the air thick with cigarette smoke. Your spine prickles. Shit. You have more films than everyone here--Rooster and Hangman already know that.

You’re afraid, suddenly, that these people will not like you if they know this about you. You don’t want anyone to think that you’re taking their jobs, fast tracking the demise of their careers. Jesus--fear slinks up your legs and presses down into your thighs. You like these people, you’re friends with these people, you’re breaking bread with these people. You don’t want to be in this industry without them.

Jake can feel it when your thighs clench, can feel it when your spine stiffens.

“Wanna step outside for a second, honey?” Jake says quietly in your ear. He needs another bump anyway.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “Say, got a mint?”

Jake grins at you.

“Always.”

Rooster watches the two of you walk out together, your dress clinging to your body. Jake’s hand is resting on your ass, just high up enough for it to not be considered rude in this nice of a restaurant. He knows what you two are going to do outside, which is what you two slink off together and do in bathrooms and bedrooms. It makes his palms sweat, but he doesn’t move to stop it. How could he?

It’s not hot in the restaurant, but it’s stuffy--and your face is flushed at the thought of everyone inside asking how many movies you have been signed on for. The cool evening air is a welcome escape, one that makes your lips part in ecstasy as it prickles your bare arms.

Cars are zooming past, their engines purring and their horns wailing. There are people laughing on the sidewalk and holding hands and singing songs. Heels clack against the pavement as people swiftly pass you, not batting an eye in your direction.

You don’t know this yet, but soon you won’t be able to stand on the sidewalk without people looking at you. Men, especially ones walking with their wives or girlfriends, will stare but will not be brave enough to approach you. They’ll pretend they know you from work or school if their wives catch their gazes lingering on you. They will think about the color of your nipples and the way your back arches and the noises you make when you suck cock, but they won’t say anything to you. You almost prefer it when people say something, when they’re brave enough. Because in a few months time, you will live in a fishbowl. You will be lonely even when everyone in the room is looking at you.

Jake is still holding onto you, humming softly as he tugs you over to the brick siding of the restaurant. He tugs the mints container out of his pocket and smiles at you. He thinks you look beautiful tonight, all done up with that eyeshadow and that dress.

“Have you graduated to sniffer?” He asks, eyebrow perched.

You hum, shaking your head. You will rarely pass up an opportunity to have Jake’s fingers in your mouth.

“Nope,” you say, hooking your fingers in the belt loops of his corduroys. “Gonna need your help.”

This pleases Jake. He doesn’t even check behind him anymore before he takes a bump--everyone does cocaine. Everyone and their mama does cocaine in Los Angeles. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it anymore.

Once he’s snorted it off his thumb, he dips his finger against his tongue and then presses it into the powder before bringing it up to your lips.

“Careful,” you say quietly, tucking his hair behind his ears. Your eyes are glowing in the low light of the evening. “Don’t smudge my gloss.”

“I’d rather die,” Jake says simply.

Then he slides his fingers against your gums, makes sure to spread it around.

Your heart is racing already, just in anticipation of the high. It’ll be a few minutes, you know. But you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all. Just sitting here with Jake, outside against the cool brick--that’s enough for you.

Jake snaps the container shut and stuffs it back in his pocket, giving you a quick kiss before settling in beside you against the brick. The two of you quietly watch the cars go by for a few minutes, holding hands, waiting to feel it.

But there’s something choking Jake now. You’re stroking his hand, humming to yourself, letting the butter melt on your tongue. And he thinks--maybe because he’s high or maybe because you seem to have a peculiar way of subduing him--that you are a good person. He hasn’t known you for very long, but he knows that the heart that sits in your chest is a good one. You’re kind and you’re bright, bubbly. But it took time for him to understand about you, hours. With Gentry, it took weeks. You’re like Gentry, though. Gentry was just someone that Jake knew was a good person--not right away, the very first time he saw him at the canteen.

“What’s up, Cowboy?” You ask.

You’re looking at him now, your cheek pressed against your shoulder.

He shakes his head, biting his lip.

“You remind me of someone,” he says softly.

You swallow, your lips tingling.

“Who?” You ask.

But you already know. You’ve thought about it a lot, that first night you met Jake when he told you about the only man he ever loved. When you anchored yourself on his body and let him sleep.

“Gentry,” he answers. He sniffles, wipes his nose. He’s tapping his fingers against yours rhythmically. “Not that you’re, like, manly or anything. Ain’t like that. I just like you is all.”

“Everyone likes me,” you tease. But it is true--everyone does like you.

He laughs shortly.

“Yeah, but I don’t like everyone,” he sighs. “You dig?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard.

“Yeah, I can dig it,” you say quietly. “So, what did you like about him?”

Jake laughs again, grinning. His face feels good--cold and soft.

“He was stand-offish,” he answers. “Always had something to say, you know? Didn’t seem scared. Like, we were all fucking scared. Middle of the fucking jungle, barely old enough to drink. Half of us wanted to book it. The other half were just bugged out. And Gentry was just, like, chilled. He didn’t seem scared. Not ever. Not really.”

Blood is rushing through your ears now, but you hear every word Jake says.

“And you think I’m chill and stand off-ish, huh?” You ask.

You squeeze his hand.

“No,” Jake says, sighing. “No, I don’t think you’re stand-offish. I think you’re just--I guess I think you’re just, like, fearless. Like, when I met you and you were just taking a skinny dip in Rooster’s pool--you didn’t give a fuck that I was there. Jesus, you didn’t shy away from anything. You keep it real, Cherry. So did Gentry.”

With pink tickling your cheeks, you move closer to Jake and let your head rest on his shoulder. He smells like patchouli, which is a scent you’ve grown to like. His shirt is soft against your cheek, his skin warm.

“What was it like when you met him? Tell me about the first time.”

He’s never told another soul this. It hasn’t even occurred to him before this precise moment that he hasn’t recounted the story out loud to anyone. But now you’re here and your cheek is warm against his arm and you smell like sugar and he feels like it’s okay to talk about it.

“I cut my hand on a piece of metal. Gnarly cut, bleeding everywhere. We were in the fucking boonies and it was hot and muddy. Everyone was sweating, there were bugs everywhere, it smelled like piss. So, I walk up to the canteen to ask for a bandage,” Jake explains. When he talks about the cut, it starts to burn; that seam that he opened up all those years ago on that sheet of metal, the one that poured out enough blood to make the flies swarm in thick waves. It’s cold outside, but he feels the perspiration on the back of his neck like he’s back there again. “Hadn’t been there for more than a month. I looked new, you know? Like, not as dirty and tired. Got a lot of shit for it from the other dudes in my battalion. So, I ask the little guy with the dark hair working the canteen if I can be bandaged up.”

Jake chuckles softly, remembering. God, what a pesky thing memory is. It makes him feel like Gentry is still alive somewhere, on some plane. How can he remember him so clearly if he isn’t living, breathing?

“Well, what happened?” You press. You’re grinning, watching Jake’s glassy eyes.

“The asshole grabbed my hand, looked at the wound, told me he wasn’t gonna give me a bandage for a pussy cut. Then he fucking licked it--just, like, licked the cut and the blood and dirt. Spit on it. Told me to get lost,” Jake muses, shaking his head. “I was grossed out. But it stopped the bleeding, which was why he did it.”

“That’s trippy,” you laugh, wrinkling your nose. “And then, what? You fell in love just like that?”

Jake shakes his head. He can see Gentry’s eyes if he thinks hard enough--the way they watched him, the way they were always narrowed.

“I hated him before I loved him,” Jake answers. He tuts, pressing the toe of his shoe against the concrete. “He was gung ho. Knew what he was doing. Liked it. Not the ugly parts, you know, but like the rest of it. He was good at everything. Bastard. We were humping the boonies once and we came up on this hamlet--it was evacuated, deserted. So, we set up camp. Gentry and I ended up in the same hut. He found a bottle of snake wine hidden in one of the rooms, like it was waiting for us or something.”

The glow of the lantern of the little kitchen table, the overturned chairs, the strewn linens. He can remember Gentry emerging from the bedroom, his rifle slung over his shoulder, with a shit-eating grin on his face. He remembers still feeling so guarded around Gentry, stuck on the pussy cut comment. And he remembers that Gentry didn’t care--didn’t even really remember.

“We drank about half of it. Drank ourselves dumb,” Jake says quietly. He can still remember the taste of it on his tongue, how bitter it was. “He asked why I was giving him the hairy eyeball. I told him it was because of the cut. God, that fucking dick, he didn’t even remember doing that. Like, he was always just so brash with everyone that it didn’t even stick with him. So I showed him the cut on my hand again. You know, just to prove it. And--!”

Jake chokes for a moment, overwhelmed. You hold onto his hand tightly, nuzzling your face against his arm.

He clears his throat.

“He told me it was a pussy cut and I tried to pull my hand away, but he wouldn’t let me. Just held onto it too tight. And then he kissed it--you know, the way parents are supposed to when you fall off the fuckin’ monkey bars?” Jake can remember exactly how warm Gentry’s lips were against his hand, exactly how terrified and intoxicated he was. And how he did not want to move a muscle. “Scared me. Still scares me to think about. I was just some fucking kid from Texas and, you know, down there--folks aren’t friendly about that. Boys kissing boys. But I didn’t move. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t.”

They made love that night. Jake was scared, but only for a few minutes. It felt like an entirely different world he was in the next morning--one he had never even pondered, one he had never expected to stumble upon.

“And then you fell in love?” Your voice sounds small.

Jake nods.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Yeah, we did fall in love. Like a couple of fuckin’ idiots.”

“What’s idiotic about falling in love?”

“War is Hell,” Jake says quietly. He sniffles, wrinkles his nose.

That’s all he says.

“Is love Hell?” You’re asking genuinely--you don’t know.

Jake bites his lip hard. He thinks about Gentry’s laugh--that hard-to-earn, brash, unhurried thing.

“No,” he answers.

That’s all he says.

You stand there for a long time, nuzzling your face against Jake’s arm. You just breathe together, watch the cars go by, watch the headlights flood the busy street. You’re not thinking about the food that’s waiting or the company that’s missing you. You’re just high and standing together, soaking in the present state of the world.

“Cherry?”

You hum.

“Why’d you get sent away?”

You’ve been waiting for someone to ask. You know Rooster wants to. You know he’s too polite to ask for the entire story, that he would never want to overstep. But that’s the difference between Jake and Rooster--Rooster is afraid of the placement of his feet on the earth that he walks upon and Jake likes the way the ground shakes when he walks hard.

“Got caught,” you start softly. You sigh, letting your lungs deflate, letting your shoulders slope. “My brother caught me, the jerk.”

“Got caught doing what?”

“Doing who,” you correct. “John Duke. We just saw a picture and he was dropping me back off on the farm. I don’t know why, but he put his hand under my skirt when we were in the driveway. Made me cum, which he hadn’t ever done before.”

Jake is looking at you now, memorizing the slope of your lips when you frown.

“And they kicked you off the farm for that?”

Laughter punctures the air softly. You lean into Jake further, shaking your head.

“I’m probably the only broad in western Nebraska that’s ever cum,” you breathe, shaking your head. “But my brother, I don’t know if he was out doing barn chores or if he was waiting on me to come home, but he saw what we were doing in the truck. Ripped the door open, pulled me out.”

The ground was frozen when you fell upon it, your skirt pooled by your hips and your eyes squeezed shut tight. Your orgasm was ruined, the frigid air pinching your calves and the tip of your nose.

“Chased John off, not that it took much. Dragged me into the house. Woke my mama and daddy up, told them everything.”

“Jesus,” Jake mutters, biting his lip. “What’d they do?”

“Mama cried. Daddy wouldn’t look at me. My brother, Carlton, was an animal. Screaming, hollering. Punched a hole into the wall by my head when I wouldn’t say sorry.”

You wouldn’t say sorry--that’s what made your brother so angry. You were not sorry at all, not sorry about cumming, not sorry about fucking John Duke. You were thoroughly unapologetic.

“He wanted you to say sorry? For what? Cumming?” Jake scoffs.

In an abstract way, you think that, yes, he did want you to say sorry for cumming. It’s not what respectable young girls do--not in cars, not in skirts, not in the driveway of your parents home.

“Sure,” you answer. “And making my mama upset.”

“What’d your mama do?”

You look down at your heels--these shiny and expensive things that hold you up higher in the world and sculpt your calves.

“Spit on my shoes,” you answer. She had never looked uglier to you than when she did that, her face twisted and her cheeks red and her hair frizzy. “They were ugly things, anyway. Left them at my aunt’s house.”

Jake can’t imagine it, really. He can’t imagine someone looking at you in the throes of an orgasm and being filled with venom. He can’t imagine gazing upon your beauty, the kind of beauty that is just there and keeps growing the longer someone looks at you, and hating you.

“Well,” Jake starts. He crouches down suddenly, presses against your belly until you’re flat against the brick wall. You grin down at him as he pulls your leg and lets your heel rest against his shoulder. He strokes your calf, biting his lip. “Now you’re here and your mama’s shoveling chicken shit.”

Your lips tingle.

“Karma, right?” You breathe.

Your mama’s gonna shovel chicken shit until she dies.

Jake kisses your ankle.

“Right.”

You pull him up and wrap your arms around him. The two of you stand there for a few seconds, just embracing. You’re so glad that you know him, so glad that you’re high and standing outside this restaurant with him. You really do love him--you love everyone.

But then Jake kisses the top of your head a few times, grinning, sighing. He squeezes you, letting the weight of the conversation roll off his back.

“Wanna know what they call a new soldier? The one that ain’t seen nothing yet?”

You two start for the door, your cheek still pressed against his body.

“What?” You ask, smiling.

“Cherry,” he answers.

He holds your hand. And when you begin to feel around for the scar, that seam, he feels it. But he doesn’t say anything. He lets you find it. It feels good to be stroked by gentle fingers.

When you come back into the restaurant, you come up behind Bob and pepper a few exuberant kisses across his pale pink cheeks and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Bob is surprised, but he’s grinning as he holds onto your forearms. He’s overwhelmed by your sweet scent, overwhelmed with your kisses and your touch.

“Baby, let’s order another round,” you sigh into Bob’s skin. He smells very clean--like he’s only just stepped out of a shower and into your arms. “As your resolution officer and confidant, I must insist. You jive with that?”

Bob nods, grinning.

Rooster watches from his spot, smoking a cigar now. It’s peculiar, really. He likes watching you love up on other people, especially friends. He feels like you were the world’s best kept secret, holed up in some landlocked state. You’re where you belong, spreading all that love. But still, even if he feels like you should be doing this, he wishes it were him you were wrapped around. He wants to be the one you’re kissing and hugging, the one you’re breathing into.

Jake settles in across from Rooster, his pupils blown.

When they catch each other’s gazes, Jake’s brows knit slightly.

“What?” He asks,

Rooster shrugs, taking a long drag.

“Nothing,” Rooster says.

Jake settled into his seat, tearing a piece of bread and throwing it in his mouth.

“You look like you wanna say something,” Jake insists.

Rooster shakes his head.

Jake glances at you; you’re still wrapped around Bob, smothering him with love as a waiter writes down your drink orders. Bob looks delighted and terrified.

“We’ve gotta take care of her, man,” Jake says. He isn’t sure that Rooster has heard him at first--he isn’t really sure if he wants Rooster to hear him. “She’s our people now.”

But he does. And he knows. He knows that they have to take care of you.

“I know,” Rooster says.

It’s late whenever you get home, Rooster and Jake following behind you as you walk into the house. You’re all a bit drunk now, giggly and handsy. Everything feels soft and bleary, very good and very exciting.

“Cocktails?” Bradley asks, watching you kick off your heels and float to the turntable.

“Heavy on the cock,” you tease.

“Heavy on the tail,” Jake follows, smacking your rear as he passes you on his way to flop down on the couch.

The night passes on seamlessly. Records spin and cocktails flow. You play card games and take a few puffs of Rooster’s cigar, let Jake rub some more coke on your gums. Rooster feels good, loose--but he won’t take a bump, even when you stick your bottom lip out and beg. He won’t slip back into that, won’t put himself back in that place. And he wants to stay an inkling more sober than you, wants to have only a bit of a clearer mind, in case you need something. In case you need anything--even if it’s just to lay your head on his lap and have him stroke your hair.

It’s nearly two in the morning now.

The house is lit a warm orange, casting a grainy glow over everything that is precious: the tufted sofa, the expensive coffee table, the empty cocktail glasses, the playing cards strewn about, the woven rug.

Last Dance by Donna Summer is spinning on the record table now and you’re dancing with Jake, after he sprang to his feet and tugged you to your feet. Rooster is sunken into the sofa, still nursing a beer, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you grind against Jake.

You’re in a state of ecstasy, really--every nerve in your body is glowing with excitement, your belly sloshing with alcohol and coke coursing through your veins. Your hair is wild and your eyes are wide and your lips are parted. Every breath that you breathe is sitting between a moan and laughter, the good kind that makes your ribs ache.

“I think we’re the best boogiers in Los Angeles,” you breathe out, grinning. Your back is pressed against Jake’s front and your arms are above you as Jake firmly holds onto your hips and guides your rear against his crotch. “Rooster, aren’t we the greatest dancers in California?”

Rooster’s chest is tight watching your breasts bounce in your slinky dress.

He swallows hard.

“Sure are, kid,” he answers.

“Tell me you love me,” you whimper to Jake, eyes screwed shut.

“I love you, Cherry-berry,” Jake says breathlessly. He’s hard--he knows you can feel it. He moves to spread his hand across your lower belly, letting the flat of his palm grip you there. He tugs you against him and the two of you are impossibly closer now. “Fuck, you’re so foxy.”

You’re grinning, still moving, letting the music sink into your eardrums and vibrate the soft, pink parts of your brain. You swear that even the music is tickling a part of you that you once thought only men could.

“Rooster,” you moan, letting your head lull until your heavy eyes are gazing upon Rooster on the sofa. He’s sitting there, all broad and bleary-eyed, his legs spread and his palm over his hardening cock. “Tell me you love me.”

Jake hastily pushes the wispy hair from your throat and starts pressing fiery kisses along all that sensitive, delicate skin. When a broken moan tumbles from your lips, the sound vibrates Rooster’s cock. Fuck, he’s fully hard now.

“Tell her you love her, man,” Jake insists, nibbling your throat. “She deserves it, huh? Sweet thing like her.”

You bury your fingers in Jake’s shaggy locks, tugging softly. As quickly as he can, being as drunk as he is, he grabs all the fabric of your dress and hikes it up until it’s pinned at your hips. Then he dips his fingers between your legs and lets his two middle fingers press against your mound through the red lace panties you have on.

“Fuck,” Rooster grunts, mouth watering at the very sight of your thighs. He knows what that precious flesh feels like beneath his mouth, his hands, his tongue. He wants it now, but he can’t move from his spot. He’s stuck still, watching Jake touch you. “I love you, kid.”

You’re moaning now, mewling. And it isn’t just because Jake is rubbing you just right through your panties, but because Rooster loves you. Yes, he loves you and you love him. You feel perfect and the music is just right and everyone loves you and you love everyone.

Jake, who’s panting against your throat, suddenly bends down and steadies you with his hands on your hips when you stumble. He rips your panties off your legs, helps you step out of them, then throws them behind him without a second thought. They land unceremoniously on some of the playing cards strewn about the table.

Rooster’s throat is dry, his cock straining against his trousers. Fuck. It’s torturous watching this--but it feels so good, too. He knows, somehow, that he’ll have a turn with you. You never forget about him.

But since you’re occupied right now, Rooster fists the panties in his hands, holds them close. He can feel how wet you are, how much you dripped in your underwear.

Jake unzips your dress and you shimmy out of it, leaving the orange paisley thing in a heap before you. You’re totally naked now, still moving your body along to the music, grinning, moaning when Jake starts to feverishly press kisses along the supple kiss of your ass.

Rooster’s heart is racing. You look like an angel--naked, basked in an orange glow.

“Turn around,” Jake commands.

You do as you’re told, still grinning.

And without further ado, Jake hikes your leg over his shoulder and buries his face in your cunt. He devours you truly--lapping at your folds and sucking and nipping the sensitive bud nestled at the top of your cunt like he didn’t just have a four course meal. It’s almost forceful, the pleasure that washes over your body. It immediately reddens the skin of your chest and throat.

“How wet are you, baby?” Rooster asks.

He unbuttons his pants, breath quivering as he lets his hand slip into his pants. He’s throbbing--for you. Fuck, he feels like he’s back in high school, like you’re some girl he has a little crush on.

With your hands buried in Jake’s hair and your head tipped all the way back, you moan your response to Rooster and let it echo through the cavernous house.

“I’m so fucking wet, Roo.”

Just your name falling from your bitten lips sends his hands straight into his briefs. God, he hasn’t touched himself like this in a long time. He doesn’t need to masturbate, not when his job is literally fucking. He usually doesn’t even allow himself this, wants to save it all for the camera, but fuck. He feels like he can’t even control himself right now. He palms himself, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, his chest growing warm.

Jake is moaning against you, wrapping his arms around you, cupping your cheeks, and pulling you flush against his flat tongue. He feels like he could do this forever--lap your nectar, touch your skin, bury his fingers in your ass.

“Fuck,” you whine, grinding yourself against Jake’s lips. “Feels so good, cowboy. Fuck, keep going.”

Rooster quickly brings his hand to his mouth, spits, then lets it slide back into his pants. His cock is painfully hard--hot to the touch. And as he watches your face flush with pleasure, as you cry out and press your hips against Jake’s mouth. You want to be as close as close can be and he wants you as close as you can get.

But you hear a noise--a small strangled one. And you turn and there is Rooster, that big and beautiful man, touching himself at the very sight of another man getting you off. His lips are parted and his eyes are hooded and he’s slowly pumping himself, his pants still on.

“C’mere, baby,” you insist, nodding towards him. “I’ll take care of you.”

And dammit if Rooster doesn’t feel like he’s floating as he stands up from the sofa and comes behind you. You’re kissing him immediately, moaning into his mouth as his cock presses against your rear. His tongue is in your mouth and he tastes like beer and you taste like orange juice.

You let your hand fall to his cock, languidly palming him through his pants, still gasping and moaning as Jake sucks your clit. And before you even really know what’s happening, Rooster is snaking his hand between your thighs and pressing two fingers inside you. You’re wet, maybe wetter than you’ve ever been, and he slides into you with ease. Jake doesn’t mind--just holds you tighter and focuses on your clit and his own throbbing cock.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse against Rooster’s mouth. “Mmm, Roo. Oh.”

He feels like this is what his fingers were made for--dipping into your cunt, being coated in your click, forcing those little mewls from your pretty mouth. And you feel like your hand was made for his cock, made for wrapping around it and pumping, made for inspiring sweat on Rooster’s hairline.

“We gonna make you cum, baby?” Rooster asks breathlessly.

He cups your chin, holds your throat in place so he can kiss it. He’s still pumping his fingers inside you, curling them, letting his bicep rest against your back.

“Please,” you babble, swallowing dryly. “Fucking make me cum.”

Hangman pulls away for just a second, just long enough to nibble your thighs and dig his fingers into your flesh.

“Manners,” he pants.

“Please,” you squeak. “Please, please, please.”

They both know you mean it, too. You’re desperate.

That only inspires them to move quicker, with more haste.

And a few moments later, with Rooster holding your throat and fucking you with his thick fingers and Jake gripping your hips and mercilessly sucking your clit, you’re thrown into the throes of an overpowering orgasm. It’s the kind that makes your entire body convulse and shiver, the kind that renders you helpless against the intense beams of pleasure that puncture your skin.

Once they see that you’ve had enough, that you’re dangerously close to being overstimulated, they stop. Jake kisses your thighs roughly, making quick work of unbuttoning his pants and ripping off his shirt.

But Rooster is still kissing your mouth, stroking your throat lightly as he anchors himself against your hip. He can’t get enough of you--sweet, sweet Cherry. He loves the way your tongue moves against his, the way you’re letting your weight rest against him. He’s holding you up--your legs are quivering. He’s got you. You know it and so does he.

“Y’alright, kid?” He asks, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.

Your hand, still wrapped around his cock, hasn’t ceased in its gentle pumps. You nod, swallowing hard. The very lining of your belly is quivering, quaking.

“She’s perfect,” Jake says, naked now. He kisses each of your knees and then buries his face in your belly. “Right, honey?”

You hum, nodding again.

There’s no conversation about how it’s going to happen: it just does.

Jake lays flat on his back on the woven rug, his mind spinning and his jaw aching. You hover him, kissing his thighs feverishly and digging your manicured nails into the meat of his legs. He’s already gasping, his chest heaving. Beautiful, shiny beads of precum dribble from the swollen head of his cock as you tease him and puff warm breaths onto him.

You like seeing him like this--all worked up, his mustache mussed by your wetness. He’s grabbing fistfuls of the carpet and peering down at you, pupils blown, waiting for your mouth to meet his cock.

“Fuck, don’t be a tease,” Jake hisses. “Please, baby, I’m hurtin’ over here.”

And Rooster is behind you, letting his palm follow the curve of your spine as he pumps himself a few times. You’re fucking beautiful--so beautiful that he almost came through his pants just listening to you cum. But he’s lucky--he is the one that gets to bury himself in you, the one that gets to spill himself deep inside of you.

You lower your mouth onto Jake’s cock and finally--finally--he has a bit of relief. He’s so worked up that he thinks he might shoot his load right away, directly down your throat. But he holds off, groaning, screwing his eyes shut. Your tongue is warm and flat, flicking against the sensitive skin on the underside of his cock, as you coat him in saliva.

“Oh, Cherry,” Jake mutters, bucking his hips up and into your mouth.

That’s the precise moment that Rooster presses into you. It’s slow, grueling--he takes his time, makes sure you feel every single inch of his thick cock as he glides into your body. And just like always, he feels like you’re made for him. You take him so easily, welcome him into your body, let his cock bury itself deep inside of you.

“Taking me so well, baby,” Rooster mutters, holding the bend of your hips as he bottoms out. You moan, your throat constricting around Jake’s cock. Jake curses, bites down hard on his knuckle. “That’s it.”

Rooster stays still, just letting you squeeze him, letting you get used to his size. You’re so wet that you feel like you’re going to start dripping onto the carpet, so wet that you feel like you might just turn inside out.

If your mouth wasn’t full of cock, you would beg Rooster to move. The way he’s filling you up, the way his thumbs are rubbing precious little circles on the surface of your skin, you feel like you aren’t gonna last.

But you keep bobbing your head, keep sucking Jake’s cock as he moans and sighs above you. Pink has spread across his chest and he’s puffing out his breaths in short, labored tufts.

“Feel so good, baby,” Rooster croons softly.

He leans down, lets his chest rest on your back. He’s warm, his chest expansive, and the heaviness of his body is a welcome one. He’s lulled to a steady peace by your movements, letting his lips come down on your shoulders again and again in tender kisses.

Then he moves. Just soft, slow movements. He barely pulls out, keeping his arms wrapped around your middle, as he rocks himself into you. He stays close, keeps his lips against you. And when you tense around him, when you moan around Jake’s cock, all three of you hiss with pleasure.

“Shit,” Jake groans. “Oh, fuck, keep doing whatever you’re doing, man. Feels fucking great when she moans.”

You moan again and Jake throws his head back, tangling his hands in your hair.

Rooster is still fucking you slowly, his chest hollowed out with pure pleasure. Jesus, he feels like he’s on another planet right now.

You’re moaning, crying out, still sucking Jake off.

Jake is close to the edge already, gasps dying in his throat as he steadily begins to thrust himself further into your mouth. Drool is pouring out of your mouth and tears are pouring down your face.

But what sends him over the edge is when you choke, when your mouth is tight around him and you cough as he hits the soft flesh of your throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Jake mutters, voice thin. “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

He does cum, crying out, eyes squeezed shut. He spurts down your throat, bitter and hot, and you swallow every single drop of it. And when he’s coming down, when you’re taking your mouth away from his cock, he holds your cheeks.

“Good job, baby,” he tells you. He strokes your hair as you cry out, Rooster still steadily pounding into you with precise flicks of his hips. “Oh, you’re doing her just right, Rooster. Can’t hardly speak.”

Your eyes are shut tight, your toes curling. You’re overwhelmed with pleasure, like it’s raining down on you from all directions. You can hardly breathe as Rooster suckles on your skin.

“Doing so good, baby,” Rooster encourages, voice quivering. He’s approaching his high, too, trying to keep his pace from faltering. “Think you can cum again, Cherry. Think I can get you there.”

Wordlessly, Jake slinks down until his mouth is on yours. You’re open-mouthed kissing now, tasting yourself on his tongue, whimpering. He’s holding onto your hair still, pulling very softly, keeping you close to him.

As Rooster lets one of his hands snake between your legs again, his fingers swirling on your swollen bud, your entire body tenses. Jake keeps kissing you, keeps pulling your hair. And then he starts tweaking your nipple, cupping your breast in his palms.

“I’m gonna cum,” you say, legs quaking. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You’re gasping, sobbing out.

“Give it to me, baby,” Rooster whispers, voice gruff. He kisses the back of your neck, jaw tense as his own orgasm creeps up his spine. “C’mon, Cherry. Cum on my cock, baby. GIve it to me.”

You do--you can’t take it anymore. With a sheen of sweat covering your naked body, you cum for the second time with both Bradley and Jake stimulating you. It’s more overpowering than your last orgasm--the kind that makes your legs clamp shut, the kind that sends your body into a rigid sort of shock. You go blind and deaf for a few moments, honing back in on the present as Rooster’s thrusts become sloppy before he finishes inside you, buried deep.

As you pant, Rooster collapses on your back and Jake combs his fingers through your hair softly, you swear that you hear angels singing.

But, really, it’s just Donna Summer.

Rooster can hardly breathe as he lays on your back, his mind reeling. That’s the best sex he’s ever had in his life--and the first threesome he’s ever had off-camera.

Jake is laughing softly, watching you recover. There are tears pouring down your face, all born from white-hot pleasure. Little flakes of mascara are running down your flushed cheeks. Tenderly, he thumbs them away.

You nuzzle yourself against Jake’s palm, trying to slow your breathing.

“You okay, kid?” Rooster asks, squeezing your hips.

You swallow hard, a smile tugging at your lips.

“More than,” you answer. “I’m perfect.”

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: okay sorry for going so fucking ham on the Gentry/Jake thing but I just saw it so clearly in my brain and had to write it out and break my own heart!!???!? sorry love you guys so much!! your comments/reblogs literally make me so happy!!!

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

@thedroneranger

@fandom-life-12

@avaleineandafryingpan

@popsycles

@guacala

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@oliviah-25

@zalmael

@chicomonks

@aboutelijahhh

@angelbabyange

@zbeez-outlet

@dempy

@awkwardgiraffe726

@awesomebooklover17

@ofxinnocence

@nyx2021

@callsign-joyride

@flashyourgreeneyesatme

@one-sweet-gubler

@olliepig

@beyondthesefourwalls

@cherrycola27

@hangmans-wingman

@malindacath

@thenewdaysalreadyhere

@shehulkracing

@vemonbby

@ohemgeewhat

@emi-flaces

@mishala005

@Marvellover91

@headinthecloudssblog

@depressoespresso616

@anony1080

@bellaireland1981

@djs8891

@xoxabs88xox

@stiles-banshees

@birdy-bat-writes

@bananas1234

@shotgunhallelujah

@pono-pura-vida

@agentminnesota187

@onethirstyunicorn

@furiousladyking

@fandomxpreferences

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@rintheemolion

@daggerspare-standingby

@harper1666

@princess76179

@roosters-girl

@jstarr86

@blahblechblah

@aemondssiut

@twsssmlmaa

@shawnsblue

@wolfiealina

@gothidecorem

@the-philthepill13

@hangmanscoming

@whoeverineedtobe

@lostinheavensworld

@laneyspaulding19

@averyhotchner

@peakascum

@jjlevin

@endofdays56

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@hypatia93

@sunlightmurdock

@laracrofted

@tvjunkie08

@okyeeaaahhhh

@ijustwantedplums

@darkheartcherry

@sometimesanalice

@angelbabyyy99

@angelbabyange

@bradshawseresinbabe

@unhinged-btch

@bradshawbabe

@mak-32

@topguncult

@lt-spork

@spideegwen

@perpetuelledaydreaming

@toomuchfluffs

@lunarcatbun

@amortentiadrops

@hecate-steps-on-me

249 notes · View notes

zjpg · 7 months

Text

no body, no crime

summary inspired by no body, no crime by taylor swift

pairing lando norris x este , ??? (reader) x revenge

warnings cheating, death and murder

a/n i hope this is good omg i'm kinda scared hahaahah. anyway live laugh love taylor swift.

Este's a friend of mine, We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine

"Sorry I'm late, traffic." celeste huff and sits across from her friend. The wine has been waiting in it's corked bottle, but her exact salad order was already placed at her side of the table. "No worries, baby-love" her best friend smiles at her as the young waiter walks over and pops the wine's cork

This was their weekly thing, always has been since they were in high school. Hard to believe that the two girls that were sat at this table talking about things like marriage, taxes and alcohol were once two younger girls gossiping about boys, weekend sports games, and hair color. That's just how things change sometime. But the older of the two hated changed. Always has. Always will.

That's why they kept this Tuesday tradition even through college. They always had dinner together, same restaurant, same table, same wine, same orders. No changes. Just the way they liked it, loved it.

"How's Lando?" The older woman asked her friend before sipping her wine. An unpleasant taste makes its way through her mouth, replacing the usually enjoyable red wine once she saw celeste's face change into a saddened and depressed expression.

"Well, he's great. I just, I've noticed some things recently..."

She says, "That ain't my Merlot on his mouth That ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

"It's just... I drink the same wine he does,"

"Merlot," her friend nods, earning a nod back. Lando had money, coming from a rich background and growing up in an even richer future as a Formula 1 driver. He drives on circuits everywhere around the world, from america to italy to tokyo. so it's safe to say he knew their wines. Celeste was the same, growing up in a just as wealthy family, she's enjoyed her moms expensive wines since she was in high school, which was odd amongst the crowd of teenagers that were drinking spirits and beers.

"Yeah, and the merlot we drink, it doesn't leave that red stain on his lips." She lets out a small sigh before pushing further into her point, "And I only wear silver jewelry, always have, but I went through our bank accounts for bills and I saw gold jewelry being bought on his account."

Maybe she's exaggerating, but the more she's looked back on the past few months, things start making sense. Less time together, less sex, quieter 'I love you's. She wondered if he was bored, she tried her best to keep their relationship exciting in many different ways. But nothing has changed.

The older friend wanted so badly to go online and expose him, call him out on his bullshit that Este has been crying about for the past few months. She wanted to end his little fanbase, maybe even his career. But there wasn't enough proof, she needed proof.

No body, no crime.

"I think he did it, but... I just can't prove it"

The next Tuesday cam by and she hadn't heard from Celeste at all that day, nonetheless, she still showed up to their usual restaurant. But after about an hour she made a call to their other friend, Inez, she works with Celeste, they've all been fairly close since school. Though Inez isn't the most trustworthy source, she knows she would get an honest answer as to where Celeste was. "I haven't seen her, I thought she was sick but our boss said she hasn't even called in sick. We figured she just got too sick to call this morning."

But that's not like Celeste. Her best friend had seen her call into their high school to let them know she wasn't making it even when she had food poisoning. She knows that's not the case. She left the restaurant, making her way to the Norris household. "I haven't seen her either, I tried filing a report but they said I have to wait 24 hours." He seemed panicked, like he had been crying and screaming all day long. His voice was practically gone and his hands were shaking more than a small dog stuck in the winter snow.

Hе reports his missing wife. And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires.

The tires was one thing, maybe he genuinely needed tires. His face is all over the news along with Celeste's talking about his missing wife, but they don't bother to mention his new side pieces that just moved in...

"his mistress moved in, sleeps in Este's bed and everything!" Inez's nosy ass came in hand from time to time. She saw the move in truck when she was making her way to work one day. At first she thought it was Lando that was moving out, turns out the mistress that their dear friend had been worrying about weeks before had moved in.

"I think he did it, I just can't prove it."

"No body, no crime." Inez shrugged, not thinking much of her friends statement, surely Norris wasn't up to anything? He loved Este. Right?

As time went on, it was obvious. He did it. Even the police think so, but rich people always get their way don't they? She starts coming up with a plan. Vengeance. It ran through her bloodstream, it felt like a burning sensation.

"Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen." Everything was going according to plan, it was perfect.

"Hey, Lando." She gave him a smile. It had been four months since Celeste was presumed dead, the investigation went silent a while ago and the whole town gave up hope of finding her. Her name is no longer a trending topic, but her voice and face are still gone.

The racing driver looked at his dead wife's friend with shock but nervousness. He tries to cover it with a mask of sadness, but she knew better than to fall for a man's lies. She was invited in, seeing no trace on her friend anywhere in the mansion that Celeste had called home.

"What are you doing here?" He asked once the door closed and locked behind him. He knew something was up, he was smart but not much of a genius, clearly. "Just catching up Norris," She smiled at the taller individual, "I see you and the new girl are getting along just fine. That didn't take long?"

"It's been a year."

"Took you barely 10 months to move her in." She states back. "I wanna show you something."

The drive to the docks was a good 10 minutes, Monaco is a great place to live when you want to buy a fancy new yacht. Her dad's yacht was nothing compared to Lando's driving competitor, but it was still very impressive. "Your dad's yacht?"

The amount of parties that were thrown around and on the yacht were crazy, it's how him and Este met in the first place. He thought it was a sweet gesture from the girl, though she saw the look on his face the entire time they were on the water. He looked sea sick, but she knows the driver had been on plenty of yacht's in his life, he's not sea sick.

He was quick to realize what was happening when they stopped in the middle of the nowhere on the deep waters. He knew, he came to terms with it, but he was so sure they would catch her, unlike they did him. His name is bigger, his house, his cars, his bank account, they're all bigger. But her? She's simply just... better.

"I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene." Was the last thing he would hear that night. They next morning she would let her father know that the boat is cleaned, smells of fresh lemons and other citrus like aroma's. "Thank you sweetheart, glad to know you still have time to clean that ole' thing between your classes," He handed her some wadded up cash. The monthly occurrence of cleaning for her parents, everything from their yard to the yacht, they are just far too old to do it themselves.

News stations, media outlets, and other headlining articles went crazy after the mistress filed a missing persons report. Lando Norris missing nearly a full year after his wife's disappearance.

"Formula 1 McLaren driver, Lando Norris, was reported missing last night after not coming home from a boating trip with some friends. Officials have yet to give anymore details."

Good things Este's sisters gonna swear she was with me.

"She was with me, dude, I told you this. We all went out on the yacht, he got too drunk so we sent him home." Alana swore up and down her truth, another cover up that will never slip her teeth. Her parents always said she would be a good actor, she got away with everything as a kid. Este used to hate it.

"To his wife?"

"They're married? I don't know, man, I guess. She seemed pretty pissed if you ask me."

Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy

She was cleared, no proof, no evidence. they checked the camera's, Alana and her sisters friend helping each other drag Lando's drunken body back in the truck. The yacht was clean, "I clean it at this time every month for my parents, they're getting too old to scrub it down like they used to, ya know?" The maid and her parents vouched for her, it's true, the end every month when it wasn't too cold or hot, she was at the docs. The other boat owners even agreed.

"They think she did it, but they just can't prove it." The news reporter stated as a picture of the now widowed mistress was shown on the screen. The television shuts off as a smirk is splattered on their faces.

"She thinks I did it." She smiles at the younger, chuckling in disbelief as if she was crazy for thinking just a thing. "She just can't prove it. But, like we've always said, No body." She raises up her wine glass.

Celeste copies the gesture with a venomous smile, "No crime."

taglist: @enhacolor @bibissparkles @blueanfield

83 notes · View notes

fbwzoo · 3 months

Text

I sat next to Ed's viv with the door open for a bit yesterday, with a few mealworms to encourage him to approach. He started to a couple times, then would retreat, so I moved the plate in over his salad plate for him to grab the worms instead.

Afterwards he climbed back onto the cork ramp, head bobbed at me, then a bit higher and bobbed again. 😂😂 Head bobs are basically a "fuck off" "don't mess with me" gesture from beardies. Apparently he's not going to be that easy to win over!

#reptiblr #bearded dragon #ed beardie #my pets #animal pics #video #autoplay #ed says the worms are gone you can fuck off now thanks #meanwhile I'm a big ol sucker who stress bought him two more branches bc of a sale

26 notes · View notes

hippolotamus · 6 months

Text

Tease Tidbit Tuesday 🍾

Tagged by the devastatingly talented @wikiangela @daffi-990 Thank you, loves 💖

Continuing on in you're where I wanna go (prev snippets here). Buck and Lucy survived their big day and I needed them to have a moment to unwind. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Buck steps out of the way, narrowly avoiding Lucy as she pushes past him towards a bottle of champagne he hadn’t noticed before. She lifts it from the tub of ice perched on a bar cart and holds it up victoriously, like she’s won a trophy. “Well, Buckley.” Lucy lands on the couch in an inelegant heap that makes Buck snort. When she settles, she rests the champagne next to her and begins pulling at her laces until they’re loose enough that she can kick her boots off. “You want to get the glasses or just share?” Years of etiquette lessons — coupled with dinners, luncheons and parties where he needed to know which fork was for salad and which spoon was for sorbet — make him want to retrieve the two champagne flutes nestled next to the ice bucket. But then he realizes he doesn’t have to. It’s him and Lucy, who just offered to share the bottle between them. No one else is there to judge or shame him. “You know, you’re a Buckley now, too,” Buck teases. He quickly snatches up the bottle and begins to twist the muselet. “Only on paper,” she reminds him. “I hope you know what you’re doing with that thing.” Buck huffs a laugh while he continues uncorking the champagne. “You think I never swiped one of these from a party or two?” His face splits into a wide grin when he manages to remove the cork and not spill any of it. “I’ll even let you have the first sip, because I am a gentleman.” “Ohhh, is that what you are?” Lucy smirks, accepts the offer, and takes a lengthy sip. When she’s done, she lowers the bottle, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “At least as much of one as you are a lady,” he counters.

No pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @elvensorceress @giddyupbuck mi amor @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @spotsandsocks @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @eddiediaztho @thewolvesof1998 @forthewolves @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @heartshapedvows @loserdiaz @your-catfish-friend @statueinthestone @buddierights @911onabc @hoodie-buck @the-likesofus @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @eowon @ladydorian05 @apothecarose @vanillahigh00 @rmd-writes @welcometololaland LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @spaceprincessem @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @steadfastsaturnsrings @jesuisici33 @watchyourbuck and anyone else who wants to (please tag me in your snippets if you decide to so i can admire your work!)

#listen #these two are doing what they had to #they made it through their big day #they survived buck's mom #they deserve to be a little dumb and silly #queerplatonic relationship #lavender marriage #historical au #buddie wip #tease tidbit tuesday #fic: you’re where i wanna go #also #somehow this is nearly at 18k #and we're barely 2 main chapters deep #i'm proud astounded and baffled #hippo writes

48 notes · View notes

darerendevil · 3 months

Text

For archive purposes: October, 2012

A lean, slight, tousled figure in a sailor-striped T-shirt and buckle-back trousers, Cillian Murphy walks into an upscale Japanese restaurant in downtown Manhattan. As he says hello, sits down, and looks around the room with his extraordinary ultramarine blue eyes, I form my first impressions: kind, gentle, sensitive, good-humoured, with no visible traces of the villains, psychopaths and other tortured souls he has played so convincingly on stage and screen. He also looks a little weary, and there is good reason for this.

“I’ve had kind of a crazy week this week,” he says in a mellifluous Irish accent with a rich grainy timbre. “I was in the Ukraine for a film festival. I’ve been all over America promoting a film called Red Lights, which I’m in with Robert De Niro. Yesterday was The Dark Knight Rises premiere here in New York, and this afternoon we fly to London for the next premiere. It’s all part of the job, I suppose, but it’s certainly not the reason why you do it.”

The waiter arrives with water and menus, and after some study, Cillian (pronounced Killian) decides on a salad of shitakes and market greens, followed by the sashimi. “I’m a vegetarian who occasionally eats meat and fish,” he says. “I like a drink too, but I won’t just now. I’ll stick with water.” I order the Kobe beef and ask the waiter to bring out a glass of red wine with it.

Some actors enjoy talking about themselves and their films, and they do it well. Cillian does not count himself among them. “I’m getting less hung about it, but when I started, the whole promotion aspect was an ordeal to be endured,” he says. “I just don’t have a great facility for it. I try to be interesting and spontaneous but it’s so hard when you get asked the question fifty or a hundred times over. You hear your little anecdotes going stale. Yes, it was fantastic to work with Robert De Niro, but you can only say it so many times, you know? I’ve always thought, just judge me on the work. What else matters? I’m an actor and that’s what I do.”

There’s an assumption in the media that actors are all competing in the same horse race for A-list stardom, and that an actor like Cillian Murphy, who seems poised on the very brink of it, with the perfect combination of looks and talent, must surely be yearning to get there. Journalists find it hard to accept when he tells them that that the only thing he cares about is the work, and the rest of it is to be endured. But this is why he avoids celebrity parties and keeps himself out of the gossip pages. He attends his own premieres, because he has to, but he won’t go to anyone else’s and he dreads the four-minute television interview on the red carpet.

Off screen, he lives a quiet, normal life that he likes to keep as private as possible. He’s married to Yvonne McGuinness, a visual artist, and they’ve been together since he was 20. They have two sons, Malachy and Aran, and shuttle between their house in North West London and the ancestral sod of County Cork.

“I’ve always felt that the less the public knows about you, the more effective you can be when you go to portray someone else,” he says.“For actors to reveal so much about themselves, and allow their personal selves to be owned by the media and the public, I find at odds with trying to lose yourself in a character. And that’s the thing I’m after. That’s what drives me. I’m 36 now, and I still have a real hunger for it.”

He thinks the desire to perform for an audience is something genetic, a personality trait that lives in the DNA, and it first expressed itself in his youthful attempts to be a rock star.“Of all the arts, music is still the one that affects me on the deepest level,” he says. “My parents were teachers, not artistic types, but there was always music in the house, and all four of us kids learned to play music. I was in a few different bands, playing guitar, singing and songwriting.”

One of those bands was called The Sons of Mr Greengenes, after the Frank Zappa song. They were offered a five-album deal by Acid Jazz records, but turned it down, because the deal was a swindle and Cillian’s parents disapproved of the music business. At the same time, Cillian recognised that he’d reached the ceiling of his musical talent, and would never be as good as he wanted to be. He went to law school in Cork “for no good reason,” and then one day he wandered into a production of Clockwork Orange staged in local nightclub.

“If your first theatre experience is a bad one, it’s unlikely you’ll go back,” he says. “But my first theatre experience was an extraordinary one. It was dangerous and sexy and electric, and just astonishing. I’ll always love music, but here was another form of live performance, just as exciting.”He pestered the theatre company, and after some starter roles, he was cast in the lead of Disco Pigs, a strange and brilliant play by Enda Walsh about a sick, twisted, obsessive relationship between a deranged boy and a slightly less deranged girl next door. The play was a huge success, touring for several years, reaching as far afield as Toronto and Copenhagen, and in 2001 it was made into a film. Pale, beautiful and androgenous, with outsized lips and impossibly blue eyes, Cillian Murphy looks as though he drifted down to earth from some other galaxy, or floated up from a cave kingdom beneath the Irish Sea. This ethereal, otherworldly quality has been a great asset to him as an actor, and many of his films have taken place in imaginary realms or the future.

His big breakthrough came in 2002 when he was cast as the lead in Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later, and required to fight his way through a post-apocalyptic London full of zombies. He went to outer space in Boyle’s Sunshine, and Gotham City for Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, in which he plays the sinister psychologist Scarerow. Nolan cast him again in Inception, as the target man for Leonardo DiCaprio’s team of dream-jackers.He’s also played a transvestite for Neil Jordan in Breakfast On Pluto, a creepy villain for Wes Craven in Red Eye, and a reluctant freedom fighter turned zealot for Ken Loach in The Wind Shakes The Barley, an epic about the Irish war of independence set in his native Cork. In all, he’s done 26 feature films, and while some of them haven’t turned out as well as he hoped, there are no bad or stupid films in his biography.

“You have to go in with good faith, and believe that this is best performance you’re ever going to give,” he says. “I’ve never done a film I didn’t believe in. I’ve never done a film for the money. Fortunately, I’ve been in some big budget films that were smart, and the money has given me the freedom to do small budget films and theatre that I’ve felt passionately about. An example is this movie Broken, which is a kind of version of To Kill A Mockingbird transposed to contemporary London. It’s a tiny, tiny budget film, and I’m just so proud of it. It’s such an emotionally brave piece of film-making.”Another example is Misterman, a one-man play that he performed earlier this year in Ireland, Brooklyn and London. Written by Enda Walsh, who got him started in Disco Pigs, and has become a close friend, it required him to play seven different characters imagined by the main character, and earned him the best reviews of his entire career. “It was incredibly exhausting and incredibly satisfying. Sometimes I was doing two performances a day. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired, or so happy. It was very pure. It was all about the work. The commerce aspect was tiny, compared to when you make a film, and there was none of the waiting around.”

The waiter sets down two beautifully presented plates, one of sashimi and one of beef, and pours me a particularly delicious glass of Bordeaux. Seeing the expression of delight on my face when I taste the wine, Cillian says, “You know what? I’ll have a glass as well then. I do like my red wine.” Then the conversation collapses into silence, grunts,and occasional exclamations, as our chopsticks deliver one morsel of culinary artistry after another into our mouths. This restaurant, 15 East, was recently named one of the best in New York, and for both of us, it’s one of the best meals of our lives. “Absolutely sensational,” says Cillian, who is finding no problem at all drinking red wine with sushi.

When the plates are empty, I ask him what it feels like to become a character. Is it a genuine transformation, or it just a matter of dressing up and pretending to be someone else? “It’s not always the same,” he says. “Some characters are just a slight adjustment, and some are a great distance away from you. I like to do research. I was playing a professional debunker in this movie Red Lights about the supernatural, so I went and hung out with physicists and professional sceptics and magicians, to understand that community. Actors tend to know a lot superficially about a great deal of things.”

I press him again: what does it feel like when you’re in character? “It’s most satisfying on the stage,” he says. “If it reaches the point of being transcendent, where you’re not actually conscious of being on stage performing, because you’re only aware of the character and his world and his needs, well, that’s what you’re always aiming for, that’s the moment that theatre people are always chasing. It’s the ultimate rush, if you will, for an actor, when the self disappears completely.”

One glass of Bordeaux leads to another. The waiter asks if we want dessert, and Cillian says no thanks, and I order something called a Shiratama parfait of red beans, matcha jelly and green tea ice cream.When it arrives, it is multi-coloured and visually spectacular with many more ingredients, and Cillian says, “Wow, look at that. My goodness, I might have to get a spoon of that.”

We both dig in, exploring an extraordinary combination of flavours and textures, with gums, jellies, brioche, red bean paste and more. “Oh man, what’s that green stuff?” he says, mining the lower layers now. “I have no idea what that is. It’s got that gummy vibe going on again. Fecking amazing.”

With a drop more wine, Cillian gets talking with great enthusiasm about books and music. Have I read the Irish writer John Banville, one of his favourites? Do I know the seminal jazz album Bill Evans Live At the Village Vanguard? Cillian found it recently on vinyl, being a great admirer of Bill Evan’s understated piano playing, and firmly convinced that vinyl is still the best way to listen to music. He loves Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, Van Morrison, Jack White, and the Irish writers Pat McCabe, Sebastian Barry and the late, great, mindbending Flann O’Brien. Cillian is signed up for the film version of O’Brien’s satirical postmodern comedy At-Swim-Two-Birds, along with Gabriel Byrne, Colin Farrell and Michael Fassbender, and he hopes it will go into production soon.

“I’m also hoping to do some telly,” he says. “The smart mid-budget movie, which has been my bread and butter, has been squeezed out quite a bit. People are very reluctant to take a chance on a smart $17 million movie. They’d much rather throw everything into a dumb $250 million movie. But you don’t find that in TV where the writing just gets better and better, and you’ve the opportunity to develop a character over many hours.”

When you’re interviewing an actor, it’s always difficult to know if you’re witnessing a performance or the real person, but I get the distinct impression that Cillian Murphy is not only a nice guy, but maybe even happy and fulfilled. Is this true? “Well, the insecurity is always there,” he says. “It’s a necessary aspect of being an actor, or a writer for that matter. You have to have that insecurity. I used to feel like a failed musician pretending to be an actor, but that’s less of a worry now. I’ve found my form, I’ve found the right outlet for my impulse to create, and yes, I’m pretty happy. I don’t believe you have to be a tortured person in order to make great art. It needn’t always come from a place of pain, although there seems to be a romantic view of that.”

When he was a boy, all he wanted to do was hang around with artists and creative people, but he was stuck in a school in Cork where rugby and academia were the only things people seemed to care about. “Now, weirdly, I’ve found myself in a position where all my friends are artists. It’s a good place to be, I think, and that’s a real source of happiness, especially when we collaborate on stuff.”His ambitions for the future are very simple. In theatre, film or television, in collaboration with the best writers and directors, he wants to make great art, and keep on making it. “I can’t remember which director said it, but he said it takes 30 years to make a good actor,” he says.

“Longevity matters. I’m 16 years in, just over the hump, and when I’m 50 I should know if I’ve mastered my trade, or failed gloriously.”When the dessert and Bordeaux are finished, I ask for the bill, and the waiter brings it with two complementary glasses of dessert wine and a tray of petit fours. “I’m a big fan of your work,” he says to Cillian.

“I’m a big fan of your restaurant,” says Cillian. “How fantastic. What a meal. I wish all interviews could be like this.”As we walk out pleasantly buzzed into the bright furnace of a New York summer afternoon, I notice that Cillian doesn’t appear to have a mobile phone. “I left it in a taxi yesterday,” he says.

“Within half an hour, someone had called my wife and made arrangements to return it. I’m going to pick it up now before I go to the airport. It gives you faith, man. My publicist has lost two wallets and a phone here, and gotten them all back, with none of the money missing. It’s not something people expect from New York, but there you have it.”

Then I see the waiter from 15 East running down the street towards us, and I wonder if he’s going to ask Cillian for an autograph. But no, by odd coincidence, the waiter is holding my mobile phone, which I must have left in the restaurant. “You see what I mean?” says Cillian. “It gives you faith. Alright, best of luck, and I’ll be off now.”

#Cillian Murphy #Interview

13 notes · View notes

yes-divine-ruler · 1 year

Text

✵ Evan Peters x GN!Reader/ “Under the Mistletoe”

12 Days of Evan Peters - Day 2

Summary: Evan and reader meet for the first time at a friend’s Christmas dinner and get caught under the mistletoe.

Word count: 1441

I arrived at my best friend’s house for a Christmas themed dinner, the sticky date pudding I made wrapped in foil and tucked under my arm. I walked to the front door, knocking to let her know I was here.

I could hear chatter inside, and light Christmas carols. I knocked again, not sure if anyone heard me.

“Evan! Can you get the door?” I heard from inside, biting down on my bottom lip nervously, knowing I’d never met any of her other friends and one of them was about to answer the door.

I stood tall, brushing the front of the horrid Christmas sweater she insisted we all wore, and plastered a smile on my face as the front door opened.

Standing in front of me was a gorgeous man, taller than I was, wearing a sweater just as ugly as mine. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Hey, you must be Y/N…” he trailed off, his eyes scanning from my shoes to my head, a small glimmer in them.

“Yes, hi! And you’re..” I asked, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, trying to keep my cool in front of him.

“Evan,” he smiled, offering his hand for a handshake. I took his big warm hand in mine, quite the contrast to my cold one.

“You must be freezing, come inside,” he opened the door for me, allowing me to walk in first before he followed.

I set down the pudding on the table, smiling and waving at my friend as she came over to me. She embraced me in a big hug.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you could make it,” she beamed, holding me by my shoulders, “I see you’ve met Evan already,” she winks, “Come meet everyone else.”

She takes my hand and introduces me to her friends from work, and some of her partner’s friends. Everyone was really lovely. I sat down on the couch in the only available space, next to Evan. My heart skipped a beat as our knees touched. I looked over at him briefly, watching as he took a sip of the beer in his hand. I couldn’t get over his hands.

“So how did you guys meet?” Evan asked me, sparking up conversation. I was almost surprised he acknowledged me.

“Uh- we met in freshman year of high school, and we’ve been friends ever since,” I explained, folding my hands in my lap.

Evan nodded and smiled at me, his dimples on display as he took another sip of his beer.

“Do you want a drink? I saw you eyeing mine before,” he asked, a blush rising on my cheeks when I realised he noticed I was sneaking glances at him. I nodded.

“I can get it,” I said, getting up from the couch and moving towards the kitchen. But Evan followed, insistent that he be the one to get me one.

So I stood leaning against the kitchen counter as I watched him open the fridge, offering me a beer to which I shook my head ‘no’ with disgust. He laughed, pulling out the sweet rosé and popping the cork.

“That’s more like it,” I smiled at him as he poured me a tall glass.

“Thank you,” I took the glass from his hand, my fingertips brushing his.

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied, as we walked back to the couch and sat back down.

We engaged in group conversation, mostly about work and the festive season. My friend had decorated her house so beautifully for Christmas, her tree standing at about 12 feet, just under her high ceilings.

“Everyone must be hungry, let’s go eat,” she encouraged us all to make our way over to her long, sprawling dining table, name cards and place mats already laid out. She loved hosting parties, and decorating, she always did through high school.

I sat down in my designated seat, placing the napkin on my lap and eyeing all the food that was brought.

“I brought the salad, don’t tell anyone but I got my mom to make it,” Long and behold, Evan sat down next to me again. I think we were being set up.

I couldn’t help but laugh, he was charismatic and knew how to make light hearted jokes. My friend played Cupid well, because I was already really digging this man.

We all served ourselves, in my attempt to flirt I took a larger than normal portion of Evan’s “mom’s” salad.

“What do you think?” He asked me, once he’d finished swallowing his food.

I nodded at him enthusiastically, giving him a thumbs up.

“Tell your mom I’d like to try more of her cooking, the salad is great,” I joked, watching Evan crack another smile.

“Guess you’ll have to meet both my parents then,” he bit his lip, “they’d definitely like you.”

I was taken back, not sure whether he was flirting with me or just being friendly. It was hard when he held himself with confidence, and I thought, maybe, he was just a flirtatious person. I smiled in response, taking a sip of my rosé.

Dessert was served shortly after. I got up to serve everyone my sticky date, leaning over everyone’s shoulder to pour the caramel sauce. When I got to Evan, my breathing hitched in my throat when my chest touched his muscular shoulder, pouring a little more sauce for him than everyone else.

“This looks amazing Y/N,” he said to me as I sat down again.

“Try it first before you give me any compliments,” I teased, taking a mouthful of my own pudding and loving every second of it. My mother’s recipe.

“Holy shit, I think I’m in love with you,” Evan moaned as he took his first bite, staring down at the pudding as he said it.

“You like it then?” I asked, resting my chin on my hand, my elbow propped on the table.

“It’s so good, I’m gonna try and take some home,” he praised.

“Or I can just make you your own one?” I felt like I was taking a risk, I’m not usually so out there, but I felt differently about Evan. I had to make the impression that I thought he was attractive and that I was interested.

“Only if we share it,” he replied, shooting me a wink.

I almost melted in my chair.

When dessert was over, our spot on the couch was occupied, and Evan pulled me to the corner of the room, eager to make more conversation. We stood so close, my shoulder touching his arm as he talked to me about his career and his family. I watched and listened like there was no one else in the room.

“Y!N Evan, look up!” My friend called from across the room, getting both of our attentions. In confusion, I looked above us, dread washing over me when I realised we were stood under a mistletoe.

I shook my head feverishly, my face hot with embarrassment as Evan let out a laugh.

“You know what that means,” she winked, “come on, where’s your Christmas spirit!”

I cursed her for egging it on, not like I didn’t want to kiss him, but I’d just met him and I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it.

“You heard her Y/N, where’s your Christmas spirit?” I heard Evan ask me, taking my hand and looking down into my eyes.

“Um, are you sure?” I asked awkwardly, internally facepalming at how stupid I sounded.

“C’mere,” Evan cupped my face in his hands, and before I knew it his lips were on mine. The world stopped for a moment, but I could hear everyone in the room cheering. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him in closer as he tilted his head to get better access. My stomach was doing somersaults as his tongue slid into my mouth.

“Whoa! Whoa! We’re still here guys!” I heard my friend joke, before I finally pulled away. Evan pulled away with a deep breath, cheekily smiling at me before setting another peck on my lips.

I was so embarrassed I covered my face with my hands while everyone wolf-whistled or laughed. Evan’s hand was on the low of my back, laughing with everyone else.

“A little too much Christmas spirit for you guys?” Evan joked, leading me away from under the mistletoe and towards everyone else.

Evan leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Why do you think I took you over to that corner?” Making my eyes go wide, now knowing it was his plan all along.

Taglist: @v-love @evanpetersfav

#evan peters #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fanfiction #evan peters requests #evan peters imagine #evan peters x reader #fluff

74 notes · View notes

oliveisme533 · 8 months

Text

I Can’t stop thinking about domesticated Joel with his daughters and tender shit like this. So here you go. Ellie is his foster daughter and calls him both Joel and dad. The girls are both 14. No outbreak

Tommy and Joel finished up at the work site late that Friday. Surprise surprise. He had called the girls to let them know he probably wouldn't be home for dinner.

"Hello?" Sarah picked up

"Hey baby is Ellie with ya"

"Yeah, you're on speaker" Ellie shouted from the other side of Sarah's bedroom

"I'm sorry girls I know I said we would go out tonight, but it looks like I'm not going to be home until after 8 or 9. Y'all take some of the cash that's in my bedside table drawer and walk down to the pizza place if you want."

Sarah and Ellie tried to hide their disappointment. They knew how hard Joel worked and everything he did to keep them happy, healthy, clothed and fed, but there had been several late nights the last few weeks and they missed their dad. "It okay Joel we know it's not your fault" Ellie said "yeah dad don't sweat it" Sarah added.

"You call if you need anything I'll have my phone on me."

Sarah and Ellie exchanged looks of disappointment and also a mutual sadness they felt for Joel. "That man works his ass off for clients who don't give a shit about him!" Ellie said jumping to her feet from where she had been sitting in Sarah's room. "Yeah... I know." Sarah just stared at the wall. "I have an idea!" Ellie suddenly exclaimed. Sarah was used to these outbursts from Ellie. It was actually one of her favorite things about having Ellie as a sister. "How much money does dad have in that drawer?" Sarah shrugged. "I'm not sure let's go see." Ellie ran down the hall. "But what's your idea?!" said Sarah following her into their dads room. Ellie picked up the two $20 bills from Joel's bedside table. "We make dinner for dad and surprise him when he comes home!" "But won't he be home super late.." Sarah said. "Yeah but you know he always is starving when he gets off. It doesn't matter what time it is. You've seen how that man pulls shit out of the fridge at 10 o'clock after an especially shitty and long day at the site." Sarah nodded. "True. And we never have anything good in the fridge so he's always eating gross take out leftovers." "Exactly! So we make some gourmet shit to surprise him" Sarah grinned. "I like this plan, but we don't know how to cook" after much debate they decided the best idea was to just go to the store and see what their budget would get them. In the end they came home with some little potato's, a bag of frozen pre-cooked chicken breast, and a bagged salad. "Does dad even eat salad?" Ellie asked as the loaded their bags into the crate Joel had installed on the backs of their bikes. "I don't know. I've never seen him eat it, but there's a first time for everything."

Luckily the chicken came with instructions, and Mrs Atler was able to tell the girls how to smash the little potatoes and bake them in the oven and what seasoning to use. The two little chefs were awfully giggly and it took them over an hour to make everything, but they didn't mind. They knew if Joel were home he would tell them to turn down their music, and accuse them of being the silliest girls in the country. At 8 on the dot the girls observed their masterpiece. Sarah had found two tall candles that looked appropriate for a 5 star dinner and Ellie dug through the cabinet over the stove to find a bottle of red wine. "Why do we even have this. Him and Tommy exclusively drink beer like they're a couple of gray jocks" Sarah laughed and said "I have no idea and who knows how old it is." "Do you think wine goes bad?" Ellie asked. "I don't think so...but I don't know how you would tell if it had gone bad" Ellie gave Sarah a look that didn't need any words. "Should we?" Sarah whispered in a giggle. "I mean just a taste to see if it's still good." Ellie said. With great difficulty the two got the cork out of the bottle and brought it gingerly to their lips. "Euggghhhh!" Ellie gagged dramatically. "That's fucking disgusting" Sarah agreed wordlessly, sticking her tongue under the faucet trying to get rid of the taste. Just then they heard the unmistakable sound of Joel's truck pulling into the driveway. They looked at each other with wide, goofy grins. "Should we hide?" Sarah whispered. "And jump out and scare him" Ellie agreed. The girls ducked behind the sofa, trying to stifle their giggles. The key turned in the lock and the familiar sound of Joel's boots on the hardwood followed by "I'm home...Ellie, Sarah?"

"Surprise!" Ellie and Sarah shouted in unison as they jumped up from behind the sofa. "Jesus Christ!" Joel exclaimed clutching his chest. "Are you trying to give your old man a heart attack?" Suddenly his eyes fell to the kitchen table. "Did y'all cook dinner?" He asked somewhat in disbelief. The girls nodded sheepishly. Joel felt a surge of warmth rush into his chest. "You girls didn't have to do this-you know that." He said giving them each a kiss on the head. "We know!" Ellie said cheerfully. "We haven't eaten yet we were waiting for you." Sarah added. Joel looked at his daughter with those warm, brown eyes. "Thank you baby" the three of them sat down and ate. Joel complimented the girls on their cooking. "Damn little ladies, you might need to cook for your old man more often! This is fuckin amazing" Joel said, shoveling food into his mouth. "Hey watch your language at the table" Ellie teased. Joel playfully kicked her under the table. "This is my house, I can swear at my table if I want." Ellie rolled her eyes.

Joel took the dishes to the skink where he found the opened bottle of wine. "What's this?"he chuckled. "Oh we were going to serve you wine but we tasted it and it definitely went bad like 100 years ago." Joel laughed and got a wine glass from the cabinet. "I forgot we had this. It's actually really good." Ellie mimed throwing up which made Sarah laugh. Joel didn't have to turn around to know what was happening. "Ellie you have the pallet of a 6 year old. I'm still buying you lunchables for school- god knows why I do it for ya" "yeah well lunchables are fuckin amazing" Ellie retorted as the girls wandered into the living room. "Language" Joel called from the kitchen. He settled down on the sofa with his girls, red wine in hand. They were already watching "the price is right" which was somewhat of a routine in the Miller household. A way to wind down after a long day. He sat in between his girls with a loud "dad noise" as they called it. Sarah had always been more snuggly then Ellie. Although that was changing Joel had noticed. She had been going to therapy for the last year and he had seen a shift in her in a lot of different ways. She hugged Joel frequently and allowed him to kiss her goodnight. She didn't flinch anymore when he rested a hand on her shoulder to let her know he was behind her or something like that. Some nights when Joel would pass out on the sofa after work Ellie would tiptoe downstairs and come curl up next to him for a little while. She would always fall asleep within a few minutes and he'd carry her to bed and it would be a good excuse for him to actually go to sleep in his bed after putting Ellie in hers. The way his girls took care of him in so many ways, most of which they didn't even realize... it made him feel soft and gooey on the inside and if he thought on it too long his eyes would get misty. Before long he had two sleeping girls on each side of him. He didn't dare move to take them up to bed for fear of waking one. Joel carefully reached for the remote to turn off the TV and then closed his eyes and met himself drift off with the two things he loved most in the world on either side of him.

#tlou #bella ramsey #joel tlou #joel miller #joel and ellie #girl dad #tlou fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

queenshelby · 2 years

Text

The Client (Part 5)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Domestic Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Smut, Fluff

Words: 4,388

PLEASE ENGAGE AND COMMENT AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

About an hour later…

“So, who is she?” you asked after you stumbled out of the bathroom and watched Cillian prepare a salad to go with the pizza he had ordered.

“Who is who?” he asked before assessing you, seeing that you stood in front of him with nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

“The woman you are with. There are a few beauty products in the bathroom which are clearly not yours” you giggled just as Cillian swallowed harshly and handed you the rather large t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts which he had placed on to a chair for you earlier that evening.

“Just someone I work with, but it’s nothing serious. I don’t really do relationships” he said, facing away from you with some embarrassment.

“Why?” you asked a little surprised.

“Because relationships are painful. Too many expectations and obligations and I don’t have time for that” Cillian told you and, instead of commenting on his statement, you just nodded and walked back towards the bathroom which is where you got changed.

***

When you returned from the bathroom, Cillian finally handed you the glass of wine for which you had craved and it wasn’t long after that the pizza arrived.

With some wine, salad and pizza, you sat down in the living room together and talked. But you did not discuss about your case this time. Instead, you talked about old times, back in Cork, and the days Cillian was still at law school, studying to become lawyer.

You talked about everything from that time, including your relationship with each other and, after a while, you your empty salad bowl on the table and leaned back in the couch and rested your head against Cillian’s shoulder, catching Cillian by surprise.

“You know, I actually feel quite comfortable now, being here with you” you said as you both listened to the tender tunes of Portishead, a band you both loved even twenty odd years ago.

“I am glad” Cillian said almost quietly while he gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Your cheeks appeared flushed and it was probably the wine which gave you some confidence to make this kind of physical contact with Cillian. It was the first time you initiated anything like this since leaving James and it was for this very reason that Cillian didn’t want to push you away regardless of how inappropriate you leaning against him like this may have been.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” you then continued to say, turning your body slightly on the couch so you could face Cillian directly.

“What is?” he asked while giving you a reassuring smile.

“That we just met again like this after not having seen each other for eighteen years” you told him and, of course, he had to agree with your observation. It was a little weird but, perhaps, it was fate.

“I guess life is full of surprises” Cillian acknowledged while letting out a shaky breath and you leaned in closer while he wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace.

He knew that this exactly what you needed and, this time, you didn’t even flinch when he took you into his arms. You welcomed his hug and even after that, you sat together on the couch like this for a while until you fought off your third yawn that evening and Cillian acknowledged your sleepiness.

“You should get some rest” Cillian told you and you knew that he was probably right, so you got up from the couch carefully. But, by doing so, one of your legs gave way because your ankle was still sore from the fall and you had clearly underestimated your injuries.

“Jesus Y/N, are you alright?” Cillian asked as you fell into him and you were quick to blame the wine.

“Just a bit too much to drink I think” you lied to him since, the last thing you wanted, was for Cillian to push you to get an x-ray on your foot.

“I don’t think it was the wine Y/N. You only had two glasses over about three hours” Cillian chuckled before helping you back up and looking down at your ankle which, by this point, had swollen a little.

“You should get this checked out tomorrow” he then told you while offering you his assistance and taking hold of your arms to help you back up.

His touch was gently as usual and, just as he held your arm, you felt a surge of heat run through your body and in leaned closer towards him.

There was silence in the room, expect for the slow beats coming from the record player and you couldn’t help but stare into Cillian’s deep blue eyes while your hands were still on his chest and your lips were mere inches away from his.

What on earth were you doing, you thought. But it was almost like your brain had turned to mush and you suddenly pressed your lips against his in a rather bolt move.

The kiss was sudden and, just as your lips connected, you expected Cillian to push you away and it sure was on his mind as he fought with the demons inside his head. He wanted to return the kiss but knew that he shouldn’t do it. You were his client and this was going too far.

“Y/N” Cillian gasped against your lips and you were about to mumble out an apology just as he suddenly kissed you back.

His kiss took your breath away and you could feel his lips moving against yours and closed your eyes.

Within mere seconds, you felt the kiss deepening and Cillian wrapped his arms around you.

You then parted your mouth, allowing his tongue to explore yours while you rested one of your hands on the collar of his t-shirt, just where you could feel his hot bare skin.

“Y/N” he stammered again, this time right into your mouth, fighting against his own intrusive thoughts while you let your other hand slide around his neck and buried it in his hair.

His breathing was heavy and so was yours as you kept kissing until Cillian eventually pulled away.

“I can’t” he gasped. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t be doing this. You are my client” he then said before letting out a deep sigh of frustration.

“I know. I am so sorry. I have overstepped the line” you stammered and, to your surprise, Cillian pulled you close again. His mind was torn and he wanted more, despite knowing how unethical it was.

“Fuck” he simply sighed and leaned his forehead against yours just before your lips connected again. He clearly wasn’t thinking straight and knew that this was a terrible idea but, yet, he kept on going and he certainly kept on kissing you like his life depended on it.

Unlike James, he was gentle, kind and passionate and, in this moment, you regretted having left him eighteen years ago. You knew that your life could have been different if you hadn’t ruined your chances with Cillian but, you also knew that it was too late for regrets.

***

You continued to kiss like this for at least thirty minutes and it felt incredible. There was no pressure from Cillian and he made no demands. He just wanted to be close to you and you wanted to be close to him. Your lips were painfully sore, but his seemed just as bad which is when you made a suggestion.

“Would it be wrong if I wanted to continue this in your bedroom?” you eventually whispered and Cillian didn’t expect you to make this kind of request. At least not yet.

“Y/N, I think that…” Cillian began to say and you smiled and interrupted him by placing your lips back onto his.

“I mean I am not ready to sleep with you, but…” you stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence after pulling your lips of his again, while Cillian gently caressed your face.

“You don’t need to explain. I am not in a rush” Cillian interrupted you. “Let’s do this at your pace. You decide how far you want to go, alright?” he then said gently while caressing your face again.

“Are you sure, because something tells me that you need more” you giggled, seeing that he was clearly aroused. In fact, you had felt his erection against your upper thigh for the past fifteen minutes and you didn’t think it would relent without some help from you.

“I am sure Y/N. I can wait as long as you need me to” Cillian said gently before having a slight chuckle of his own. “But, I cannot help this kind of reaction. He’s got a mind of his own, I am sorry. You are just too beautiful and he gets too excited sometimes” Cillian chuckled with reddening cheeks, referring to the bulge in his pants which, clearly, you both knew was a natural reaction.

“I see nothing has changed in eighteen years then” you laughed while also blushing deeply.

“No, it hasn’t. In fact, I still want you, even after all those years. I’ve always wanted you” Cillian explained but you couldn’t believe him. Why would he want you after all this time?

“Oh common. You are just telling me that to make me feel better” you said, laughing, but Cillian pushed you aside gently and got up from where he was seated.

“I am serious Y/N. Just wait here” he interrupted you before walking across the room and retrieving a small book which he had kept for all those years.

The book contained photographs you both took when you were together and he wrote notes inside of it. It was a book full of memories of the time you spent together and it immediately sent tears to your eyes.

“Fuck, I am such a fool” you cried but Cillian was quick to comfort you.

He took you into his arms again and kissed your forehead gently.

“You are not a fool. You’ve just made a bad choice. It happens and you couldn’t have known at the time” Cillian explained while hugging you tightly.

“But I made the same mistake over and over again for years Cillian. I’ve only got myself to blame and I most certainly don’t deserve you. I should have just stayed with you” you continued, your eyes full of tears.

“No Y/N! You need to stop blaming yourself for everything! Despite, it was my fault that you left me. I was young and naïve and I wasn’t in the right mindset for a relationship. I regretted pushing you away and treating you the way I did all these years ago. I never meant to hurt you” Cillian said but you already knew. He chose his career over you and, at the time, this was quite reasonable.

“I know and I don’t blame you for anything” you told him while his fingers intertwined with your hair.

“Good, because I want you to let me into your life now without any regrets whatsoever and I want to treat you the way you were supposed to be treated” Cillian said with a warm smile. “You deserve so much more than you got” he then added with so much passion in his voice that you fell straight back into his arms and crashed your lips back onto his.

You mind was confused. You wanted him with all that you had but you felt as though you should wait. Was it too soon or did it not matter? After all, you’ve done it before and you trusted him.

“Cillian” you eventually said again after exchanging more and more passionate kisses.

“Hmm” he simply smiled against your lips, enjoying this moment of purse passion between you.

“I changed my mind” you said while running your hands through his hair.

“About what?” he asked before you began kissing him again like a hungry beast.

“I want you to take me to your bedroom and I want you to show me what I’ve missed out on for the past eighteen years” you told him.

“I am a little confused about what you are saying” Cillian admitted, cocking an eyebrow.

“I want you to make love to me” you said, spelling it out for him.

“Y/N, we can wait. There is no rush” Cillian reassured you as you stood up, wanting to lead him towards his own bedroom. He sure didn’t want to pressure you with this.

“I know we can, but I don’t want to. I trust you. Please” you urged him on and, just as you did, he told you that you were heading towards the wrong direction.

“My bedroom is over on the other side” he chuckled while he took your hand and you both couldn’t help but laugh as you slowly made your way towards it.

***

When you entered the large bedroom, you immediately made your way to the bed in the centre of it, without even bothering to look around.

The kissing and teasing continued for at least ten minutes and, whilst Cillian was still in his t-shirt and jeans, you were only wearing his oversized shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, giving him easy access to all of your body.

“Your pace, alright?” Cillian whispered into your ear after a while, intending to take things further but also reminding you that you were in charge and, just as his hands roamed from your shoulders, to your hips and, eventually, beneath your shirt and over your breasts, you inhaled sharply.

‘Stop” you gasped all of a sudden as Cillian aimed to remove the shirt from your upper body and, with that, he withdrew his hands immediately.

“Am I moving too fast?” Cillian asked gently as he moved his hands away from you.

“No, it’s not that. I just don’t want you to see me like this, with all these scars and burns. I am sorry” you said, tears shooting back into your eyes.

Your back and the side of your abdomen were covered in scars and burns and you weren’t flaunt of these permanent marks, so you tried to keep them as hidden as possible.

“You are beautiful Y/N. You have no reason to hide yourself or your body like this” Cillian told you before caressing your face again. “Despite, I’ve seen your scars on the photographs already and I can reassure you that they don’t change how I feel about you. You are stunning and I desire you so fucking much, you have no idea” Cillian told you while wiping your tears away with his thumb, but backing off slightly, allowing you some space.

“Fuck, I am sorry” you stammered just before he kissed you again.

“Don’t be” he reassured you and, after a few minutes of gentle kisses, you eventually built up the courage and removed your shirt.

But, as soon as you took off the shirt yourself, you froze and began to cry nervously again while you tried to cover your largest burn with one of your hands. Cillian, however, took none of that and reached for your hand carefully before, gently, moving it aside.

“Don’t cover them Y/N. I like you just the way you are” he reassured you once more as his own hand traced over the large scar and the discoloured patch of skin, which was the burn that had clearly been caused by the hot iron.

His words immediately sent a smile across your face and your tears began to dry up again while Cillian looked at you with nothing but admiration and red-hot desire.

"Lie down on the bed for me so that I can kiss every inch of your body” Cillian then whispered into your ear, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Every inch you say?” you asked with a cute little giggle as you laid down the bed and began to watch him undress right down to his underwear.

“Yes, every fucking inch” he confirmed and, after starring at you for almost a minute, he crawled on to the bed with you and smiled.

“And, just so we are clear, I will keep kissing you until you beg me to stop” Cillian then whispered before taking his hand and running his fingers over your scars lightly. There were about seven small ones covering your breasts and abdomen and a very large one right near your core.

Cillian took his time with them and you trembled at his touch. It was so soft and gentle and, eventually, he leaned down and his lips were barely touching your skin as he began kissing each of scars. One by one.

“Cillian” you gasped as you watched him in awe as his lips worked their way down from your breasts to your stomach. It was a gesture that brought tears to your eyes and, when the last scar on your abdomen was kissed, he looked up at you.

"Where are the others?" Cillian then asked quietly and you sighed lightly and pointed to your left thigh

Cillian smiled sweetly at you before scooting down. He knew exactly where they were and it was almost like he was just asking to ascertain whether you were still comfortable with all of this.

Again, his fingers lightly traced the scars on your thigh, sending chills all through your body. Then, Cillian began cradling your ankle, and began kissing his way up your calf, kissing the back of your knee, and then circling up towards the scars making sure to kiss each one. He slung the leg over his shoulder and began to kiss down your inner thigh too, causing you to moan.

“Too much?” he asked carefully, not wanting to overstep a line but you bit your lip and shook your head.

“No, please. Keep going!” you told him and Cillian looked up at you and smiled.

“Do you want me to touch you…right here…?” he then whispered seductively, teasing you, just as his hand travelled up to your left breast and his fingers began to gently circle your nipple.

“Yes!” you moaned quietly and Cillian adjusted himself and smiled up at you sweetly before leaning down and kissing the skin of your breast. “How about here?” he teased before his tongue was sliding out, flicking over your nipple and it instantly hardened.

“Yes!” you moaned again while almost pushing his face to your breasts with the palms of your hands.

“Your breasts have always been so fucking beautiful” Cillian then told you as he continued on your right breast, making you scratch his scalp lightly with your fingernails.

Cillian then made his way up, kissing your chest again, then your neck, your ear, and finally, your lips. You kissed him back like you were suffocating, and his breath was the only thing keeping you alive.

Reaching up, you traced your fingernails down his chest lightly and Cillian moaned, causing you to smirk. He then kissed you again, this time more deeply and his hand travelled down to the waistband of your panties and you whimpered in anticipation, your thighs trembling.

“Is that okay?” Cillian asked and you moaned against his skin.

“Yes!” you gasped once more as he slid his hand inside your underwear, his finger brushing your clit as he ran his finger up and down your slick ravine.

You moaned louder, scratching his shoulders, which in turn, enticed a moan from him. He slid one finger inside you while his lips were crashing down on yours once more. He caught your moans in his mouth as he slowly moved his finger in and out of your wet hole.

You then bit his lip lightly and he pulled his finger out, replacing one with two. You arched your back as he moved those two fingers inside you even quicker.

Eventually, Cillian pulled his mouth away from your mouth and hips lips began to wander again, this time over your breasts and then straight down to your stomach.

He withdrew his fingers and then looked up at you.

“May I?” he asked while hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and you nodded nervously in response.

“Yes!” you moaned again and, just as Cillian pulled down your panties, he could see that you were wet.

He paused for a moment, lingering in between your legs and inhaling your sweet scent and then he leaned in and kissed your nether lips.

“Oh god that feels good” you gasped, and reached down to run your fingers through Cillian’s hair. You couldn’t remember the last time you received oral sex and Cillian slowly slipped his tongue between your lips, lapping slowly from the bottom to the top.

“You taste so fucking good” Cillian groaned and you moaned louder as he swept over your tender nub.

He placed all of his attention on your pleasure button now, and slowly slipped a finger inside you again which is when you screamed out in pleasure.

“Don’t stop! Please don’t fucking stop!” you whimpered and Cillian could feel the warm, wet, velvet glove grasping his finger as he pumped you faster, all the while lavishing his tongue on your sensitive nub.

“I won’t stop. Just give in and let go for me. I’ve got you” Cillian told you as he felt you begin to convulse around his finger.

He pushed in deeper and his tongue began twirl over your clit in firm circles. A few moments later, you exploded and your sweet nectar was rushing into his mouth and down his chin. He lapped away until he felt your tremors die down and he lifted his head, looking up at you as you were laying there, trying to catch your breath.

“Holy shit, this was insane” you gasped. You had never orgasmed like this from oral sex and fingering alone and, yet, it wasn't enough. You wanted more and Cillian knew that. He had a way of reading you so well.

“I want you so fucking much Cillian. Please” you told him as he kissed his way back up your body until he reached your lips and kissed them.

“Then take what you need from me. I am all yours Y/N” he whispered against your lips, wanting to give you full control of the situation and you immediately reached for his briefs and pushed them down.

He wiggled out of them with a slight grin on his face while you placed your hands onto his firm buttocks.

“Lay down on your back for me…uhm…please…” you stammered rather nervously, usually being unable to give instructions, but Cillian smiled and gladly obliged.

“As you wish” he said with a smile and, seeing how nervous you were, he decided to simply comply with your request and let you do to him whatever you were comfortable with.

“Just as good as I remembered” you then smirked while looking down on him, assessing his assets.

“I am glad to hear” Cillian joked but his words soon turned into a loud groan as you took his cock in to your hand, pumping it slowly up and down before leaning over him and taking him into your mouth.

Cillian didn’t expect this sudden manoeuvre and growled while carefully and gently interviewing his fingers with your hair.

You were swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, then opening your mouth to take him inside even further. He groaned again as you sucked hard, still using your hand and you continued to do this until he was a trembling mess.

"You need to stop" Cillian then said quietly, his breath laboured and you pulled him out of your mouth while still holding the base of his cock in your hand.

“I want you so much that, if you keep going like this, I will just cum right away and I don’t want to cum yet” Cillian told you and you couldn’t help but have a little giggle.

“Well, I don’t want you to cum yet either, at least not until I get to feel you inside of me” you smiled before crawling on top of him like an animal in heat and without discussing it any further, you lined your wet pussy up right against the head of Cillian’s cock, rubbing it against your moisture.

“I want to be inside of you so badly” Cillian groaned while you whimpered and gripped his shoulders hard until, finally, you felt the tip of him right at your entrance, penetrating you slightly.

“Fuck…” Cillian barely managed to say as, after not too long, you lowered yourself down onto him slowly with a loud moan escaping your lips.

“You feel so good” was the next thing you heard from his mouth alongside a loud a groan as he began to move his hips slightly, barely moving inside of you, but enough to make your breath come quicker and your body shake.

You moved your hips as well, matching his pace and riding him like a woman possessed.

Everything was quiet in the room except for the sounds you made. Your actions, your breath, your moans. The sound of your juices as Cillian slid in and out of you and the whimpering that left your lips with every thrust.

You soon began to pick up speed and so did he. You were whimpering more and more now and your breath was coming in gasps.

You had your fingers tangled in his hair, scratching lightly on his scalp. His hands were on your hips, his fingertips digging into your skin and you made love like this for at least twenty or thirty minutes while simply starring into each other’s eyes.

“I want you on top Cills” you eventually told him, feeling comfortable enough to relinquish control.

“Alright” Cillian smiled just before he flipped you over and gently took hold of your legs, bending them at the knees and raising them up.

“Jesus, oh that’s…oh….my god” you moaned in surprise as this brought him even deeper into you and you cried out, arching your back.

“I think I found the right spot” Cillian winked as, with gentle thrusts, he slid in and out of you and, with each thrust inwards, you wanted to cry out with intense pleasure.

You never quite felt anything like this inside of you before and you could feel that you were getting close and you were pretty sure that he was too, going by the intense look on his face and the sweat that covered both of your bodies.

Eventually, Cillian picked up speed and kissed you deeply. Your breath was tangling together and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Your hands went straight for his back and you moved your hips with his once again, speeding up gradually, building up that pressure.

Cillian’s breath in your ear sent more chills and tingles through your body and you kissed his neck, scratched his back, licked his ear. All in the passion of the moment. Everything was building up rapidly. It was like you weren't even on Earth anymore. Like nothing but what you were doing made sense. Nothing else mattered except for the feel of Cillian’s skin against yours and the feel of him inside of you.

He kept on thrusting and you were moaning his name, moaning things that didn't even make sense. You could hear his groans, his breath, his growls. You were both so near the edge until, suddenly, everything consumed you both.

“Oh god, yes! Don’t stop!” you moaned and Cillian groaned loudly in response as you both came at the same time.

Your hips were rising up for the few final thrusts to catch all he had to give while he filled you with his warm cum and you could feel all of it, spurt after spurt covering your insides.

“That was…wow…” you sighed as your breath was coming so fast and your hair was plastered to your skin from the sweat. Your face was red, and you couldn't see straight. All the pleasure coursing through your veins made you feel like you were floating, and Cillian’s sounds indicated he felt the same way.

“Yeah, that was pretty amazing” Cillian said before he groaned one last time while slowly pulling out of you and you both couldn’t help but laugh.

He looked exhausted and so did you and, just as you started to come back down to Earth again, he laid there with you, stroking your cheek.

“I hope you won’t regret this in the morning” you told Cillian with a little nervousness in your voice after you shared some more passionate kisses.

“I couldn’t possibly, because you are all I ever wanted” Cillian then told you before kissing your forehead and wrapping you up in his arms again.

Tag List:

@fastfan @drstrangegf

@kpopgirlbtssvt@cdej6@kathrinemelissa@landlockedmermaid77@crazymar15 @m3th-kate (cannot tag)

@damedomino

@lauren-raines-x@miss-bunny19@halleisheree (cannot tag)

@skinny-bitch-juice@odorinana@cloudofdisney@lexiwoods (cannot tag)

@weepingstudentfishhorse@allexiiisss@geminiwolves@letsstarsfalling@ysmmsy @chlorrox @tommyshelbypb @chocolatehalo @music-lover911 @desperate-and-broken @mysticaldeanvoidhorse @peaky-cillian @lelestrangerandunusualdeetz

@december16-1991@captivatedbycillianmurphy@romanogersendgame@randomfangirl2718 @dorothea-hwldr (cannot tag)

@missymurphy1985@peakyscillian@lilymurphy03@deefigs@theflamecrystal @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @elenvampire21 (cannot tag)

@hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 (cannot tag)

@fairypitou@zozeebo@kasaikawa@littleweirdoalien@sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder (cannot tag)

@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback

@1-800-peakyblinders@datewithgianni@momoneymolife@mcntsee@janelongxox @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @vhscillian @crazymar15 @im-constantly-fangirling @namelesslosers @littlewhiterose @ttzamara @cilleveryone

@peaky-cillian@severewobblerlightdragon@dolllol2405@pkab@babaohhhriley @littleweirdoalien @alreadybroken-ts @masteroperator @stevie75 @shabzy96 @rainbow12346 @obsessedwithfandomsx @geeksareunique @laysalespoir @paigem00 @lkarls @suneshinebelledaisy (cannot tag)

@vamp-army@luckystarme@myjumper@gxorg @eline-1806

@goldenharrysworld@cristinagronk16 @stylesofloki

@faatxma @slut-for-matt-murdock

@tpwkstiles@myjumper@cloudofdisney@look-at-the-soul@smellyzcat @kittycatcait219 (cannot tag)

@theliterarybeldam @bekkiemahonxx95 (cannot tag)

@layazul@slutforprentiss03 (cannot tag)

@blossemedfloweroflove (cannot tag)

@lyn07@kagilmore@dakotapaigelove (cannot tag)

@50svibes @mainstreetlilly

@ourthatgirlabby@bitchwhytho @arthurdeservesbetterrip (cannot tag)

@takethee

@registerednursejackie

@sofi128@mrkdvidal1989 (cannot tag)

@minxsblog

@annipiola (cannot tag)

@lenaskyler02

@masteroperator @swanlakeparadis

@kimbii-eve (cannot tag)

@champagnesocialistsposts@alessioayla@ghazalshelby

@cdauniverse-blog

@freetimemachinequeenen

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy au

114 notes · View notes

magnolia-among-the-stars · 1 year

Text

I Drink Wine (Jake Seresin, Chapter 2)

Summary: Gwendolyn Benjamin did everything she could to run away from her past. From the pain and heartbreak to come to California and live near her Aunt & Godmother, Penny. A hardened soul, she meets Jake Seresin who ends up turning everything she thought she swore off into a frenzy.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Gwendolyn Benjamin (OC)

Warnings: Cursing, Angst

Tropes: Slow burn, Sunshine & Rainstorm

Word Count: 1.9k

previous chapter / next chapter

As the sun went down, Pete helped Penny to close the patio doors to lock in some of the warmth of the bar. He methodically slid every other window open an inch to keep an airflow and reduce the smell of Naval aviation soon to flood the space. I was grateful, watching while casually picked through the leafy greens and crispy chicken piled high on a plate before me. Fork twirling in hand, I wipe my mouth clear of the dribbles of the delicious honey poppyseed dressing the cook in the back whipped up and sigh contently.

For once, I fell into an ease in the silence of the chaos occurring around me. The bar was in full prep mode now, the few extra bartenders showing up and logging in along with a bus boy or two. They greet me kindly as they pass, pulling chairs from table tops and squeak them along the roughed-up floorboards.

As I continued chomping away at my salad, checking my phone every now and then – a rush of cold fell over my arms and I shook them out slightly. My heart rate increased as the dinner rush began to flood into the bar. Discomfort rose from the ground and through my legs, attaching itself along my spine, settling there. It nestled between my shoulder blades like a dull ache of a spider bite.

I straightened my posture stiffly, collecting my things and walking over to where Penny’s section was still deserted. My plate clangs gently onto the countertop before I can say a word and she catch my expression. “You’re okay,” she encourages, nodding to the seat to my right. “I know it’s a lot of people. Just stay long enough to say hi to the crew, they were excited to hear you were around today.”

The mention of the few more gentle and approachable members of Pete’s degenerates makes a small smile form but does nothing to help the tension building in my temples. My fingertips tremble as I clutch the counter and sit down. “I’ll just stay until they arrive.”

Penny smiles sympathetically, pulling a wine glass from below and pouring a deep rich rogue into the curve. She stops a third of the way, corking the bottle before sliding the wine my direction. I roll my eyes but she only winks, “I keep your favorite in stock for a reason.”

“Bribery is a new look on you, Pen,” I begrudgingly take a tentative sip of the wine, cursing her for the delicious taste along my tongue. “I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Got to keep you on your toes Gwennie,” she says, winking before turning to another patron to leave me to enjoy. The hum of the jukebox roars to life, Mr. Blue Sky bumping along to the beat as I watch for the doorway to great the pilots I was waiting for. After chatting with Pete for a little while on their wedding plans, the group starts to roll in.

Dressed in their usual khaki uniforms, Nat, and Bob slide through the door first, talking intently with one another as they make their way over to their usual spots in the back near the pool table. Behind them, Javy strolls in beside Bradley and a few others as Mickey and Reuben round out the group.

All head straight toward Natasha and Bob other than Mickey, who seems to be glancing around with a perplexed look until his eyes finally land on mine. His bright, pearly whites sparkle – illuminating his way as he leaves the group and cuts off a blond man in uniform while in pursuit to get to you across the wave of people.

“Gwennie,” Mick calls when close enough, opening his arms warmly to embrace you only to receive a side hug. He leans back, pouting playfully with his arms still wide open. I roll my eyes, sliding of the stool nevertheless and curl into his chest. His arms wrap around me, tugging me closer as his hands softly glide along the back of my shirt.

“Hi Mick,” I breath into the stiff material of his uniform, melting a bit.

“Heard we need to take a trip to a crafting store this weekend?” I cock my head back at his words, only enough to peer up at him with a wide gaze. “Mav texted me.”

“Does he do that often?”

“He’s just looking out for you,” Mick pulls back with a sideways smile, “I’m just looking out for you.” I know what he means, the weight of his words not lost on me, so I glance down and let him drape an arm over my shoulder. “Do you want to come say hello?” he asks, not a lick of pressure or influence in his tone. I nod, no words coming out as I turn to grab my stuff, Penny refills my wine glass.

“I’ve got your stuff when you’re ready,” she says and I roll my eyes, taking the glass.

“Bribery,” I remind her, sipping the sweet Pinot before letting Mickey guide me to the back tables. It’s Reuben who calls out my name first, followed by Nat who drops her beer in excitement at my presence. The whole group echoes cheers as I smile warmly their way. Mick takes my wine for me as I embrace Nat, then Bob before rubbing my hands along my jeans to remove the building sweat.

“Come sit,” Payback encourages, patting the spot next to him at the high-top table. Mick slides my glass in front of me, offering a hand as I climb to settle into the tall chair and smile sheepishly at Reuben. Being Mickey’s other half up in the air, I’d become familiar with the tall man. His ease of conversation and relaxed posture always seemed to calm my nerves. “How’s my favorite professor?” he asks as I settle, tipping my glass delicately against my lips.

“Finishing up final draft reviews before everyone starts finals,” I pick at a sticker on the table momentarily as he listens, glancing his way. I nudge my temple against his broad shoulder lightly. “Wound tight as always.”

That earns a small chuckle from the man as we launch into a quiet conversation, left to ourselves as the rest of the group begins a game of pool a few feet away. Bob stays next to the table, more interested in the subjects I’m teaching this semester than the bets wagering on the green felt. “You know, we’d love to share you with Mick,” Reuben admits while I sip on my dwindling glass. “I know you’re not a super people person, but with Summer coming up and you being off from teaching--,”

“Well, well,” a heavy twang rings through the air, tension building back up into my shoulders. My grip on the glass bulb tightens and my breath catches. Broken pieces of letters and ceramic flood my senses, suddenly snapping me into realization that people shouldn’t get too close. “She’s a teacher, that checks out.”

I choose to ignore him, sip again on my wine as the tremble returns to my fingertips and I tap them absentmindedly at the peeled sticker. “Bagman, go back to darts,” Reuben offers, his tone a little less friendly, a little less warm.

“I want to hear about the students though,” the man steps up to the table next to me, flooding my space. He smells like an old garage mixed with sea salt, his knee grazing mine under the table from the proximity. “With a mouth like yours, I pray for the children.” The comment causes my gaze to harden, my hands stilling as I finally peer up at him with a fixed look.

It’s the first time I take in his appearance, his aggressively clean appearance. His blond locks of hair are needly pressed into place, shaved enough on the sides to allow for a perfect military prep. Gone is the scruffy beard from earlier today, showing off his sharp cheekbones and jawline. His piercing green eyes taunt me, and he licks his lip at my attention, sipping on his clear drink without blinking. He’s handsome…or would be if he wasn’t such a jackass.

“Fuck off, Bagman,” I seethe. The comment must rile him up though as his grin, stupidly perfect and straight teeth beaming down at me.

“I love when you talk dirty Teach,” the man returns, a flame of frustration bubbling up in my chest as I finally shake my head. I shove myself from the table, sliding until my feet touch the sticky floor. He’s too close so I forcefully push him out of the way with my shoulder as I reach around to grab my wine, gulping it down quickly.

Huffing, I turn to the two other men. By this point, Mickey and Nat have rejoined from the commotion and Mick frowns at me. My fingertips brush over Reuben’s shoulder, my smile never reaching my eyes. “It’s good to see you Reuben,” I tell him quietly, feeling the light energy of the evening seeping away to leave me empty again. I move around the table, completely ignoring Bagman as I approach Nat. She squeezes me tightly as I wave to Bob. “I’d love to chat more about you coming to class before the term ends.”

“Please don’t leave,” Nat whispers as I hug her back. “I’ll get Rooster to kick his ass and take him out back.” When I pull away, the look on my face gives her an answer. I’ve already shut down for the night and there was no convincing now. No bribery. “Coffee Sunday, it is.” She tries to smile as you step back.

I bump into something warm, turning on defense until I realize it’s just Mick. He’s standing, holding my tote with a lazy smile. “I’ll walk you home,” he says, nodding to the group as he leads me out of the crowded bar and waving at Penny as we pass.

The walk is quiet as we head out of the noisy bar, into the fresh air. I swallow down my frustrations, replacing them with deep breathing and the gentle rustle of the nearby trees dancing in the breeze. We take a left, heading in the direction of my home when I turn to look at him finally. His tanned skin glistened in the glow of the streetlamps overhead, my tote bag swinging effortlessly from his grip.

He catches me looking at him and wraps a protective arm around my shoulders, wrapping me in the warmth of his side. “I’m sorry for Bagman.”

“What is it with that guy?” I groan out, rolling my eyes at the man’s obnoxious and inconsiderate attitude. She’d only known him a total of 15 hours and yet, he was aggravating to the core.

“He’s…” Mick tries, gnawing at his bottom lip. “He used to be…” he stops again, trying to fish for the right words. He takes a deep breath as I see my porch in the distance, the light flickering slightly overhead. “Hangman’s an acquired taste.”

I chuckle at his words and roll my eyes. “Clearly, a taste I’ll never enjoy.” We move across the street, pushing open the gate to walk across the lawn to the steps to the porch. “Do you want to come in and watch some New Girl?” I nod toward the front door, taking my bag from him graciously.

“You buy that good popcorn?” he asks carefully, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I only buy the good popcorn.”

#top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin imagines #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin #hangman #hangman angst

28 notes · View notes