OneWhoTurns

A/N Jan 2019: Whoops sorry, couldn't avoid it anymore; OC gets a name and I apologize for that, I assume some won't be a fan of the choice. But damn I loved writing this chapter. Got me out of a real emotional slump to be honest. I know it doesn't directly follow the last chapter (there are a few days in between), but I wanted to write it so I did and then I wanted to share it so... I did.

Series Title: first impressions
Chapter: 3/?
Chapter Title: mad and maddening
Pairing: Jacob Frye/Reader OC
Word count: 4907
Rating: T
Story summary: You’d never found violence particularly attractive. But you had to admit… it looked good on him.
start here (brute pt 1), previously (notorious)

He was waiting for you as you entered your mistress’s room. Grinning. “Lizzie.”

You froze for just a moment before quickly stepping in and closing the door behind you, frowning. You tried to keep your voice even, if edged with wariness, a plethora of thoughts suddenly buzzing in your head. “...Mr. Frye.” Why was he here? How did he know your name? What was he-- oh god -- Your heart leapt to your throat with a rush of anxiety, eyes widening before you glared. “You could’ve been caught,” you hissed, stepping forward, glancing around the room as if you might spot something amiss. “I could’ve been anyone!”

How dare he laugh like that. “No you couldn’t have.”

A/N Dec 2018: Anyway, here’s the rest of what I’ve got so far on the Jacob/Reader ficlet. This probably won’t be the last of it, but it does wrap up cleanly for something resembling a chapter. And I’m happy with it, so I figured I’d share. ^^ Also, have I mentioned how much I love this art by @kingsdarga? Because it may have contributed to my enjoyment writing this. Cross-posted on Tumblr.

Title: N/A (in other words, I have no clue)
Chapter: 2/?
Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader
Word count: 3356
Rating: T for canon-typical violence
Summary: You’d never found violence particularly attractive. But you had to admit… it looked good on him. [fight club!Jacob]
start here (1/?)

Previously: And that was how you ended up, about 75% willing and 80% tipsy, giggling arm in arm with Emma as the three of you made your way to the foundry. You held her arm a bit too tight, eyes a bit too wide, skin jittering as alcohol twisted your fear to adrenaline. William knew a fellow, supposedly, who fought regularly in the ring at this particular fight club, and he promised it was a sight to behold. He’d laughed, claiming your eyes had gone the size of saucers upon hearing of the primary draw of such events: last man standing.

It was grotesque in a sort of fascinating way, where you didn’t want to watch and yet you couldn’t look away. It was disgusting, and so often brutish, but god there was something exhilarating about it.