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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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Now Your Mess Is Mine

Masterlist

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!reader (both over 18)

TW:angst, mentions of abuse, fluff, I think thats it

Summary: In which JJ is touch starved and you take care of him.

Word Count:2.7k

A/N: this was supposed to be short and fluffy but as per usual, it took on a life of its own

JJ doesn't have a lot of things going for him in life as far as he's concerned. He's practically an orphan, he gets fired from every job, and he never has more than twenty dollars to his name. He hasn't done a lot right in his life, but the best decision he's ever made is choosing you.

He's never felt a touch or a love as gentle as yours. Hell, for the first seventeen years of his life, he doesn't recall feeling anything but a fist. Then you came along, bright as the sun and radiating the most beautiful and intoxicating energy he's ever felt.

You're always gentle with him, soft hands grazing his body whenever you get a chance. JJ didn't know that he craved physical affection until he felt your small supple hand in his large calloused one.

He had no idea he loved cuddling until he was surrounded by you as you wrapped around him like a koala, an aroma of tanning lotion and saltwater overwhelming his senses.

He would've never imagined himself the type to take lavender-scented baths until you pulled him into the bubbles with a bright smile, giving him a beard as your loud giggles seeped into his soul and lit him up from the inside out.

Everything about you is pure and wholesome. Light radiates from you, casting away any semblance of darkness that once cast itself over him. You make him a better man, your face popping into his head before he makes a decision.

He wants to make you proud, to honor and respect you. He wants to be someone you can call yours loudly, shouting it from the rooftops with no shame. He doesn't understand how or why you love him, but he chalks it up to you being some sort of angel.

The rest of the Pogues used to make fun of you two, but they've come to appreciate the way you even JJ out. The two of you are never more than a few feet apart, your bodies always touching in some capacity.

It makes him feel safe and peaceful. It's the only thing he can think about as he lays on the HMS Pogue with you between his legs and his closest friends laughing around him.

JJ's eyes flutter closed as your nails rake across his scalp and he revels in the sun's rays as they warm his tan skin. He finds himself drifting off when your bubbly laughter floats to his ears and your belly shakes his head as it rests against you.

It causes a large smile to split his face and he shifts to look up at you. There's nothing but pure child-like joy on your features with your head thrown back, your mouth open and the corner of your eyes creased.

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and he presses a kiss to your hip bone while squeezing your calf lovingly. It draws your attention back to him and you look down at him with a bright smile.

"Hi." He whispers and you lean down to kiss the tip of his nose.

"Hi, handsome."

You hear Sarah say aww while John B gags dramatically and lift your hand to flip him off.

"Are you having fun?" You ask and JJ nods with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You squint down at him and before you can ask what he's about to do, he's jumping to his feet and scooping you up in his arms. You let out a loud squeal and flail around as your laughter echoes off the water.

"JJ Maybank don't you dare!" You shriek through loud giggles, but it's too late.

His feet are already leaving the side of the boat and the two of you plunge into the ocean. You kick your legs as you resurface, wiping at your face and hair while JJ grins like a little boy.

It's only a matter of seconds before you hear a chorus of splashes and the rest of the group joins in. Before you can blink, there's an all-out splash fight, the six of you laughing and having the time of your lives.

You're just dodging an attack from John B when you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and JJ takes the brunt of the water being sent your way.

You turn and wrap your legs around his waist, your arms moving up to hug around his neck.

"What are you doing, mister?" You ask with a quirked eyebrow and he leans in to give you a sweet kiss.

"I was starting to have withdrawals, baby. You know I can't go more than a few minutes without feeling you."

You almost laugh, but the sentiment goes straight to your heart and your features soften.

"I love you."

He nuzzles his head into your neck, hugging you tightly against his chest, and places a kiss on your collarbone.

"I love you too."

That night as everyone is sitting around a bonfire, you feel worry start to itch at you. JJ went home to get some things, but it's been almost three hours.

You know better than anyone what his home life looks like, he's collapsed into your arms weeping more times than you can count.

There's an unsettling feeling in your gut screaming that something is wrong, and with each second that passes it only gets louder. JJ never goes home for longer than necessary, and he promised he'd be quick.

You're just about to get in your car and go look for him when you hear the rumbling of his dirt bike as he screeches to a halt. The group shares a confused look and you rise to your feet, ready to be near your boyfriend again.

You stop cold in your tracks when he kicks the bike over, anger clearly clouding his usual light-hearted personality. JJ is like a golden retriever and loyal to a fault, so when he's like this it sends everybody reeling.

You watch as he knocks over a few more things in a fit of rage before storming inside and you decide to follow. You can hear footsteps behind you and turn to shake your head, instructing your friends to let you handle it.

Your steps are light as your feet carry you up the steps and into the bathroom where you hear the shower running. You open the door as gently as possible, JJ's back greeting you as he stares into the mirror with tears streaming.

"Hey, sweet boy. You okay?" Your voice is soft as you ask the question you already know the answer to and it sends a pang of hurt through his chest. He hates when you see him like this, weak and vulnerable.

He wants to be the strong one, your rock, yet more often than not the roles get reversed. You watch him silently, allowing him space to open up if wants to.

He doesn't say anything as his head drops and you already know what happened. You step into the room fully and close the door behind you, moving tentatively in his direction as if he'll shatter if you move any faster.

"Let's take a shower, okay?"

You're so gentle and kind as you say it, and it causes fresh hot tears to gather on his lash line. You know that JJ is touch starved on a good day, but moments like these are when he really needs you.

You can almost read his mind, aware that he's fighting the urge to put up his walls and shut you out.

He doesn't want to though. He wants you, he wants your sweet touches and quiet whispers as you take care of him.

He feels selfish, but he's well aware that while you're fragile as a butterfly around him, you have zero qualms about tearing through his armor like a knife through butter.

Your touch is featherlight as your hands work diligently to remove his jewelry. You start with his bracelets, carefully slipping them off his wrists before moving on.

Next, you work on his rings, delicately pulling them off and kissing the pad of each finger when you're done.

You finally get to his necklace, your breath tickling the back of his neck as you focus on unclasping it and setting it on the countertop.

He watches in the mirror as you work, feeling an inescapable amount of love weighing down his heart and mind in the best way.

You slowly turn him around to face you, your eyes meeting his to ask for permission as your hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

He hesitates before nodding, his eyes squeezing shut and lungs stopping as you glide it up his torso and over his head.

He can't stand to open them and see the look on your face. It's not that he thinks you'll be giving him a sympathetic expression, no it's not that.

It's that he knows you'll have an understanding look, completely devoid of any surprise. He hates it. He hates that you're so familiar with this that it doesn't even elicit a normal reaction anymore.

The first time it happened, you gasped and tried to conceal the tears that welled up at the sight. The second and third times you still seemed somewhat shocked, but by six months in you were desensitized.

Though Luke has never hurt you directly, he hurts you every time he sends JJ back to you in this state and he hates his father for it. Hates him for it more than he does for hitting him, for stealing from him, for neglecting him.

He shudders as your fingers ghost over the fresh bruises on his stomach and ribs, the contact leaving electricity buzzing right under the surface.

"Oh, JJ. Baby, I'm so sorry."

Your voice is barely above a whisper and he chokes down a sob. He despises everything about this.

He wants to throw up whenever you apologize as if any of this is your fault. As if you're not the one thing that single-handedly makes it better.

He keeps his eyes shut as your lips press delicate kisses to each mark. They're still fresh; swollen but not quite darkened.

You can see the faint beginnings of bruising, and you know the dark hues of black and purple will spread in the days to come.

You make a mental note to ice the injuries before continuing on with getting him undressed.

You're methodical as you go through the motions, stripping him down to nothing before removing your own clothing as well.

He steps into the water first, and you take his outstretched hand to keep your balance as you follow suit.

It's silent as the water washes over the two of you, no words need to be said. There's an unspoken understanding for times like this, and you do what you do best.

You shower him in love and affection, gently washing his body before lathering shampoo in his blonde hair.

You see the tension dissolve from his body when his shoulders drop as you massage his head, and take your time. You know he needs this.

You press sporadic kisses to his skin as you follow his routine, and he melts into you. Your lips press right between his shoulder blades, then the back of his neck, then his cheek as he turns to wrap you in his arms.

He returns the favor, washing you up lovingly and letting you rinse off. You reach to turn off the water like usual, but stop when his hand catches your wrist.

You turn back to look up at him and your heart shatters at the sight of his bloodshot eyes.

"Do you think I'm like him? Do you think if I have kids one day I'll treat them the way he treats me?"

His voice is so meek, and your heart squeezes painfully. This is new.

Usually, you spend the night drowning him in your presence and the next day, it's like nothing happened. He's never actually opened up about it, and you're taken aback.

You study his face for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. Your hands reach up to cup his face and you force him to look you in the eyes.

"JJ, you are nothing like Luke and you never will be. You love your friends, and you've shown time and time again that you'll do anything for them. You love me in a way I never thought possible. You are the best person I have ever known, and I don't ever want to hear you speak about yourself like that again."

Your voice is kind but firm, and he sucks in a breath as you continue.

"If you have kids, they will be the luckiest little shits to ever walk the earth. I know how much love you have to give, and if how you treat me is any indication, your kids would be so loved they wouldn't even know what to do."

You finish with a searing kiss and when you pull away, his eyes are still shut in bliss. His fingers are digging into your hips, and he loosens up just enough to let you shut off the now-cold water and open the shower curtain.

"Let's get dried off and go to bed, okay?" You suggest and he doesn't answer, instead just following you into the cold air.

The two of you dry off and throw on the change of clothes that are now sitting on the counter.

You assume Sarah or Kie put them there, and remind yourself to thank them later. Once you're dressed, JJ makes his way to the guest room and you shuffle into the kitchen.

You start rummaging through the freezer to find something you can use as a compress, your hands finally landing on some frozen peas. When you shut the door, John B and Sarah are watching you with sad eyes.

You give them a small smile and John B nods knowingly. You turn to leave when the man's voice rings out.

"Hey, thank you." He says and you look at him with nothing short of confusion.

He recognizes this and takes a step forward.

"I overheard a bit when I put the clothes in there. You're really good for him, and I just want you to know how much I- we- appreciate you being there for him. He's been better since he met you."

You swallow thickly and give him a quick hug, muttering a short 'thanks'. You know he knows what you're thanking him for. Partly for the clothes, but mostly for the kind words.

He squeezes you back and you pull away, heading off to tend to your sweet boyfriend. When you step into the room he's leaning back against the headboard, his eyes fixated on the small tv that's playing some football game.

His gaze darts to you when he notices you and he gives a heart-stopping smile. You crawl up next to him and place the cold bag on the spot that looks the worst.

Your pressure is light and that's another thing that eats at him.

The fact that icing his battered body is second nature to you now makes him ill, but he still lets you do it. Part of him wonders if he should have hidden this side of his life from you, sheltered you from the grim reality.

A bigger part of him is glad he didn't. He went through this alone for so long and it's nice to have someone that loves him just the same, even after finding out the ugly truth.

He doesn't shy away from the sensation and it breaks your heart all over again.

You're painfully aware that it's because he's used to this, and you want nothing more than to take him away from all this and give him the life he so deserves.

The two of you just lay there for a while as you take care of him and he absentmindedly runs his hand through your hair.

When the bag starts to get warm, you settle down under the comforter, and JJ curls into you. His head rests on your chest and he lets the steady beat of your heart lull him to sleep.

"I love you." You whisper and JJ tangles his legs with yours.

"I love you too."

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fic #jj maybank angst #jj Maybank fluff #outer banks #outer banks fic #outerbanks #outerbanks fic #outerbanks angst #obx #obx imagine

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makingqueerhistory · 7 months

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Queer Books Challenged in Florida Schools and Libraries

There are some affiliate links below in case you want to support MQH.

Gender Queer: A Memoir, Maia Kobabe: Now, Gender Queer is here. Maia's intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma and fundamental violation of pap smears.

The Color Purple, Alice Walker: Separated as girls, sisters Celie and Nettie sustain their loyalty to and hope in each other across time, distance and silence. Through a series of letters spanning nearly thirty years, first from Celie to God, then the sisters to each other despite the unknown, the novel draws readers into its rich and memorable portrayals of Celie, Nettie, Shug Avery and Sofia and their experience. The Color Purple broke the silence around domestic and sexual abuse, narrating the lives of women through their pain and struggle, companionship and growth, resilience and bravery.

Julián Is a Mermaid, Jessica Love: While riding the subway home from the pool with his abuela one day, Julián notices three women spectacularly dressed up. Their hair billows in brilliant hues, their dresses end in fishtails, and their joy fills the train car. When Julián gets home, daydreaming of the magic he's seen, all he can think about is dressing up just like the ladies in his own fabulous mermaid costume: a butter-yellow curtain for his tail, the fronds of a potted fern for his headdress. But what will Abuela think about the mess he makes -- and even more importantly, what will she think about how Julián sees himself? Mesmerizing and full of heart, Jessica Love's author-illustrator debut is a jubilant picture of self-love and a radiant celebration of individuality.

Drama: A Graphic Novel, Raina Telgemeier: Callie loves theater. And while she would totally try out for her middle school's production of Moon over Mississippi, she can't really sing. Instead she's the set designer for the drama department's stage crew, and this year she's determined to create a set worthy of Broadway on a middle-school budget. But how can she, when she doesn't know much about carpentry, ticket sales are down, and the crew members are having trouble working together? Not to mention the onstage AND offstage drama that occurs once the actors are chosen. And when two cute brothers enter the picture, things get even crazier!

Cemetery Boys, Aiden Thomas: Yadriel has summoned a ghost, and now he can't get rid of him. When his traditional Latinx family has problems accepting his true gender, Yadriel becomes determined to prove himself a real brujo. With the help of his cousin and best friend Maritza, he performs the ritual himself, and then sets out to find the ghost of his murdered cousin and set it free. However, the ghost he summons is actually Julian Diaz, the school's resident bad boy, and Julian is not about to go quietly into death. He's determined to find out what happened and tie off some loose ends before he leaves. Left with no choice, Yadriel agrees to help Julian, so that they can both get what they want. But the longer Yadriel spends with Julian, the less he wants to let him leave.

I Am Billie Jean King, Brad Meltzer: This friendly, fun biography series focuses on the traits that made our heroes great--the traits that kids can aspire to in order to live heroically themselves. Each book tells the story of one of America's icons in a lively, conversational way that works well for the youngest nonfiction readers and that always includes the hero's childhood influences. At the back are an excellent timeline and photos. This volume features Billie Jean King, the world champion tennis player who fought successfully for women's rights. From a young age, Billie Jean King loved sports--especially tennis! But as she got older, she realized that plenty of people, even respected male athletes, didn't take women athletes seriously. She set to prove them wrong and show girls everywhere that sports are for everyone, regardless of gender.

This One Summer, Mariko Tamaki: Every summer, Rose goes with her mom and dad to a lake house in Awago Beach. It's their getaway, their refuge. Rosie's friend Windy is always there, too, like the little sister she never had. But this summer is different. Rose's mom and dad won't stop fighting, and when Rose and Windy seek a distraction from the drama, they find themselves with a whole new set of problems. One of the local teens - just a couple of years older than Rose and Windy - is caught up in something bad... Something life threatening. It's a summer of secrets, and sorrow, and growing up, and it's a good thing Rose and Windy have each other.

Marriage of a Thousand Lies, Sj Sindu: Lucky and her husband, Krishna, are gay. They present an illusion of marital bliss to their conservative Sri Lankan-American families, while each dates on the side. It's not ideal, but for Lucky, it seems to be working. She goes out dancing, she drinks a bit, she makes ends meet by doing digital art on commission. But when Lucky's grandmother has a nasty fall, Lucky returns to her childhood home and unexpectedly reconnects with her former best friend and first lover, Nisha, who is preparing for her own arranged wedding with a man she's never met.

And Tango Makes Three, Peter Parnell: At the penguin house at the Central Park Zoo, two penguins named Roy and Silo were a little bit different from the others. But their desire for a family was the same. And with the help of a kindly zookeeper, Roy and Silo got the chance to welcome a baby penguin of their very own.

More Happy Than Not, Adam Silvera: In the months following his father's suicide, sixteen-year-old Aaron Soto can't seem to find happiness again, despite the support of his girlfriend, Genevieve, and his overworked mom. Grief and the smile-shaped scar on his wrist won't let him forget the pain. But when Aaron meets Thomas, a new kid in the neighborhood, something starts to shift inside him. Aaron can't deny his unexpected feelings for Thomas despite the tensions their friendship has created with Genevieve and his tight-knit crew. Since Aaron can't stay away from Thomas or turn off his newfound happiness, he considers taking drastic actions. The Leteo Institute's revolutionary memory-altering procedure will straighten him out, even if it means forgetting who he truly is.

Melissa, Alex Gino: When people look at Melissa, they think they see a boy named George. But she knows she's not a boy. She knows she's a girl.

Melissa thinks she'll have to keep this a secret forever. Then her teacher announces that their class play is going to be Charlotte's Web. Melissa really, really, REALLY wants to play Charlotte. But the teacher says she can't even try out for the part... because she's a boy.

With the help of her best friend, Kelly, Melissa comes up with a plan. Not just so she can be Charlotte -- but so everyone can know who she is, once and for all.

A Quick & Easy Guide to Queer & Trans Identities, Mady G, Jules Zuckerberg: In this quick and easy guide to queer and trans identities, cartoonists Mady G and Jules Zuckerberg guide you through the basics of the LGBT+ world! Covering essential topics like sexuality, gender identity, coming out, and navigating relationships, this guide explains the spectrum of human experience through informative comics, interviews, worksheets, and imaginative examples. A great starting point for anyone curious about queer and trans life, and helpful for those already on their own journeys!

This Book Is Gay, Juno Dawson: This candid, funny, and uncensored exploration of sexuality and what it's like to grow up LGBTQ also includes real stories from people across the gender and sexual spectrums, not to mention hilarious illustrations.

Little & Lion, Brandy Colbert: When Suzette comes home to Los Angeles from her boarding school in New England, she's isn't sure if she'll ever want to go back. L.A. is where her friends and family are (as well as her crush, Emil). And her stepbrother, Lionel, who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, needs her emotional support. But as she settles into her old life, Suzette finds herself falling for someone new...the same girl her brother is in love with. When Lionel's disorder spirals out of control, Suzette is forced to confront her past mistakes and find a way to help her brother before he hurts himself--or worse.

King and the Dragonflies, Kacen Callender: Twelve-year-old Kingston James is sure his brother Khalid has turned into a dragonfly. When Khalid unexpectedly passed away, he shed what was his first skin for another to live down by the bayou in their small Louisiana town. Khalid still visits in dreams, and King must keep these secrets to himself as he watches grief transform his family.

It would be easier if King could talk with his best friend, Sandy Sanders. But just days before he died, Khalid told King to end their friendship, after overhearing a secret about Sandy-that he thinks he might be gay. "You don't want anyone to think you're gay too, do you?"

Sorted: Growing Up, Coming Out, and Finding My Place: A Transgender Memoir, Jackson Bird: An unflinching and endearing memoir from LGBTQ+ advocate Jackson Bird about how he finally sorted things out and came out as a transgender man.When Jackson Bird was twenty-five, he came out as transgender to his friends, family, and anyone in the world with an internet connection. Assigned female at birth and raised as a girl, he often wondered if he should have been born a boy. Jackson didn't share this thought with anyone because he didn't think he could share it with anyone.

The Black Flamingo, Dean Atta: Michael is a mixed-race gay teen growing up in London. All his life, he's navigated what it means to be Greek-Cypriot and Jamaican--but never quite feeling Greek or Black enough.

As he gets older, Michael's coming out is only the start of learning who he is and where he fits in. When he discovers the Drag Society, he finally finds where he belongs--and the Black Flamingo is born

Explore the full list here.

#queer history #queer #lgbt #lgbt history #gay history #lesbian history #transgender history #transgender #making queer history

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star-anise · 2 years

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This is what the fight is like

Sooo, apparently the extremely tenuous and recent nature of the LGBTQ+ community's legal right to exist was not actually super widely known to a lot of people on Tumblr?

Which clarifies some stuff in retrospect. I have so often wanted to grab people by their lapels and shout, "Stop picking on someone for not meeting your entry requirements! We need everyone we can get, you asshole! DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THEY HATE US OUT THERE?"

Aaaapparently... no, they did not know. Or they knew and were a conservative psyop preparing the ground for our loss of legal rights. Fun times!

So: Look, it is bad. Shit is scary. They really do hate us out there. You're not wrong.

But: This is what we've always fought. This boat we're in with its antique fittings and strange markings on the floor is a battleship. Work has always been going on in the basements, and when shit gets tough, we clear away clutter and roll out the cannons.

I found this chart a couple weeks ago and hung onto it because it felt like the map to my first 25 years on this earth:

[Image description: A graph titled "Same Sex Marriage: Public Polls since 1988." It is from FiveThirtyEight's NYT column. It records the percentage of US Americans polled who would say yes or no to legalizing same-sex marriage, from 1988 to 2011.

The two lines begin with roughly 10% saying yes in 1988, and 70% saying no; the two lines gradually draw closer over the years, until by 2011, the percent saying finally dips under 50%, and the group saying yes makes a tentative reach for the majority. End of image description.]

After some great social change has happened, when everyone has admitted that gay marriage is very cute and Pride is a colourful parade, hooray, people like to pretend that it was just natural and inevitable and happened on its own. People just became less prejudiced! Courts just decided on a case! Governments just passed a law!

In reality, it was a vicious fucking fight, every fucking time. Every fucking where. There are a lot of people who deeply, sincerely believe that a hundred years ago, society had good rules about sex and gender and intercourse and marriage, and that changing those rules has made the world worse. They don't always agree on the specifics, but they can work together far enough to fight anyone with new ideas.

This is why we are a community. Even when we don't have the same experiences of attraction or identity, even when we don't do the same things, even when we have wildly different ideas of a good time. Because when these groups take aim, we're all under fire, and none of us is responsible for why they hate us.

In some ways I think it's a miracle that there seems to be a generation that did not grow up, as I grew up, constantly glued to news reports about What Percentage of Society Hates Us this month. I can't imagine who I'd be if my brain and heart and soul hadn't been tied up, that whole time, in the political question of whether I'd get to dream of a decent future.

I think that it will give us strength to have people who can imagine a world where no one hates us. Who believe in it so strongly they can taste it. That's my prediction: If you didn't know this was coming, you'll be a boon to us, because we have always needed joy so fiercely, in this fight, to keep us going on. We have needed drag queens and punk bands and "her wife" and safe space stickers. Parade floats and wedding days and little dogs with rainbow collars, badges and banners and meetups, because more than anything else we need to fight our own despair, and our fear that the world will never get any better than this.

It will. We know it will. We can taste it.

Look up to the history, organizations, and people who've got us this far for information on what forms of activism will actually advance our political goals. Look to the side to make sure the comrades within reach are keeping their heads above water, and that you're keeping enough joy going to stay alive. Look back to see who's more vulnerable than you are that you might have forgotten or been tempted to leave behind. Look after each other. Look after yourself.

We can do this.

To your battle stations.

#lgbt discourse #staranise original

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grandline-fics · 18 days

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Hi! Can I request OP men (monster trio, Ace, Law, or anyone ur comfy with doing!) reaction to reader becoming self conscious and suddenly anxious when there are too many ppl around and they try to ground them? It could be a crowd or even members from the ship! Thank you ^^

DESCRIPTION: You’re anxious when there’s too many people around

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Luffy, Zoro

WORDS: 1,318

A/N: Thank you for this request. I wanted to do more scenarios with some of the other OP men but could only manage two this time. I loved this idea so there'll be a part two in the future. I hope you like what I came up with for this

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

LUFFY

Wherever Luffy goes, a crowd is sure to follow. Whether its civilians drawn to his free and infectious nature or rivals getting into his face as a challenge that he doesn’t back down from the end result is always the same; very little breathing room because of the mass of people. For the most part you were used to this constant buzz of noise and cluster of presences but tonight it was getting to be too much for you. After a long battle of fighting groups of enemies to be immediately dragged into an all out celebration, you were reaching your limit of what you could take.

You didn’t want to be rude to the people who were grateful for you playing your part in securing their freedom and leave the conversations or festivities too early but when eyes weren’t on you, you were definitely searching for something that could allow you to disappear without drawing too much attention or cause any offence. You breathed a sigh of relief when the current civilian you were talking to left you to grab something to eat. Idly sipping at your own drink you inched further away from the main hub of people, trying to feel some sense of security in a quieter section.

Suddenly from above you heard the loud and all too familiar laughter of your Captain that was already causing an infectious smile to pull at your lips before you had even looked up. Perched high on the town’s clocktower was Luffy, using the stone lion fixture adorning the rooftop as his own personal seat to look over the entire town’s celebration. Because your weren’t amongst the crowd you were easier to spot and when he saw you smiling up at him he grinned wide.

Immediately he launched his arm out towards you and without waiting for your response he took your arm and pulled you through the air to land safely on the roof with him. Now out from the almost suffocating crowd you finally got a moment to breathe and look down at the view of the town now far enough away for you to appreciate the atmosphere and beauty of their joy. You smiled and settled down to sit next to your Captain, finally able to relax. “So why’re you all the up here in the first place? Would’ve thought you’d have more fun down there with the people.”

“Started to get annoyed when they kept calling me a hero, all I wanted was to eat.” Luffy explained with a grin, moving his enormous hoard of food back onto his lap to continue eating. “Besides when I saw the lion up here it made me think of the Sunny.” You smiled at the simplistic answer and looked at the fixture in question. As nice as it was, it paled in comparison to Sunny. You couldn’t help but let out a small sigh which didn’t go unnoticed by Luffy. He recalled how you hadn’t be with anyone before he brought you up here. “You not having fun?”

“Not exactly.” You shrugged, unable to lie to someone so open and honest with their feelings as Luffy was. You could always trust him to listen and not dismiss your feelings. “It’s just been a lot since we landed here. The people are friendly but it was beginning to feel like I couldn’t breathe around them. It was just getting to be a bit much.”

“How do you feel now?” Luffy asked curiously, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable either.

“A lot better, definitely like I can breathe again.” You reassured with a bright grin that Luffy returned while also reminding himself to always check on you while in a crowd like this from now on.

ZORO

Why did you have to land on an island that was virtually a Marine base in its own right? As much as you and some of the others wanted to leave and journey to the next island, Luffy’s orders were final and he wanted to stay. Just because there were a ton of Marines stationed on this island and lived here with their families, why should he change what he wanted to do. As much as you wanted to protest your Captain you knew no amount of logic or begging would change his determination to explore freely.

The most everyone could compromise on was the promise to keep as low a profile as possible and only engage the Marines if-and only if-your cover was blown. To ensure that disaster of a situation didn’t happen, the more level-headed members of the crew paired up with the more instinctual and chaotic members. Today you were left to walk the town with Zoro, the added element of ensuring he didn’t wander off into areas that would certainly spell trouble meant your worries were doubling. Every step you made through the streets, you swept a nervous glance around trying to keep track of anyone in a Marine uniform while also trying to pinpoint escape routes if the worst did happen.

“You need to relax.” Zoro muttered from beside you and you flinched, your already tense body coiling even tighter. You looked up at him with widened eyes. “You’re going to draw their attention and blow our cover.” At that you bristled but then panic set in and you couldn’t help but look around you again. With a sharp sigh, Zoro turned his body so he was blocking you from view and more importantly you could only look at him. “If you’re getting nervous about keeping a low profile but keep looking around the way that you are, people are going to end up taking notice and cause suspicion.” You opened your mouth to argue but you couldn’t, not when he was making sense. Still you couldn’t just relax the way he was telling you to. Zoro watched you carefully and frowned. “What’s got you so wound up anyway? What’s your biggest worry here?”

“Look around you!” You whispered. “Everyone is either a Marine or related to one. If we get caught-”

“We’ll deal with it as a crew like we always do.” Sometimes Zoro’s clear cut view of a situation was a reassurance but other times it was annoying. Dealing with a situation that could have been avoided in the first place was not what you wanted and wouldn’t necessarily work out as perfect as it would in his head.

“I just don’t want to be the reason one of us gets hurt when fighting didn’t need to be an option.” You shrugged helplessly. You didn’t want to seem weak, especially not to someone like Zoro but you couldn’t change how you felt in that moment. “I can’t be so laidback like you, sorry.”

Zoro rolled his good eye but threw you a small smirk to show he wasn’t annoyed. Silently he took your arm and swapped your original walking position. While he managed to keep one arm lazily around your shoulder, he also managed to be just ahead of you enough that his three swords were in front of you, almost like a shield. “As long as you’re part of the crew we work together and do our part to protect each other, yeah? So until someone spots us just relax and try not to look so panicked otherwise it looks like I’m kidnapping you.”

At that you laughed for the first time since arriving on the island and nudged his side while making no move to step out from his arm. It was strange how just being like this managed to calm you immensely. “Let’s hope Sanji doesn’t see. He’ll attack you on the spot and that’ll definitely blow our cover.”

“Yeah…would be worth it though.” Zoro grinned only to wince when you nudged his ribs a little harder. “I was kidding!” Well for the most part he was.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

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Young recruit!König is so silly :33

He gets jealous over everything you touch. You’re supposed to be with him!! Your feet should NOT touch the ground! Sit on his back, or hang onto him like a koala while he fucks you deeply. Loves watching your boobs bounce in his face, teeth grabbing onto a nipple and dick twitching at your tiny squeal.

“Bet he can’t do this” he says as he spins you around like it’s a circus performance, before plopping you down on his dick again, the squeal now turning into a shriek.

Hisses at the cat he stole for you ^_^ and fights for your attention. He cockwarms you while u both sleep and he wakes up from his cool ass dream (it was you two living in a beautiful house, happily married. Not that he’ll ever admit that) because the damn rabid orange thing bit his toe.

He’d be in the hospital, a broken arm and leg from his latest mission, and he’ll beg you to come closer. Literally almost tears up (it’s fake), and you stand up from your chair and walk up next to his hospital bed. Haha! :D You fell for the trick! He’s so happy you wore a skirt, now he can finger u aaaall he wants! (He’ll demand you to sit on his dick after a while but you refuse, already embarrassed as hell.)

He is NEVER allowed near coffee. He would become an atomic bomb with all that extra energy added to his chaotic personality. When he’s petty though he’ll take a big gulp of your afternoon coffee, ending in him fucking you the whole night. He can’t help it!! He needs to let his energy out, and who else is better for the job than you? 🫶

Anon this is so crazy & cute AHHHH. I love every single word 😭❤️!

Young recruit is in serious need of some behavioral therapy and would profit from a few electric shocks, but sadly he has better things to do (such as chase and bully you!)

Flexes on his strength and muscles every chance he gets, walks around with no shirt on, sometimes even without his pants on because he loves to see that shocked look on your face. You always gasp like a virgin who’s never even seen a cock when he walks into the kitchen with nothing on, it’s too adorable ❤️

Grins when you rush to draw the curtains together so that neighbors won’t see his half-hard dick – König has some serious exhibitionistic tendencies, gladly it’s just to get your attention, but he could be a little more discreet with that schlong… You can manage without sexual harassment lawsuits crowding your mailbox, thank you very much!

And the need to show off doesn’t end there: König has to fuck you on every surface of you and the Colonel’s house. An attempt to claim you and this place as his own, mark you both with his scent or something – or then to destroy the Colonel’s precious antique mahogany furniture, who knows.

Trying to trick him to participate in NNN ends in a horrible mess because he all but wrecks the nearest gym’s equipment while attempting to survive a week without warming his cock inside you. Refuses to sleep on the couch to prevent himself from getting life-threatening boners around you, and so it all ends with König waking you up one night with the messiest hard on you’ve ever felt or seen. Has the audacity to say that it’s your fault he’s in this state, and it’s your job to do something about this dick before he goes nuts. (“Nuts”, heh…! Isn’t he funny?)

And the cat he got you quickly takes a liking to you, he didn’t expect it to steal so much of your attention :( The tabby gets sunshine smiles and enthusiastic babbles by simply jumping into your lap and curling there. You look down at it with unbridled joy as it starts to purr and paw at you, sometimes you squeeze it against you and kiss its nose.

He can’t believe he’s jealous of a fluffy murderous kitten, who, on top of everything, bears his name because it "reminds you of him". Reminds you of him, this crazy killing machine who steals socks and bites toes at night?? Who hauls you dead rodents and follows you around everywhere you go, even to the bathroom? Pfft…

#double trouble au #my beloved #könig x reader #könig x you #2 Königs 1 reader

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hisui-dreamer · 2 months

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OMG OMG HISUI CONGRATS PN THE MILESTONE!! I've been following your blog for quite a while and I am so so happy to see it flourish (pun intended) so beautifully! I also wish you the best of luck in your exams and endeavors ❤️❤️

If you feel like it, I'd love to have Jamil with a bouquet of Bellflowers, Lavender and Baby's breath. I get so happy with flower events~

Bellflowers represent everlasting love and constancy, with Lavenders representing devotion and serenity and, at last, Baby's Breath sincerity, purity and love. I actually have two species of Lavender at home, it how much I adore them 💜

And a yellow rose for you!

we should try

Pairing: Jamil Viper x gn!reader

Synopsis: jamil doesn't like holding on to hope, but you're always the exception in his life

Tags: comfort, domestic fluff, cuddling

Word count: 448

Notes: i love the selection of flowers!!! also thank you for the yellow rose🥺💕 i hope you'll like the fic!!

Masterlist

flowers of choice:

bellflowers: everlasting love and constancy

lavenders: devotion and serenity

baby's breath: sincerity, purity and love

The moon spilt its gentle luminescence through the window, painting delicate shadows across the room. Jamil nestled into the plush pillows with a heavy sigh, weariness etched into every line of his form. His shoulders slumped, his exhaustion palpable after another long day's work in Scarabia.

You sat beside him, your fingers glided through his hair in rhythmic strokes, each movement a gentle caress in the quiet of the night. The diligent and responsible vice-housewarden was nowhere to be seen, leaving behind only the weary soul of your beloved. "You've been working so hard," you murmured softly.

Jamil closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation. "I’m used to it at this point,” he sighs into the pillow. “It’s nicer now, having you here with me," he confessed, his voice tinged with gratitude.

"I'm glad to be here," you replied softly, continuing to brush out his hair with gentle care. "I'm glad to have you."

A pause settled between you, a comfortable silence punctuated only by the rhythm of your ministrations. Then, Jamil sighed once more, a sound of pure contentment escaping his lips. "I wish things could stay like this forever," he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare in the dim light of the room.

"Could? I think we definitely will," you assured him, your voice filled with conviction.

He shifted to face you, his weary gaze delving into the depths of your eyes. "You truly think so?" he inquired, a flicker of optimism dancing in his tired expression.

"Well, you won't know if you don't try," you replied, a soft smile gracing your lips as your gaze drifted towards the starry night sky visible through the window, its vastness echoing your uncertainty of the future. "But you're definitely not getting rid of me so easily," you added, a playful giggle escaping you.

Jamil chuckled in response, his weariness momentarily overshadowed by the warmth of your presence. "As if I'd ever let you go willingly," he retorted. He closed his eyes in thought, imagining what a future with you would be like. He imagines shared laughter and quiet moments of intimacy, days spent working tirelessly only to find solace in your embrace at night, and hours spent lost in conversation and affection. He imagined facing life's challenges together, drawing strength from each other's support and unwavering commitment. With you, he saw a future brimming with possibility, where every hurdle was overcome hand in hand, and every joy magnified by the depth of their connection.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his hand reaching out to find yours, fingers intertwining in hope. "We should try."

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#✧2k! blossoming bouquets✦#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x mc #twst jamil viper #twst jamil viper x reader #twst jamil #twst jamil x reader

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nats--sw · 6 months

Text

Little Monster | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader You and Leah have a daughter, but Leah has forgotten the one thing you asked her to do today. I saw a tiktok a few days ago and I need it to write this. I think i want to write more about this, like a part 2 but idk yet, need some ideas

"Leah, can you come here for a second?!"

Leah made a face as soon as she heard your voice. She never refused to help you with whatever you needed, but when you needed her during an interesting football match, like today, her disposition wasn't at its best.

"Can you give me ten minutes? The match is about to end." Leah knew that her request was risky and that she could end up losing, but it was the most exciting game of the week, and Arsenal was fighting for the top spot in the Premier League, and so far, the result wasn't in their favour.

Leah waited for a few seconds for a response from you, but when more than two minutes passed, she knew she was getting into trouble. She didn't want to ruin the day, so she decided to give in and get up from the sofa, muttering a couple of curses on her way to the kitchen.

"Hey love, what do you need?" she asked with the sweetest voice she could do. But when she saw you looking at her from head to toe with a serious expression, she knew her attempt to not worsen the situation had been in vain.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Your serious tone of voice was reasonable. Beth had invited both of you to a dinner to celebrate the team's latest win in one of the most important matches of the season, and you had to leave in less than an hour to arrive on time. But Leah was still in her Arsenal shirt and a pair of shorts she always wore at home.

"I won't take long to change. What do you need help with?" Leah quickly changed the topic of the conversation, lowering her gaze to the cake you were struggling to finish decorating. "By the way, that looks delicious," she muttered, trying to scoop up some frosting with her finger, receiving a playful slap on her hand in response.

"If it's not Olivia, it's you," you muttered, referring to your daughter, who had done the same thing as Leah twenty minutes ago. At least she had been smarter and had quickly run to her room before you could say anything to her.

Leah was about to defend herself, but your daughter's shout echoed throughout the house, drawing both of your attention.

"A gooaal! Yees!"

Leah practically ran towards the living room, cursing when she realized she had missed the goal that tied the game. But Olivia, who was only four years old, had managed to see the goal and well... being the daughter of a footballer it was obvious that she knew the excitement of seeing your favourite team score a goal.

"It was a goal, mommy!" Liv approached Leah, who instinctively lifted her in her arms while watching the goal replay. "Did you see it?!"

"I can't believe it, Liv. We are so close to win this now." The joy of the goal was interrupted by your presence. Any other day, you would have found it the cutest thing in the world to see your daughter and your wife dressed the same while enjoying the match. However, over half an hour ago, you had asked Leah to help Liv change her clothes, but she was still dressed the same as before.

Leah closed her eyes when she remembered what you had asked her to do during halftime. She was almost afraid to turn around now. "I'm sorry, dear. But we still have time, we'll change right away, don’t worry."

"You have 20 minutes, Williamson," you said before returning to the kitchen, avoiding an argument.

"Mum is upset." Liv whispered.

"Yeah, don't tell me." Leah replied shaking her head.

"Okay, where is the outfit mum chose for you?" Leah asked, placing Liv on her bed.

"I don't want to wear that, mommy."

"Why not?" Leah started searching and found the dress under the bed, Liv's usual hiding spot for her mischievous activities or snacks stolen from the kitchen. "But it's your favourite dress," she said when she saw the little blue dress.

"I don't like it anymore." Liv said, crossing her arms. Leah sighed; it was always a battle to get her daughter dressed. However, you and Leah had decided not to force Liv into wearing something she didn't want. Instead, you always tried to find an agreement that made everyone happy, you wouldn't make her wear something she wasn't comfortable in, but you wouldn't let her go outside with the wrong shoes or shorts on a freezing day either.

"Alright, what would you like to wear then?" Leah resigned, mostly because the dress was now wrinkled, and she didn't feel like bothering with an iron now. Liv hearing this, hopped off the bed and sprinted to her wardrobe, from where she pulled out a monster costume you and Leah had bought a while ago thinking it was cute in a certain way, but Leah knew that costume shouldn't be there.

"Hey, where did you get that?" Leah asked because she was sure the costume was supposed to be hidden in the wardrobe you both shared. It was an old costume Liv wanted to wear every day back then, which wasn't a significant issue before, but since she started school a few months ago, you and Leah had decided to hide it to avoid daily battles.

"I found it." Liv responded nonchalantly, handing it to Leah, who didn't know what to do. “I want to wear this, mommy.”

"You can't go with this, sweetheart. Your mum won't be happy with me if I let you wear this..."

"But it's a party, mommy! Mum is making a cake because it's a party."

"Yes, but it's not a costume party." Leah shook her head and went to the wardrobe to find another outfit to convince her daughter.

"But I want to wear this!" Liv clung to her costume, her eyes welling up with tears instantly.

And when Leah turned around, she knew she had made a big mistake. Liv and you had the same eyes, and the truth was she was weak against both of those gazes... Perhaps it was worth facing you being mad at her to prevent your daughter from crying over a silly costume.

The twenty minutes you had given Leah had already passed a while ago. You had already finished the cake; everything was ready and in the car now, all that was left was for Leah and Olivia to come down. You were still a bit annoyed that Leah had forgotten to do the one thing you had asked of her, of course, it was an important match for her, and you understood that she got distracted, but it was just one thing she had to do while you had taken care of everything else.

"Leah! We're going to be late!" you shouted from the first step of the stairs, holding the car keys in your hand, ready to go.

"I'm coming!" you heard Leah and her steps around the second floor. And when she appeared on the stairs a few seconds later in a simple outfit, not quite formal enough, all you could do was smile because she looked beautiful as always. "Please don't be mad," she murmured as she reached you, taking the car keys from your hand and leaving the house before you saw Olivia.

With that gesture from your wife, you knew that something had happened, so you weren't surprised to see your daughter coming down the stairs in her costume, with a big smile on her face. At least Leah had taken the time to do her hair.

"Wow, I thought I wouldn't see this little monster anymore." you said, taking her in your arms and giving her a few kisses on her cheeks until Liv laughed and pushed you away with her hands on your face. And like when you had seen Leah in her outfit, you couldn't bring yourself to be upset that Olivia wasn't wearing what you and Leah had agreed on because she looked completely adorable in her little costume.

"Do you like it, mum?" Liv asked, trying to adjust her costume, which had moved with your attack of kisses. You couldn't say that you loved it, but after all, it was a dinner with friends, and you were sure that when you arrived at Beth's, all the girls would be all over your daughter.

"I love it, darling."

The car journey was quiet, not because you were still upset with Leah – although you were still annoyed, but now it wasn't for the same reason as before or because of Liv's costume. You were mad at her because as soon as you got in the car, Leah blamed you for missing the end of the Arsenal match, where they lost in the last minute. Was that your fault? Clearly not. In fact, if Leah had done what you asked her to do during halftime, she could have watched the entire second half without interruptions.

Leah didn't usually get upset if her favourite team lost a match, or at least she didn't show it to you, but this time Arsenal had lost the top of the table and she had missed the most crucial minutes of the match that everyone would be talking about all week.

But that wasn't your fault.

"I'll help you, darling." You told your daughter as soon as Leah parked outside Beth's house. It was a blessing that Olivia hadn't figured out how to unbuckle her seatbelt yet, so Leah usually took care of that, but now you offered to do it just to get out of the car.

Leah didn't say anything, she just gripped the steering wheel to hold back the anger she felt towards herself for being such an idiot and taking it out on you when you had nothing to do with it. She didn't get out of the car until she saw you ringing the doorbell.

Leah didn't want to ruin her friends' celebration, and she knew you didn't either, so she just had to pretend that everything was perfectly fine, something you and her had done more than once during all the years that you had been together.

It was a simple task, and when Leah placed her hand on your waist and you didn't move away, she knew you had the same idea in mind.

"Oh, I didn't know we had a little monster as a guest." Beth said when she saw the three of you outside her house.

"Hiii" Olivia approached Beth, who had crouched down to give her a hug.

"I couldn't convince her to wear something else." Leah said, laughing a bit while still holding you by your waist.

"That's why mum is mad at mommy." Olivia blurted out, not intending to reveal her mothers' actions, but she was a child, and that's something kids tended to do.

"Huh?" Beth raised an eyebrow with a hint of curiosity.

"That's not true, Beth." you said, trying to downplay the situation your daughter had brought up. "Why don't we go inside? It's a bit cold out here."

"Yeah, of course... sorry. The girls are already inside." Beth said and stepped aside to let you and Liv enter, blocking Leah from passing. "What did you do to upset your wife?" she murmured, ensuring you couldn't hear her words.

"Nothing, I was just being an idiot, but don't worry, I'll fix it."

Just as you had thought, all the girls were around Olivia as soon as they saw her. Many of them had known her since she was a baby, so Liv felt attached to each one of them.

"I think she gets more adorable every day," Beth appeared by your side, watching the girls sitting on the floor playing with your daughter. "I thought that costume had disappeared, or at least that's what Leah had told me."

"Well, she found it," you murmured, still smiling. Seeing your daughter surrounded by people who loved her made you happy.

"So... what happened with Leah?" Beth asked, pretending to sound disinterest. "She's been in the kitchen for half an hour, as if she's punishing herself."

"I know Leah is your friend, but that doesn't stop her from acting like an idiot sometimes."

"Oh... believe me, I know how much of an idiot she can be. But I think she's more than sorry for whatever she said." You chose to not say anything; you'd think about it once you got home. "Look y/n, you know I don't like to interfere in other people's relationships, but I think it's unfair that Leah is stuck in the kitchen missing out on moments like these."

"I didn't send her to lock herself in, Beth."

"I know, but you know how Leah is, she tends to punish herself and deprive herself of these things when she feels she had made a mistake," Beth sighed. "I've known you since the beginning of your relationship, I've been there for every one of your fights, and I know that at the end of the day you'll forgive each other as always, so why not do it now?"

You contemplated Beth's words for a moment. She was right. You knew that when you got home, Leah would apologize and try to make things right, and you would forgive her before going to bed, so you could avoid the suffering that would last a few more hours.

"We both know Leah adores these moments. She may have been an idiot by messing with you when you had nothing to do with it, but she doesn't deserve to miss this."

"Fine." you said, shaking your head. "You stay in charge of my daughter until I get back, and please don't give her any more sweets. I don't want to deal with a sugar rush when I get home."

"No promises."

Beth was right, Leah was in a corner of the kitchen as if someone had punished.

"Hey" as soon as Leah heard your voice, she looked up from her phone and straightened her posture.

"Did something happen? Where's Liv?" she quickly asked, thinking the only reason you'd talk to her was about something related to your daughter.

"She's playing with the girls," you replied and approached her, resting your head on her shoulder, an action that made Leah stiffen, too afraid to move. "You know I'm not upset about the costume, right?"

"Yes... deep down, I knew you wouldn't be bothered by that," she murmured, daring to put her arm around your back to make sure you wouldn't leave. "You're upset about what I said in the car... I was a complete idiot."

"Exactly, you were an idiot. You acted like a straight man, you know?" you said, smiling a bit.

"Wow, I think I've never been insulted like that." she said, looking at the floor with shame. "I was really that bad?"

"Leah, you said that Arsenal lost because of me." you rolled your eyes, trying to move away from Leah's body when the anger returned at the memory of her words. But you didn't take more than two steps before Leah grabbed you by the waist and turned you to face her.

"I'm really sorry. I know it's not an excuse, but I was stressed because we were running late, and I couldn't find something to wear, and the Liv's costume... my emotions got mixed up, and I did something that wasn't right, so I'm sorry," she said sincerely, never breaking the eye contact.

"That doesn't change the fact that you're an idiot," you replied, and before Leah could defend herself, you placed your lips on hers. "If you make a scene over a silly football game again, I'll kick you out of the house and tell your mother. Do you hear me? And we both know she won't be happy." you said as you pulled away from her lips, but you kept pointing at her with your index finger.

"Of course love, whatever you say," she kissed you again. It wasn't an intense kiss, but you could feel how much Leah wanted to express to you in it because she kept holding you by your waist to prevent you from pulling away.

"Yuck!" Olivia exclaimed, frowning when she entered the kitchen followed by Beth.

"Indeed... yuck." Beth laughed as she saw you with flushed cheeks and the huge smile on Leah's face.

"Shut up, Beth," Leah laughed, approaching your daughter. "And you, little monster, I think you've had too many sweets while we weren't there."

Olivia shook her head, but the blue all over her mouth gave her away. "I haven't eaten anything, mommy."

"Sure." Leah rolled her eyes and picked up your daughter. "Come on, let's go find Viv so we can play for a bit."

When your wife and your daughter left the kitchen, Beth approached you with a smile on her face. "I was right then?"

"Shut up, Beth."

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson imagine

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celenawrites · 6 months

Text

late night drive (m.)

Summary -

After a stressful work day, you spend the night with two handsome men.

Pairing -

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x F! Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Warnings -

Explicit smut (18+ only), slight praise, usage of nicknames (good girl, sweet girl, lass, etc), Oral sex (F, M receiving), Reader has self-esteem issues and it shows heavily, slight angst.

w.c. - 6.5k

masterlist || ao3 vers.

MINORS DNI, or I'll bite your ankles. This stuff is for adults only. 18+ folks only.

You have met them both at a seedy bar set a little off to the left from the heart of the city.

Johnny and Simon. You remember them sitting at the bar, glasses half-filled with Kentucky bourbon, faint murmurs of their conversation flowing like a gentle stream between them and their hands tenderly drawing mindless shapes on their scarred skins. (as if they were writing their soft declarations of love with their fingers on each other, invisible to the eye and yet etched into their souls.)

You are uncertain how you caught their eye. You are not sure if there is something in you that they had caught in a passing glance, and decided to open their hearts (and their beds) to you for this one night as a result.

You had been there after bombing another promising job interview, pissed at your failed potential (you were an A plus student - honors call and all, until you weren’t anymore) and the dead-end job of yours that had you feeling miserable for the past three or so years. It didn’t help that any time you fiddled with your phone, you’d be bombarded with pictures of your schoolmates and college friends marrying, or going on vacations and having a family of their own - growing older with someone, anyone; their lives full and moving and vibrant with colors that usually hurt your eyes.

Meanwhile, you are just living.

A day at a time. A week at a time.

Day to day to day has always been the same. You wake up, work, cook and clean for one and you indulge in past hobbies in order to capture the joy that has somehow slipped past your fingers the older you grew. You have no furry companions you can use as an excuse to go out on a walk, no lovers to send raunchy texts to, and no friends who would abandon their children and husbands to give you company while you wallow in your eternal misery as you drink your pain away with a beer bottle with condensation settling down on its neck, leaving your palms wet and slippery.

You don’t even try to think about your family.

So there you are, an untouched glass of pink gin kept in front of you and your hands nervously raking through your oiled hair and your rumpled work outfit (a sky blue blouse paired with black pencil skirt) ostracized you further from the patrons of the bar. And then you’re approached by Johnny who eyes your colorful drink with mild interest.

Johnny with his wild mohawk and kind brown eyes and kissable lips - who wondered out loud what a pretty little lady like you was doing in a place like this (you almost snorted derisively at the casual compliment, but the fatigue had you more amenable to flattery) and then he asked you about your disheveled state, and you tell him that everyone with a job feels like this on a usually busy weekday. He nods like he understands you, and then he invites you to join him and his boyfriend for some drinks.

Who are you to refuse free drinks and such handsome company?

The conversation is freeing in a way that it allows your mind to forget that the world exists outside of this temporary, delicate bubble that consists of you, Johnny and Simon. Johnny fills the space with his warm voice, enveloping you in comfort and safety as he talks about anything and everything - he tells you that both of them are in the Army (But none of them would budge to answer any questions of yours. “If I answered that, I’d have to kill you”, he joked, but his hardened gaze told you that there is some truth to it.You decided to not let your curiosity guide you anymore.), the football game on the television hung up on the wall, the movie that came out last week, the bourbon they have been nursing for the past half hour or so (“Simon only likes it when it’s Kentucky”, he says and you understand the need for some delicacies of this life staying the same, no matter what.), and then he asks you if you’d like to eat something.

You and Johnny share a plate of cheese fries.

The fries are oversalted(the perfect drunk food, but unfortunately you haven’t even worked up a buzz with your neglected drink), and the cheese is too gooey for you to not eat without getting your hands messy. You cringe at the stickiness, and Johnny laughs at your predicament and you wonder if it is possible for radiant, burning stars to be born as mortals.

His boyfriend, Simon, does not join you in eating the food.

His face is covered by a black surgical mask, and he is mostly quiet - letting his more jubilant counterpart lead the conversation. But conversation lulls between satiating your hunger and Johnny encouraging you to drink from his glass. (“Try it, bonnie. Real booze hits different”, he offers hospitably, and then he chuckles as you sputter and choke at the liquid burning your throat. At least he’s kind enough to pat your back, and then he orders a tall glass of water for your poor throat.)

Simon shakes as he dryly chuckles at the antics of his partner, and you feel heat travel down your stomach at how rough and rich his voice sounds. You find it oddly comforting against the commotion of the busy bar tonight.

After you made a fool out of yourself, the masked man (with his dirty blonde hair and white scars that ran all over his face, only for half of it to be hidden by his black surgical face mask) is much more receptive to having a conversation with you. He seldom talks, but he doesn’t shy away from cracking a dark joke or two that almost make you choke on your own spit. His eyes are dark and intense, and sometimes when your own gaze meets his own, you find it almost impossible to look away from him - afraid that the moment you do, you’d find yourself alone and miserable at the bar again.

There seems to be a pleasant silence settling between you three, and with a warm face and heavy limbs, you lean into the warm hand that cradles the small of your back and let it gently spell something illegible yet almost affectionate into your skin, the fabric of the blouse acting as a poor guard between your sensitive body and the touch you were not aware you craved until now.

You look on with heavy eyes as the couple has a secret conversation between them with their eyes alone. Warm, lovely eyes that were scattered across the different spectrum of shades of brown. Eyes that pierced you and stripped you naked until you were nothing more than your deepest yearnings and fears. Eyes that carried a never-ending love for each other, and each other alone.

They talk in furtive glances, and all you can do is give up on deciphering their language and let yourself enjoy the circles being drawn onto your back by Johnny’s teasing fingers. (You possibly cannot expect to unfurl all of that history and love between them just because you get to be a part of it for a few hours, can you now?)

After they have made a decision and with a nod of mutual acceptance, Johnny turns back to you and you straighten up due to the sudden attention. He looks at you with something akin to desire, and you can only feel your mouth turn dry as he asks you:

“Wanna get out of here?”

They hail a taxi for the three of you.

Johnny is curious and impatient with his hands as he fondles you and leaves fluttering kisses up your neck. You should be mortified; getting frisky with a man you have known for only a few hours, in a taxi no less. But the attention makes it easier to swallow the humiliation that tries to consume your thoughts. Your back is pressed up against Simon’s side, who is all the more satisfied with watching his boyfriend paw at you like a cat fascinated with his new toy. You tilt your head back, and curse out when Johnny’s lips touch a spot that makes your knees buckle. And then you feel a hand engulf your throat, squeezing you gently and you think you might as well just forget to breathe all together.

“Such a pretty girl”, Simon whispers against the shell of your ear, and you are glad that the only source of light on your way to their place are the shitty streetlights, because you cannot school your expression into one of indifference. (You like the praise a little too much.You like it out of Simon’s mouth even more.)

After what seems like an eternity of being teased and taunted by sweet words and lazy actions, the taxi finally comes to a stop and you send out a prayer to any deity out there who might be awake at this odd hour and willing to lend you an ear, because you’re sure that this night will leave you ruined.

You get out of the vehicle on wobbly knees and Johnny is all the more willing to support you while he guides you to the apartment complex where he and Simon currently reside. Simon throws the crumpled bills on the lap of the driver, along with a generous tip for putting up with his frisky lover and the sweet girl they have taken home and for not kicking them out in the middle of nowhere late at night. Simon joins you both in the elevator, and Johnny is all the more eager to pin you against him and finally kisses you on the lips.

You moan into the kiss, your hands finally tugging on his mohawk and bringing you closer and closer to his body. (Not close enough, your body screams. Never close enough, it screams again.) His hands are all the more eager to explore every soft curve of you; restless fingers groping your breasts and making you arch into him even more.

“Fuck, bonnie.Yer so soft”, he remarks after breaking the kiss, and you can only pant at how breathless one kiss from this man had left you. You can only wonder what more he’s capable of making you feel.

You are turned around to face Simon, who looks at your crumpled blouse and your messy hair and the neediness that drips from your eyes and your swollen lips. He holds your chin and tilts it to look at him, before commanding you, “Open up, sweetheart”.

You comply without any complaints, wanting nothing more than to obey the masked man.

You open your mouth, letting your pink tongue tease your parched lips as you wet them and he pries your mouth open wider with a firm hand on your jaw. His dark eyes look down on you, and you feel as if you’re going to be sacrificed and all you can hope is that he likes the offering you have in store for him. (You you you, you offer him all of you.)

“Suck on it”, he orders and you swallow the thumb he offers you - letting you soothe your oral fixation while you impatiently resist the urge to tap your foot against the floor as you wait for the elevator to finish its ascent.

You twirl your tongue around it, wetting the finger in your mouth before you let it out with a resounding ‘pop’, a thin string of saliva connecting your soft lips and the thumb. Your eyes look up at him in reverence, pleading with him to reward you for your good behavior.

“Fuckin’ hell”, he rasps out, and he almost leans forward, almost closes the distance between you both when the elevator lets out a ring and stops on the designated floor.

Through drunk giggles and impaired body coordination, you follow the men as they lead you to their apartment. The moment the door closes behind them (locked carefully by Simon, while Johnny guides you inside), they’re back onto you - clinging to your body like you’re the anchor that grounds them in the storm of life.

And it feels nice to be needed like that, if only for a moment.

You’re on your knees on the floor as you wait for Simon to do something.

You are naked - your clothes peeled off from your body after Simon unzipped it for you and Johnny had been all the more eager to palm your breasts in his hands - warm and calloused and greedy for more.

Your blouse is discarded somewhere on the floor long forgotten.

(“Lovely tits”, Johnny had groaned as he had undressed you, and you thanked yourself for wearing a somewhat decent bra today. )

You sit waiting - a paragon of virtue and patience as you look up at the men who would be ultimately ruining you tonight. They talk in eyes again, and you feel a pang of irritation at your inability to decipher all that is said between them with just a single look.

Your arms are folded across your chest - a decision you had swiftly taken after feeling a wave of self-consciousness hit you in full force. You can feel your ankles getting numb at the posture - the pins and prickles forcing you to momentarily shift your weight from the ball of your feet to your knees, taking the lack of notice from either men as an incentive to ensure you don’t end up with numb legs while you wait for them to finish whatever secretive talk they are having without words.

Simon turns towards you and notices you struggling on your knees, and then he reaches for one of the pillows scattered near the headboard of their Californian-sized bed. He asks you gently, “Get up from the floor, lovie”, and you do, wincing as you feel the blood circulation return to your sore feet. He puts the pillow on the ground near your feet, bending down to fluff it up a bit for your disposal. You thank him for the considerate action, before assuming your position below him again - the pillow cushioning your knees and providing you much needed relief from the hard marble floor.

“Look at me, lovie”, he commands and you follow him eagerly, tilting your head up to meet his dark eyes. He looks godly, hovering above you like an ethereal deity - his scarred hands and intimidating gait only gives your body the incentive to feel the thrum of desire in your bloodstream as it flows south, making you ready for him.

For both of them.

“A little help here, Johnny?” he beckons and the other man stands in front of Simon, shielding your view of him with his back as he helps the masked man take off his shirt, and if the muffled groans are anything to go by - they’re both kissing and you cannot even see Simon’s face. After a moment, he unzips his pants and lets the garment fall down to his ankles - leaving him in nothing but a dark pair of boxer briefs.

Johnny falls down to his knees in front of him and Simon has his mask back on. Kneeling below him, he uses his mouth on his clothed cock, peppering him with soft kisses filled with drool and lust. Simon groans above him, letting his fingers card through the man’s mohawk as he encourages him with throaty noises to continue his actions. Eager to feel all of him, Johnny slides his thumbs into the band of his briefs as he slowly slides down the garment from his hips, letting it pool around his ankles as well. From where you’re seated, you can see how thick Simon is, and you cannot help the way your mouth waters at the idea of being used by him.

You snap out of your thoughts when Simon pulls Johnny onto his feet by his mohawk, forcing him to bare his neck to the taller man and you swear you can hear him whimper when Simon catches his throat with his other hand before giving it a light squeeze.

The sight before you is nothing short of heavenly.

“Eager, are we?” he taunts him, taking his breath away with just a squeeze of his fingers and he lets out a throaty hum as he eyes up his partner, noticing the semi he’s been sporting in his jeans ever since he got a taste of you.

“But it’s her turn”, he motions to you and you straighten your back as both men look back at you.

“C’mere love”, he calls out to you, and you get down to your hands and knees, willing to crawl to him if that is what it will take for him to let you touch him, feel him under your fingertips.

He shakes his head, stopping you in your tracks.

“No, bring that pillow with you too”, he orders you, “Don’t want your knees to get sore now, do we?”

You feel his hands pull at your hair gently as he brings out his still hard cock out of the confines of your soft mouth. Your lips are sheen with spit and pre-cum and the running makeup paints a debauched picture of you before these men.

So perfect. So ruined. And all theirs for the night.

You look up at him with teary eyes and longing and Simon is almost tempted to allow you to keep going, to let himself finish in your warm, soft mouth. But he has quite a night planned for the both of you(You and Johnny, Johnny and you - consuming his thoughts and mind and even his heart.), and he’d rather not finish in a handful of pumps before you.

“Don’t pout at me, pretty girl”, he chides you playfully, his chest heaving as he takes in deep breaths to soothe the fire in his lungs that you have invoked within him.

You whine noncommittally, eyes focused on him and only him - and it almost shakes him to his core how much he likes having your attention all for himself. (Greedy, greedy, greedy, greedy, greedy, greedy, greedy-)

“Gotta get you ready for the both of us, yeah?” you nod eagerly at his statement, and then you feel a pair of arms around your waist lift you up in the air and you shriek as you’re thrown on the soft mattress, bouncing lightly at the impact as your head falls back on the bed.

“Johnny!” you scream out in surprise, almost tempted to scold him for scaring you but his calloused fingers trace your curves and they tickle your skin that makes it hard for you to control yourself. You let out a soft giggle as the man hovers above you, letting his hands map out every little scar, every little mole, every little mark on your soft skin.

He grins at you, before bending down and taking your lips in a soft kiss - growling a little as he tastes Simon on your lips. Pulling away, he looks down on you again as he cages you between his arms.

“Hi there, bonnie," he whispers breathlessly.

“Hi there, handsome”, you whisper earnestly, before turning your head to the side and kissing the inside of his wrist.

“Johnny will help you get ready. Won’t you, Johnny?” Simon asks, and Johnny groans as he lowers himself down over your body till his eyes line up with the hem of your soft black panties. You exhale soundly in anticipation, propping yourself onto your elbows so your head is up and your eyes gaze into Johnny’s warm brown pupils. You let out an audible exhale when you feel his hands grab the meat of your inner thigh, before he leaves a tender kiss on it, letting out his tongue to taste your skin. Your head falls back on the pillow below you, and your hands find purchase in the luscious locks of his mohawk as Johnny lets his tongue rile you up by licking and kissing every inch of your exposed skin, avoiding where you needed him the most on purpose.

“So sweet”, his teeth lightly bite the meat of your inner thigh, and you wince at the pain before whimpering.

“So pretty”, his fingers play with the flimsy fabric covering your cunt, slowly tugging them to the side and revealing how needy you are for him. For both of them.

“Johnny, please”, you beg him so sweetly with your fingers tugging on his hair, that he finally gives in to your demands with no further ado.

It isn’t long until Johnny is fucking you with all he has.

You have your face buried sideways into the pillow and a leg propped up on his strong shoulder, the position offering him a chance to fuck you deeper that your fingers or any half-hearted partner ever has.

The pillow is wet from the sweat and spit and tears it has soaked up from you, and you bite the fluff of it, trying your best to mute your incomprehensive noises down - lest the nice couple fucking you right now get a noise complaint from their neighbours tomorrow - but to no avail.

It’s like Johnny is on a personal quest to make you scream for everyone to hear.

It also helps that Simon has taken it upon himself to fuck his boyfriend dumb, and what a sight it must be - Johnny fucking into you desperately and letting Simon control the rhythm of his hips as he fucks into him. You’d beckon that he probably has his tongue out - no man can survive fucking someone and getting fucked at the same time without letting it dumb him down like a mutt in heat.

Too bad the room is pitch black for you to witness the filthy sight.

At least the dark room allows Simon to take off his mask, even though it stings to know that you may never know the man behind the mask - may never remember the man who is giving you the best night of your life before you return back to your mundane life of spreadsheets, burnt coffee in styrofoam cups and manila folders the next morning.

You feel your legs shake - the lethal amalgamation of pleasure and exhaustion coating your bones as you feel Johnny hit the spongy spot deep in you that makes you keel and beg into the mattress for the much overdue orgasm that has been building up inside you for the better part of the hour.

He bends down, letting his tongue lick your neck and his sharp incisors drag over the taut skin as he mumbles about how pretty you sound when you’re fucked dumb. None of that matters to you right now, not when you’re this close to relief - but Johnny doesn’t oblige; either too dumbed down just like you to understand what you need, or denying you what you need on purpose - which is probably the cruelest thing he could fucking do to you tonight.

You feel another pair of fingers slide up your thighs before said fingers finally map out your swollen clit amongst the mess of sweat and limbs and Simon uses his calloused fingertips to gently rub you until you’re crying and arching your back before you slide down back into the bed, your limbs sagging with relief as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Fuck, bonnie”, you hear Johnny grunt out, feel him fuck you rougher and feel his hands grope your breasts roughly, but you’re far away now - floating away in a strange, hazy headspace as you hear his groans before his hips finally stutter to a close and then he slumps forward, letting the brunt of his weight fall down on you.

Simon follows him soon after, slowly pulling out from his partner with a soft ‘Fuck’.

You whine at the impact, pushing at his shoulders weakly as you urge him to get his weight off from your sore body. You sighed out when he eventually obliged, letting himself fall into bed beside you, his fingers gently playing with your messy hair. You feel his stubble tickle your face as he lands a soft kiss against your jaw, “You were so good for us, lass”.

You preen at the praise, letting his soft words and touch comfort you as you slowly feel yourself regain control of your body and your mind, already missing how you felt just a moment ago.

You can hear the running faucet in the bathroom next door, and listen to the doors creak and soft footfalls before Simon returns to the scene with a wet washcloth. He taps your knee and you part your legs obediently for him - feeling the wet cloth drag over your innermost parts as he wipes you clean before offering you a few face wipes kept near his nightstand, which you take gratefully and you wipe away the smudged makeup, smearing the ruined mascara all over your cheeks. You hear Simon sigh before he gently pries the thin wipe from your hands, taking it upon himself to help you clean up nicely. In the dim moon light peeking through the windows, you notice he has his mask back on, and you feel disappointed at how you haven’t been able to look at him. You feel Johnny’s fingers gently massage your scalp, and the tension in your shoulders leaves you promptly, making you sag into the soft mattress as he coos at you, occasionally kissing your cheeks. It’s almost enough to put you at ease.

It’s not long before the boys clean up after themselves before they join you back in bed. Sandwiched between the two men, you feel exhaustion and the afterglow lull you into a false sense of security - and you almost feel like you’re cared for.

You hadn’t been able to fall asleep, despite your best efforts. Your thoughts have been nothing short of cruel, and you only feel shame creep under your skin the more you think about how this night had transpired.

You have desperately gone home of two stranger men (who are together, no less), sat down on your knees like a desperate whore (and liked it), had gotten naked for them (and let them see all of your curves and rolls and blemishes), and let them fuck you dumb till you almost forgot your damn name.

And now you lie between them, unable to put your mind at ease and sleep away the second thoughts.

Mortification seems to be the least of your worries at the moment.

The worst part seems to be the fact that you wished for nothing more than to prolong the facade of love and gratitude they had for you when they cleaned you up, only for it to be redirected to each other as they checked in on each other with hushed whispers and soft kisses, their intermingled hands serving you a bitter reminder that you cannot overstay your welcome.

It’s them first. And then you.

You are just another body they had invited to warm their bed for the night.

You are quick to wiggle out of the bed, feeling your ears burn in embarrassment as you try your best to locate your discarded clothes on the cold bedroom floor. You find your skirt near the legs of the bed, your cotton panties not far off from there. Your blouse and bra lie near the door, and you’re almost dressed when you hear a light click and see the light of the table lamp illuminate the room in a soft yellow. Johnny blinks, still sluggish from his interrupted sleep as he rubs away the sleep from his eyes, and you stay standing, frozen in your step. You almost feel guilty for waking him up. Were you not quiet enough?

You feel like a child who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar by her mother.

“Yer leavin’?” he asks with a helpless look on his face, and you almost walk back into his arms.

Almost go back to the space they have created for you - between them.

The clock reads a quarter past three when they both offer to drive you home.

It’s not long before Simon wakes up from the commotion. (You turn around and train your eyes on the wall, waiting until you’re certain that his face is covered - having taken the hint that he would not welcome the idea of revealing his identity to you yet.) Soon enough, they’re both asking you why you’re up and leaving and the sincerity in their voices almost convinces you that they want you here.

But you use work as an excuse to go back home, and despite how obvious that lie is, Simon insists on driving you home nonetheless. (You almost turn him down, but Johnny pipes in, “There’s not gonna be a whole lotta cabs for ye to hail. Let us make sure our lady reaches home safe,”, and you feel your walls crumble slightly, feel your very foundation of self-hatred and pity shake at how he addresses you as theirs. As if you’re now a part of them, like they’ve been a part of each other for years.)

They ask you to stay anyway, promising to drop you off to your home first thing in the morning - bribing you with promises of cuddles in your sleep and breakfast in bed; promising you intimacy you’re wholly undeserving of, and you cut them off swiftly as you tell them that you’d rather be at home right now so that you can wake up later and go straight to office - no detours welcomed.

Reluctantly, they comply.

So you let them both escort you out of the apartment building and you stand with Johnny while Simon revs up his car and lets the engine warm up before letting you both sit inside. Johnny naturally assumes his place beside Simon, sitting in the passenger seat and you sit in the backseat. You almost feel apprehensive about telling them your address, but your rattled brain cannot seem to care about it - too tired and strung up to give a shit about ‘stranger danger’.

Simon types out your address on the phone and he soon follows the path - the soft hum of the engine making you succumb to the tiredness you feel and you lie down on your side, the leather seat of the car cushioning your now-throbbing head and you cannot help but close your eyes just for a moment.

After a few minutes, you hear Johnny talk about buying groceries and he asks out loud if his boyfriend would like to add anything to the list. Simon softly replies back with a few additions - whey protein, some bananas, pancake mix, shower gel and a room freshener spray. Johnny mulls over it before recalling some more things they need to buy soon. (“Dusting cloths. Manure. Oh, gotta get some stuff from the hardware store too!” “Don’t forget to get some cereal and protein bars.” “Roger that, Lt.”)

The conversation lulls. And then it begins anew.

Simon asks Johnny if he’d like to have biscuits and gravy for breakfast, and he lets out an almost disappointing groan at his atrocious food choices. (Or so he tells him.) Instead, Johnny suggests they have some hash browns. (“Gotta get that carb in for the long day ahead!” and Simon just chuckles dryly at his reasoning.)

Then, they talk some more - about work and people. About how they’d need to go back to work, and how they’d miss staying home together. About how they should get some cigars for ‘Price’, whoever that may be. About how ‘Gaz’ is vacationing in Italy with his family. About how they should have a vacation the next time they get a break that lasts them more than a week.

They hold hands - at least Johnny does, and he brings his partner’s hand to his face, softly kissing his knuckles, and that is when your curiosity wins over as you open your eyes to witness the sickly sweet scene of two men, two souls being in love. Johnny looks at him like Simon’s his entire universe - and

You shut your eyes quickly, feeling like an outsider between them both.

That’s maybe because you are one, your brain supplies you with this thought rather unkindly and you dig your nails into your palms to distract yourself from it.

The scene oddly enough reminds you of your parents when they were still in love and when you were young and sleeping in the backseat after an exciting evening at the city fair. It is far too domestic and tender for an outsider like you to intrude upon, and so you keep your eyes shut - unwilling to witness them and get your heart broken again.

As their conversation fades to silence again, you bravely open your eyes - squinting in the dark as the only source of light are the street lights outside. You witness Simon with his hand on Johnny’s thigh, his thumb drawing soft circles against the soft cotton of his black joggers. You witness Johnny humming to himself with a satisfied smile on his face as he occasionally looks at Simon with love in his eyes. Pure, unconditional love brimming in his brown, almond eyes. And when you look at Simon, his eyes reflect the same - unfiltered affection and absolute devotion; all these emotions reserved for the love of his life. His only love of his life.

It makes you sick.

Sick with yearning. Sick with the green monster of envy.

You’re so sick with it all.

This time when you close your eyes, you feel a tear drip down your nose as you let the soft whirr of the engine and Johnny’s humming act as the lullaby you needed to hear before you sleep.

You feel someone shake you softly by your shoulder when you come into consciousness.

“Wake up, dove”, you hear Simon call you, “We’re here already”.

You stare up at him as he hovers over you from outside the car. His masked face gives little away about how he’s feeling at the moment, but you feel embarrassed all the same - for intruding upon them and for sleeping in their car as they drove you home half-asleep and still in their pajamas.

You get up and use the back of your hand to wipe away any drool, snot or tears you might’ve let out while you were out like a light in the backseat of their car. The opened car door lets in the chilly night wind, and you shiver at the drop in temperature.

“Here, have this”, he offers you a windcheater jacket - and you gratefully take it and zip it up till the collar of the clothing lightly brushes your chin. He extends his hand to you, and you take it - letting his calloused palm warm up your cold fingers as he escorts you out of the vehicle. Once you’re out on the concrete pavement, you notice Johnny leaning against one of the many lamp posts scattered across your street. He’s rubbing his hands for some warmth, and the yellow streetlights act like a halo around his tousled mohawk. He’s angelic.

The steady echo of your footfalls catches his attention, and he turns to look at you with such warmth in his eyes that you falter in your steps for a moment. His kind, blue eyes look at you like you’re the moon - like you’re something familiar and he’s known you forever.

You do not know what to make of it.

“Had a nice sleep, lass?” he asks you casually, and you feel the tip of your ears warm up in embarrassment.

You nod demurely, before responding, “Yeah, I did. I’m so sorry I troubled you with escorting me back home”.

“Don’t apologize”, Simon speaks up as he rests a gentle hand on your left shoulder, before he joins Johnny in standing in front of you. He looks at you with an unreadable look, and you worry that he can see what you don’t wish anyone to notice. That he can tell.

“We had to make sure our bonnie reached her home safe”, Johnny quips, and you feel your resolve crumble just a little bit - his honeyed words coaxing you to hug him and it catches him off guard, just a little. To feel your arms wrap around his body, to feel your heart beat so fast before falling into synch with his

“Thank you”, and you mean it - for taking care of you, for making you forget your shitty office and your shitty job for the night, for driving you back home, for showing you what love is (even though it burnt you from inside to see what they have and know that you’d never have that).

You’re thankful to them for a lot of things.

You’re curled up on your side on the bed as you try to catch some sleep before the sun greets you from between the curtains over your window, but all attempts to go back to sleep fail you.

You almost wish you hadn’t been woken up. You almost wish you were still in their car, letting them drive and talk to each other. You almost wish you hadn’t left their bed - letting their rough hands gently caress her into a peaceful slumber, feeling their love for each other fill her up.

You should’ve at least gotten their number.

It was worth a shot, and if they didn’t want anything to do with you after tonight, you’d have been able to console yourself with the possibility that you won’t have to see them in the future and get taunted by the very notion that you have been all too desperate and all too needy for someone to love you.

But you didn’t, and you caress your own arm with light fingers as you convince yourself that it was all for the best that you hadn’t done anything about it.

This was all for one night. They just needed someone to warm their beds for a night, and you did just that. Wishing for it to be something more is just plain stupid on your part. They’ve loved each other for a lifetime, and you’ve known them for only a night. You cannot fathom carving a place for yourself between Johnny and Simon. Simon and Johnny.

Not without becoming an unwanted third wheel - tolerated by the couple since they’re too courteous to tell you off. Not without becoming a placeholder - a human paperweight until a better man or a better woman comes along to be where they rightfully belong. With them.

So you hug yourself tight with your nails digging into your arm, and gently rock back and forth in the same place on your bed, as you soothe yourself with empty words and tell yourself that what you did was a brave thing - and this was all for the best, even if it makes your chest feel like a hollowed out tree, empty from within.

Note -

Got inspired by the poem - 'After the Threesome, They Both Take You Home' by Sue Hyon Bae cuz it resonated with how I have always been a bystander or a temporary placeholder between friends and couples alike - always fearing that I will never be able to experience love. Started writing this fic fuelled up on my personal thoughts and projections. Then, October came and seasonal depression knocked my ass out. Got back into writing it. Couldn't handle it well, so I rushed the ending. Bon apple tit, y'all. Or whatever the fuck they say in France.

#call of duty #cod:mw2 #cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x soap #soap x reader #soap x you #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #call of duty smut #call of duty angst #call of duty ghost #call of duty soap #call of duty headcanons #ghoap x reader #char.soap #char.simon ghost riley #celena.writes

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semiweirdshipper · 1 month

Text

Slashers as fathers with a (teenage) reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is a young teenager (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART TWO. Hurt/comfort addition.

Folks who wanted to be tagged. @hope4rain19, @minaxcarter, @brooke-stinson, @urminebutidontwantyou, @gaipplrhot, @gyarukitti, @raphydude, @thelxapeia, @ant1d3pre55ant5add1ct, @decentsoupperson, @kawaistrawberry21.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy sighed as he stomped to your room in search of his laptop. You had been in such a rush this morning to get to school that you had accidentally left it in there. And while he always respected your wishes for him to never enter your room, he really needed his laptop. Sacrifices need be made some times.

However, as Freddy wandered into your room, he was met with a sight that literally stole his breath. Your bed was completely littered with folders and painted canvas boards. There was a large portfolio bag laying on the ground with its contents scattered everywhere. Painting and drawing utensils alike sat scattered over a table with a still wet painting taped atop.

Eyes ridiculously wide, Freddy looked around and deeply observed the area. He didn't know you owned any of this stuff. Paintings, oil canvases, drawings and sketches, and all of them were yours. And each piece looked really, really good. Freddy couldn't believe what was happening right now.

He thought you gave up on art.

Delicately picking up multiple art pieces, a happiness and sense of pride rushed through Freddy's heart, and he found himself grinning big in a mixture of relief and utter joy. You still loved art, and you were so good at it. He hadn't destroyed your passion after all. That being said though... Why would you hide this from him?

Later that day when you came home, Freddy asked you to go to the kitchen. When you went inside, you froze right on the spot. There, scattered all across the kitchen table, were multiple art projects of yours.

"Dad..." You choked, your heart racing in fear, your words stolen from you, "I..."

"I needed my laptop and uh... Accidentally found these," Freddy explained, a happy smile covering his face as he went to grab your shoulders, "Sweetie, why would you hide this from-"

"I told you not to go in there." You almost shouted, tears blurring your eyes as you pulled away from him.

"Sweetie," Freddy took a step back, hurt by your defensive attitude.

You went to the table and quickly began to gather up your art work. Freddy chased after you to try and get you to stop, "No, stop it. Don't do that- just-just wait a sec, I-"

"I get it, dad, you hate it. You've always hated my art. You-just... J-just leave me alone. Don't touch it, ok," You avoided eye contact while scurrying to protect your work, "I'll put it away."

"No, that's not what I want. (y/n). (y/n), will you please look at me. Hey," Freddy placed a hand on your shoulder and kept you from stomping off, "(y/n), look at me."

With a tense body and watery eyes, you looked at him, art work clutched to your chest and a glare covering your face.

Freddy sighed and said in earnest, "That's not what I want. Your art, I love it. I think it's beautiful an-and amazing! I-I mean, all this time? Really? I thought you gave up on it, I... I thought that I..."

Relaxing, you lowered your arms and looked him straight in the eyes. It felt like your heart had just done a summersault in your chest. "You... You mean it? You... You really like my art?"

"I love it!" Freddy exclaimed almost too quickly, "I love it so much, you have no idea. You have no idea how happy this makes me, (y/n). I thought that I ruined art for you. I... I never stopped feeling guilty about what I did. And I always hoped that one day you would start again, but..."

"Dad," You bit your lip hard in an attempt not to cry. He cared. He actually cared, and he loved your art. He was happy for you.

"Here," Freddy went to grab an old folder off the table.

Suspicious, you set down your art and went to take the folder. When you opened it, you saw dozens of old, un-crumpled papers with very distinct, familiar drawings on them. It took a minute, but you soon realized that these were the very drawings you had thrown away when you were little.

"You... Kept them?" You gaped at your dad, your heart aching in a happy/sad way.

"Of course I did," Freddy's smile wobbled a bit, "I love you and I love everything you do, and I'm so, so sorry for making you feel bad, f-for making you feel like you had to hide this from me."

Lowering the folder, you felt your lips wobble as your heart clenched in great happiness and relief. All this time you believed your dad hated your passion. He had hurt you so badly, but he regretted it. He had always regretted it, and he loved your work.

In a desperate attempt to hide your tears, you rush up to your dad and give him a big hug. Freddy held you as tightly as he could, his arms fierce and protective as he said, "Don't ever give up on your art, (y/n). No matter what, please. I love you so much."

Michael Myers

Michael had wandered out of the garage a few minutes after your friend's dad dropped you off. "Me and (friend's name) are gonna grab a snack real quick, k dad?" You had hollered while rushing into the house.

Rolling his eyes a bit, Michael approached the other man who casually got out of the car. He was grinning big at you and his own kid, seemingly proud and full of joy. "My god, man," He said mindlessly, smiling at Michael, "I tell ya, that was one hell of a game today. Whoo, and (y/n)? My god, they were great."

Puzzled and confused, Michael could only tilt his head in wonder. Game? What game?

The man shook his head and gave Michael an even more puzzled look than he himself sported, "Hey, how come I never see you at any of their games? Rough job or something?"

Michael's silence and confused expression urged the man to explain more.

"You know, the (sport) game? Just had one today- what a show I tell ya. But, I just- I never see you there, you know?"

At that, Michael's eyes went unspeakably wide. (sport)? You were playing (sport)? What? For how long? Why didn't he know about this? He thought you quit playing that when you were little. What was going on?

A week later and Michael was sitting amongst the crowd that was watching your (sport) game. You didn't know he was there. You didn't even know that he knew all your secrets like the fact that you had been playing (sport) for years, how you had won two trophies, the fact that this is where you spent most of your time at, and so on and so forth.

While watching the game, Michael couldn't help but to feel a deep sense of pride, relief and great joy at seeing how passionately you played and how much fun you were having. And you were so talented at it. The other team didn't stand a chance. You had grown so much since you were little. To this day his own actions still haunted him.

He hurt you. He 'scarred' you. And, although you continued doing what you loved, you had still felt the need to hide it from him, for years. He did that. He had made you feel so anxious and insecure that you felt the need to hide your greatest passion from him.

What kind of father does that to their child?

Unsurprisingly, your team won the game, and Michael couldn't be more proud or excited. Once the crowd and commotion calmed down, he patiently waited on you to exit the changing rooms. The way you hid yourself...

Michael gazed around at all the happy families congratulating and/or comforting their kids. It crushed his heart thinking about the sheer loneliness you expressed after the game ended and you had no one to celebrate with aside from your team mates.

When you came out of the changing room, Michael straightened his posture and faced you. It took you a minute, but eventually you looked up, saw him, and froze. A gasp escaped your mouth while your backpack fell from your shoulder to your shaken hand.

Michael's chest ached at the sight of your frightened, horrified face as you frantically looked around as if for an escape. Quickly he approached you and said in sign language, "That was a good game."

"Dad," You stepped away from him, panicked, "I-it's not what you think-I... I-I was just-I'm..."

You were scared, Michael realized, guilt beating on him like a hundred hammers. He waved his hand at you to get your attention, "Why didn't you tell me you were playing (sport)?"

"I..." You stare at him in great panic that melted into sadness and fear. You dropped your backpack and covered your face, saying brokenly, "I'm sorry, dad. I... I didn't mean to. Don't be mad, please, I-I... I'll stop playing it."

What? Micheal rushed to you and went to gently pull your hands away from your flushed face. What had he done? "No, I'm not mad. Please stop panicking. I'm not mad. Not at all."

Confused, you look at him through tear colored vision.

"I just found out you were playing (sport). You even have trophies. (y/n), why did you keep this from me?"

"Because," You winced, "You said I wasn't good at it. You... You hate me for it. I... I just wanted to be happy. I... I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't believe how upset you were, and all because he found out that you were doing what you loved. Marching up to you, Michael pulled you into a big hug that lasted for several minutes. When he noticed you calm down, he moved back a bit and explained.

"I was an idiot back then. I never should have said those things to you, (y/n). I've always felt bad for how I made you feel. You're not bad at (sport) and I never wanted you to stop playing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way."

You were shocked speechless, so Michael pulled you into another hug. You hugged back, relieved. He wasn't mad at you. He apologized. Everything was going to be alright.

Bo Sinclair

Bo lived in a very, very small town. Everyone knew each other and every piece of information that existed on the surface. Rumors spread and gossip filled the air like pollen. So it didn't take very long for Bo to learn that you had been practicing engineering with the car shop just down the road.

At first Bo had been ecstatic. You were still interested in engineering? He thought you didn't want to do that anymore; you said so yourself. Ever since the incident when you were little, you hadn't helped him with anything physically constructive- not even stuff as simple as hanging a picture on the wall.

Pretty much everyone praised you and said that you were doing a tremendous job. Your skill towards fixing vehicles was a natural, golden talent. You were an impressive, fast learner and everyone loved and appreciated you.

But when Bo tried to approach you about this exciting news, he was confused to hear you deny all of it. You shut his exclamations off and said that the towns people were lying. You claimed to have nothing to do with engineering. Yes, you hung around the car shop, but nothing was going on, you were just bored.

Bo didn't understand it. Why would you lie to him about this? He knew that the towns people weren't making this up- just ask the guy who took a picture of you and your buddies covered in grease while working on a truck engine. You looked so happy. Why was that something to lie about?

For the life of him, Bo could not figure out what was going on with you. Obviously you were lying to him, but he couldn't get you to explain why. It was as if you were completely and utterly avoiding him now, and it was driving him crazy.

So Bo reached out for help.

"Well," Your engineering teacher said in a tense tone, "I talked to em an' they said it's 'cause they don't wanna make ya mad."

"Huh?" Bo shook his head in exaggeration. What did that even mean?

Your teacher gave him a wearisome look, "I think they're afraid you're gonna blow a gasket on em if they do somethin' wrong. I take it that... you got a short temp?"

At that question, Bo was immediately rushed with memories of the past, and he found himself feeling overwhelmed with guilt and dread. That time he got mad at you when you were little, you didn't just give up on engineering. You gave up on everything that had to do with him. Was this why? Because you were afraid that he would get mad at you if you messed up or made a mistake?

You were afraid of his temper.

Coming to realization, Bo spent quite a while trying to figure out how he should approach you. He wasn't the best at emotions or having deep conversations. If he tried to explain himself he feared he would just say something stupid and cause you to be more upset with him.

So he waited for the perfect moment.

A couple weeks later, Bo dragged you to his shop to show you something that caused your mouth to fall open in awe. "Ram 3500, 2018. An' look at'er license plate."

Gasping the name of the state the enormous truck was from, you faced your dad with absolute excitement and disbelief, "Why's it here?"

"Ah, a little transmission trouble on the road," Bo smiled and slung an arm around your shoulder, "Nice huh? She's a beauty. Needs lotta' work, fast, an' I want 'you' to help me."

"What?" Your behavior changed drastically, "Dad-"

"Look, I've already heard all the gossip. I've seen ya work at the shop. I know you know what you're doin', (y/n)," Bo went to stand in front of you. "But what I don't understand is why ya don't wanna work with me."

"It's not... I just..." You sighed and looked at the ground, lost on what to say. A pain filled your chest as you admitted quietly, "I ain't perfect, dad, I... I make mistakes."

"And?" Bo pushed for a better answer.

His impatience and lack of understanding made you snap, "An' you can't handle that. Every time I mess up even the tiniest bit, you get mad at me. What do you expect me to do, huh? I'm only (age)."

Going silent, Bo relaxed upon learning what exactly your insecurity was. You were avoiding him because you were afraid of him getting mad at you for making mistakes. He did this. He put this fear in you, made you this way. And because of that, you were both teetering on the edge of complete life separation.

"(y/n)," Bo reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Your entire body froze.

"I... never meant to make ya feel this way. I know ya ain't perfect. You're still learnin' an' you've got a long ways to go, but... I wanna be there for you, (y/n). I wanna help you. I wanna watch ya grow, an' I can't do that if ya ain't around... I'm better than I used to be. So if you mess up, I ain't gettin' mad. I'm helping you, because that's what fathers do."

Shot by your dad's moving words, you find yourself staring at him for a long moment before a large smile bloomed across your face. "Right dad," You say, "Let's take a look at her."

With his heart skipping over the moon, Bo grinned and thanked the very stars themselves for this moment, and he lead you to your first shared project since you were a mere, little kid.

Hannibal Lecter

One night Hannibal got bored and lonely and decided to go to Will's house which was where you liked to spend lots of time at. He didn't mind you staying with Will, but some times he himself felt a little bit left out.

When he arrived at Will's house, he quietly made way up the stairs of the porch and temporarily paused just outside of the window. Casually peeking in, Hannibal spotted Will sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper while you stood in front of the stove in the kitchen. Your sleeves were clumsily rolled up and you had a apron on.

The motions of your arms and the state of the kitchen did not lie. You were cooking. You were quite literally cooking food right in front of him. Hannibal couldn't help but to release a small shudder of mixed emotions. It had been years since he last saw you cook- years since he demolished your feelings and forced you away from the passion you both once shared.

To see you cooking now? It made Hannibal erupt with questions and emotions. How long had this been going on? What were you cooking? Why were you cooking? How come he didn't know? Were you happy? Was this why you always spent so much time with Will?

Speaking oh whom, Hannibal watched as you handed out a spoon to which Will stood up to receive. Taking a taste of the spoon, Will made a bright face and reached out for a container of spice. You smiled, laughed and nodded, happily going to add some of the recommended spice to your dish.

Grinning, Hannibal couldn't help but to feel great pride. So, you could handle personal opinions and constructive criticism? What an astounding chef you turned out to be, and you looked so happy too.

Regaining his composure, Hannibal straightened his hair and went to knock on the door.

It took over five minutes for Will to answer.

By that time, things had grown to be rather chaotic. Now only did Will claim that you had gone to bed, but that he also was the one responsible for the late night meal.

Hannibal knew better though.

Whilst you pretended to sleep in the guest bedroom, Will and Hannibal stood in the kitchen gazing around at all your hard work.

"They told me what happened when they were little," Will said, a disappointed look on his face, "How could you say that to them, doc?"

Hannibal stared down at your unfinished dish, his heart clenching in memory of the past. "I spoke out of impulse. I didn't mean to cause them this much insecurity." To think you would go out of your way to lie to him. "How long has this affair been going on?"

"I don't know. Few years?" Will shrugged, "I was cooking macaroni one day, they asked to help and... The ship set sail, I guess."

"You reignited their flame," Hannibal huffed and smiled, "I'm grateful."

"Ever thought about apologizing?" Will asked.

"I have," Hannibal said softly, "However, they refuse to have anything to do with cooking."

"You told them that they were a horrible cook and a waste of time in the kitchen. What did you expect would happen?"

Hannibal bowed his head in shame. He hurt you, more than he had ever imagined. After all these years he believed that you had moved on and found different passions, but instead you clung to cooking and desperately sought hiding it from him because of fear. What kind of father was he to do that to you?

The next morning after the drive home, Hannibal kept you in the car to say, "(y/n). I know it was you who cooked at Wills the other night. I saw."

Having been dreading this exact conversation, you flushed darkly and turned your head away in great shame, sadness and fear. "I'm sorry."

"Please do not apologize," Hannibal cursed at himself for how anxious he made you feel, "I am more grateful than you could ever know."

That stirred a confused reaction from you.

"(y/n), you do not have to accept my apology, but I want you to promise me that you will continue to do what you enjoy, especially if it is cooking." Hannibal looked to you hopefully. "Seeing how happy you were... You have no idea how much joy it brought me. I thought I had destroyed your passion, but..."

Now completely facing your dad, your mouth was agape and your heart pounding furiously with emotions.

"I've always regretted what I said to you that day. It was rude and improper, and most certainly untrue. You are an astounding cook and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but, even if you do not wish to forgive me, I hope that you will always continue to do what you love."

Looking at your dad with watery eyes, you blinked and fought for the right words to respond with. All these years you had been terrified of your dad's wrath and disapproval when it came to cooking. He was right, he did hurt you, and the pain was still lingering inside you.

Even though what he said now brought you some form of relief and comfort, you couldn't help but to still feel a little bit of lingering hurt. "I... I need time." You reply quietly.

Hannibal nodded in understanding, "And time you shall have. I will always be here to support you."

If I made a part three, it could be about the reader still suffering some anxiety while doing their passion around their dad. And the slasher dads' will be nothing but happy, supportive and proud. You know, just casual comfort and fluff.

#slashers #dead by daylight #fanfiction #reader insert #father and child relationship #Teenage reader #platonic love only #slashers as dads #freddy krueger x reader #michael myers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #reader x hannibal lecter #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #father figure

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theragethatisdesire · 11 months

Text

"ti penso ogni giorno" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

first fic! kind of threw this together while traveling and had no beta readers, so please be nice to me. i've been spending some time in the italian countryside and got a little inspired.

pairing: reader x eren jaeger

wc: 7.5k (jesus christ)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, unprotected sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, princess), slight breeding kink (if you squint) crying, multiple orgasm, creampie, aftercare

**title means "i think about you every day" in italian :')

Standing on top of this mountain looking over unfamiliar fields, you don’t remember a time in the recent past you’ve felt so at peace, the quiet fluttering of the sparrows easing the ever-present ache in your heart.

It was a tasteful ceremony. A small church in the middle of the Chianti region, in a little town with a name you couldn’t pronounce, decorated with so many candles that the room was sweltering, even with the breeze wafting in from the hills. Mikasa and Jean’s little girl, Clara, had played the role of flower girl perfectly; you hadn’t seen her since she was a newborn, and there she was, toddling down the aisle on fat little three-year-old legs. Historia and Ymir were beautiful brides, practically unchanged over the years, still as consumed with each other as they had been in college.

Even now, you distinctly remember a drunken night when Ymir promised Historia that she would take her to Europe one day, and here she was, marrying her beloved blonde in the heart of Italy. Another memory surfaces, parallel to that one, of someone looping an arm around your waist as you watched college-Ymir make her declaration, a whisper in your ear of the same promise. You pack that up and tuck it away as soon as it surfaces, scratching at your elbow.

“What are you doing out here?” Mikasa’s voice is behind you, drawing closer. You smile down at Clara, holding her mother’s hand and wobbling out into the grass.

“Just thinking,” you sigh, swishing your wine around in its glass, “I should come back in and join the party.”

“They just finished the champagne toast, but you haven’t missed the first dance,” Mikasa agrees.

You take Clara’s other hand and reluctantly allow yourself to be led back into the thick of things, the two of you swinging the little girl between you. Her shrieks of joy make you smile in spite of yourself, calming the nerves fluttering around in your stomach. Years had passed and things had changed, you and everyone else around you included.

It was a gorgeous reception, even more beautiful than the ceremony. They’d chosen a huge stone patio outside of the massive villa they’d rented, covered by columns of stone arching up to form a roof and dripping with flowered vines. It was exactly what you would’ve chosen, so beautiful it didn’t need decoration. Simple, natural, Tuscan.

“He didn’t bring a date,” Mikasa murmurs to you as you enter the terrace, scanning the room for Jean. She didn’t need to specify who “he” was; you had seen him at the ceremony, longer hair than you remembered, two rows ahead of you. Even if you hadn’t, the sad truth was there was really only one “he” for you, and Mikasa knew that.

“What do you want me to do with that?” You respond, trying and failing to mask your discomfiture with irritation.

“Whatever you want,” Mikasa shrugs, vague as always, scooping Clara up onto her hip and striding across the tented reception to Jean. You watch her go, watch Jean take Clara and kiss Mikasa, envy and self-pity clawing at your heart.

Ymir and Historia chose a slower song than you expected; it must be Historia’s doing that they were doing a first dance at all. Ymir had made it exceptionally clear during the bachelorette trip that all of the frills were to make Historia happy, and she was mostly looking forward to the honeymoon. The memory makes you snort into your empty wine glass, until you catch a glimpse of green eyes across the room.

Eren’s suit is more expensive than anything you knew he owned, sharp at the corners and resembling something your boss’ boss would wear. Mikasa had mentioned months ago that Eren and Zeke’s business was really taking off, but you find yourself wondering if these were the clothes he wore now, or if it was a splurge. He’s staring at you, no surprise there. Breakup aside, Eren’s the most possessive person you’ve ever known, and anything that was his is always his, at least from his point of view. That was part of the problem, you reflect, tracing your red fingernail around the rim of your wine glass.

The first dance concludes and amidst the applause, waiters begin circling the room with hors d'oeuvres, little bits of smoked salmon and crudite platters. After the travel and ceremony, you’re ravenous, and you begin weaving your way through the crowd to track down a tray with carbohydrates on it.

You’re halfway through stuffing a croquette into your mouth when Armin interrupts you, chuckling. “Hungry?”

“I only flew over this morning,” you excuse yourself, dabbing at your mouth with a cocktail napkin. Armin doesn’t care, you know that, but after the last few years of cocktail hours with the most influential magazine and website owners in the world, manners are second-nature.

“At least it was a short flight. You came from…Belgium?”

“Moscow,” you shrug, “four hour flight into Milan, two hour train, hour long car service.”

“Car service?” Armin cocks an eyebrow. “Haven’t you gotten fancy over the years?”

You blush, embarrassed. “Did you fly from the states?”

“Shanghai, actually.” Armin’s face shows it, still puffy from the flight. “I don’t even know how many hours, just that it was long.”

“I’ve made that flight,” you say, empathizing, “not a fun one.”

“I was able to throw some miles from my company card into it and get first class, though, it was the nicest-”

“Can I join you two?” Your heart drops. You knew he was watching you, he’s always watching you, but to be so bold as to interrupt a conversation, speak to you here? Now?

“Sure, Eren,” Armin steps to the side to make room for Eren at the high-top table you’ve found yourselves gathering around, “we were just catching up on our flights over.”

Eren nods, masterfully collected as he smiles politely at you. “I actually had business over here, so I left New York maybe…a week ago, now? It wasn’t bad at all, our company card covers first-class flights.”

Some strange mix of annoyance and being impressed swells in your throat. You take a swig of wine to swallow it, not trusting yourself to resist throwing out a snarky comment or alternatively inquiring about where this first-class-covering business card came from. You don’t owe him the satisfaction. Armin nods politely, but you can see the tension in his smile. The history between Eren and you could stretch for miles of scorched earth, and it’s no secret. You imagine that earth, black and smoking, half-finished houses with white picket fences smoldering down to their foundations.

“So,” Eren breaks the silence, turning to you, “where did you come in from?”

“Moscow.” One-word answers, minimal detail, you assure yourself in your head. He won’t get his claws in you this time if you don’t let him.

“Moscow is beautiful,” Eren sips the bourbon that you had considered throwing in his face when he approached, “but a little cold this time of year, isn’t it?”

“It was very nice, actually,” you can’t help disagreeing for the sake of it, “I was only in town for a few days covering a story, anyway.” Shit. You’ve betrayed yourself already and revealed a detail. Eren’s smile curls up over his cheeks like a cat that’s found a trapped mouse. You kick yourself inwardly.

“Hear that, Armin? Our little bookworm is still writing.”

You roll your eyes at the old nickname from college, earned by your constant pleas to stay in for a comfy night instead of a frat party. You had read over 350 books in college, breaking your four-year goal by at least fifty. Eren used to beg you to tell him the stories you read before bed like a child, because he couldn’t be bothered to read the actual book and it sounds so much more interesting when you read it, baby. And up until the last three years, you had obliged him. Now, the only person you read to sleep is yourself.

“I made a career out of it,” you snip, “so yes, still writing.”

“Clara’s getting into the wedding cake- I don’t see Mikasa, shit, one sec-” Armin’s sentence is cut short by the speed with which he darts away from the pair of you, running off towards a table on the other side of the room. You don’t necessarily blame him, but you seethe anyway, vowing to repay him for abandoning you.

“Career, hm?” Eren hums pleasantly. “Work’s going well, then?”

You snatch a second glass of wine off of a passing tray, wanting more than anything to walk away from him, but you both know your feet won’t move. Getting a nice buzz going is your only option, at this point. You take a healthy swig, shrugging. “I enjoy it, and it pays.”

“That’s a beautiful dress,” Eren murmurs, quiet and thoughtful. You blush and frown all at once.

“Says the one wearing a $6,000 suit.”

“Is it?” Eren fingers his lapel. He looks amused, and you want to smack the faux-bashfulness right off of his face. “I honestly didn’t know.”

“Your work must be going exceedingly well, then,” you glare, seeing right through him. The facade falters for just a moment, a critical moment: Eren almost looks sad.

“The business took off about a year ago,” he’s not looking at you, focusing on something in the distance, “so I’m traveling almost constantly now. I hardly see Zeke, my only company is usually just my assistant or a flight attendant. I love visiting a new city every week, but it’s…”

“Lonely?” You finish for him before you can stop yourself. He nods, looking surprised.

“Your work keeps you on the go now, too?”

“I switched over to a rolling travel schedule two years ago, when Rolling Stone started their global music column. It ended up being super popular and I’m the lead journalist, so I’m basically running all over the world listening to the weirdest music you can imagine. They had me head over to Berlin one time to cover the ‘rising alien punk scene’; it was…really something.” You pull a funny face at the memory, Eren laughs, a deep, real laugh from the belly. You can hear yourself rambling, revealing, but you can’t stop. It’s so natural that the realization of falling back into yourself, the self that loved Eren, is making your skin crawl. You should walk away, look for an out-

“Have you explored the grounds at all?”

Eren’s question snaps you out of your moment of clarity, back into his magnetic field. “The grounds?”

“This house,” Eren gestures to the villa that Ymir and Historia have rented for their closest friends, “sits on over a thousand acres of vineyard. The best wine in the world.”

“I can tell,” you examine the legs on your glass of red, provided by the vineyard itself, “it’s not my usual French, but it’s incredible.”

“Snob,” Eren grins at you. You have always been a picky wine drinker, Eren used to joke that you could pass a sommelier test without even taking the course. “So, the grounds?”

He offers you an elbow. You look at it, weighing but not really weighing your options, and slip your arm through his, feeling the rapid thudding of your pulse. You’re fairly sure if anyone looked closely at your neck, they’d see the frantic heartbeat insistently pushing right under your skin. You tell yourself it will only be a short walk, just a few minutes, because you do want to see the grounds, even if it’s with the last person you should be spending any time with. You hope that you’ll be able to sneak out without catching Mikasa’s eye.

Eren tugs you along, prattling on about the history of the vineyard, entirely unaware that you’re not listening. This Eren is so different from the Eren you left in New York, but still similar, still feels like home. His nose and jaw have only grown stronger with age, but his eyes still have a youthful glimmer, even if they seem sharper and more intense than you’ve ever seen them. It’s unlikely that he’s physically grown even taller between 23 and 26, but his presence makes him seem like the tallest man in the room. He’s self assured, confident, and in charge, in a manlier, more mature way that you’ve never seen before. A heat simmers in your stomach as you admire the curve of his strong neck, and you want to swat your own hand, tell yourself to settle down. It’s just a walk.

“I think I could die happy here,” Eren says, looking over the view you’ve approached, about a half mile from the rest of the party now. You chuckle.

“A beautiful view and some good wine is all it takes?”

“That’s most of it, these days,” Eren shrugs, “but I do need cable. And-”

“A television, a gym, at least one case of shitty domestic beer in the house at all times,” you count off on your fingers.

“For starters,” Eren concedes with a shy grin. “And a wife.”

Those last two words cause your heart to stop altogether. You look around, realizing just how far you are from the villa, how alone you are with him. The sun is setting reluctantly around you both, sinking slowly, holding onto the landscape with an iron grip.

“That would be nice,” you stammer, “f-for you, definitely.”

“Want to explore this building over here?” As if nothing out of the ordinary happened, Eren points out a smaller home down the hill from you both. “It’s really cool inside.”

You trudge along beside him, having kicked off your heels and left them at the reception long ago, and a fresh wave of anger kicks up in your chest. It was just so quintessentially Eren; drop a bomb, and then act like nothing happened. It reminds you that there are aspects of Eren you can’t stand, and that reminder instills you with the confidence to seclude yourself with him in the charming little stone house.

It is really cool. No window panes in the entire bottom floor, just the fresh vineyard air rolling in. There’s a little kitchenette, some various odds and ends of sofas and chairs sprawling across the clay-bricked floors. A huge table, clearly made for workers’ lunch breaks over the centuries, squats in the middle of the bottom floor, and racks of wine cover the walls. You break away from him to pick up a bottle or two, examine the label, brush off some dust.

Eren grants you a few moments to yourself before you sense him behind you, closer than you want to consider.

“Anything good?” He says, peering right over your shoulder from the sound of it.

You turn around before you can regret it, chest to chest with him. He’s hunching his head to make the best eye contact with you he can, the way he’s always done. You focus on breathing normally, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how his proximity still affects you after all these years. “A ‘92 vintage Chianti. They actually talked about this wine in my sommelier course; I didn’t even realize this was the same vineyard.”

“You took the course?” Eren smiles crookedly, an endearing grin that you’ve always loved. You smile despite yourself.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly, “I took the course.”

Eren grins wider, and thankfully leaves you there, striding across the room to shuffle through the kitchen drawers. When he returns, he’s holding a wine key and two glasses. You cock your head, confused.

“It’s supposed to be the best, huh? Crack it open.”

“Eren…” you trail off, holding the bottle gingerly, “this bottle has to be over a thousand dollars. We can’t do it.”

“Did I forget to mention this is my bunk for the trip?” He smiles again, his prominent canines glinting in the sunset light streaming in, gesturing around the room grandly; your knees nearly buckle at the sight. “Bedroom’s upstairs. Ymir and Historia said any of the wine’s up for grabs. It’s the owners’ fault if they left the good stuff out for us to get into, and it’s on my tab anyway.”

You’re nearly speechless, not only that Eren got an entire house to himself (he’s always been the spoiled brat of the friend group), but that he tricked you into coming here, with him. When you fail to respond, he takes it simply as more reluctance to open the bottle, and he grabs the bottle from you and starts to dig the corkscrew in through the top.

You let a few beats pass, considering your options as he pours the wine. When he finally hands you the glass, you give voice to your thoughts, testing the waters. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you love wine and the house is cool,” Eren shrugs innocently, taking a sip, “damn, that’s good. Try it.”

You hold your glass stock-still in your hands. “We’re done with…what we used to do, you know. That’s not what’s going on here.”

The air sparkles with dust; Eren’s demeanor stutters, a small frown working its way onto his face. “Just try the wine, babe.”

Your heart flutters, your stomach sinks, your memories with Eren shriek from the back of your mind. The pet name is too familiar, too easy, and it brings a cold chill over you. As you’re prone to do, your panic comes shooting out coated in snark.“Babe? Yeah, no, I’m done-”

“Sorry, sorry– it was a mistake, force of habit,” Eren’s already apologizing as you’re talking; you hate how he can still anticipate your reaction before you can give it. He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, rolling his eyes, “a mistake. Try your wine, you don’t know when you’re going to stumble across that again.”

You let him hold your wrist, enjoying the pressure of his strong hands into the delicate flesh of your arm despite yourself. You look between him, the wine, the room several times, as if you’re weighing your decision. You know what you’re going to choose, but maybe you can pretend that he doesn’t know, too. Eren’s willing to play along, eyes wide and pleading.

Without breaking your gaze, you carefully taste the wine. Damn him, it is good. It has a complexity of flavor and a depth to it that’s incredibly rare, even in the French countryside wines you tend to favor. Even though you fight it, you smile at him and offer your glass for him to pour more.

The bottle passes quickly, both of you settling yourselves in chairs at the kitchen table, discussing old friends, new friends, reminiscing on the college years when you were both a little happier and a little less sane. You hardly notice the sun setting further, the smallest bits of twilight leaking into the corners of the sky.

“Your teeth are so red,” you giggle, head spinning. The wine was delicious, delicious enough for Eren to pop open a second bottle, but God, was it strong. You aren’t sure how you’ll manage the walk back up to the reception- is the reception even still going on?

“So are yours,” Eren pinches your cheek, giggling drunkenly along with you.

“God, you’re right.” You place a finger onto your teeth, rubbing frantically at the wine stains to no avail. Eren reaches a wobbling hand out to pull your fingers out of your mouth, shaking his head. He frowns and shakes his head, childlike.

“Don’t take them off.”

“The wine stains?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? They make teeth look dirty,” you laugh again, trying to shove your finger back into your mouth where Eren’s holding it.

“I…okay, maybe it’s weird, but I always thought it was kind of sexy when your teeth were all red from wine,” Eren blushes, and it’s so childishly endearing that you can feel your heart swell.

“Really?”

“I never told you that?” Eren looks astonished, chuckling under his breath. “It drove me crazy back when we were together. You’d go to Historia’s, or Sasha’s, or whoever’s and down a bottle or two of red and come stumbling back into that crappy apartment in Harlem-”

“-the one with the mean bodega lady outside!”

“Yes!” Eren snaps his fingers, pointing at you excitedly. “Anyway, you’d come waddling back in, hair a mess and wine all over your teeth, your lips would be bright purple, and you’d always be so horny-”

“Eren!”

“It’s true! You’d ride me for an hour before you knocked out.” Eren sipped his wine, smiling in a private way that you felt was just for you.

“An hour seems like a bit of a stretch,” you murmur, looking down into your glass. You’ve almost finished your wine and you shouldn’t have any more, the reception is waiting for you and you’ve been gone with Eren long enough that you’ve been missed at this point. When you pull your head up, Eren looks different. It’s a familiar face on a new man: his eyes have a mischievous glimmer in them, the sunset winking at you through his green irises.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips; your mind wanders to that tongue, those lips. Mentally, you dance over what you know those lips and tongue can do, how they feel on your mouth, your neck, between your legs. Your wine-addled mind tries to shake the persistent thought. Eren reaches a hand over to your mouth, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over the corner of your lips.

“Still think it looks sexy,” he mumbles, half-drunk and half expecting a stern reprimand from you. His eyes search your face, curious of your reaction. It’s the moment you’ve been running around the world from for the last three years, finally coming to fruition here in this little house.

You embarrass and surprise yourself simultaneously: tears well in your eyes. You want him; you’re drunk and beautiful and desperate for him in the beautiful countryside of Italy, but he’s so bad for you. They’re tears that have been waiting behind your eyes, tears of frustration and desire.

“Why are you crying?” Eren asks, furrowing his brow. You know he knows, he understands you and your emotions better than anyone. You’re angry with him, angry that he knows the source of your tears before you open your mouth.

“We’re done, Eren,” you fail miserably to steel your voice, “we can’t do this anymore, remember? It’s not good for us.”

“It’s been three years, baby,” Eren responds, still rubbing his thumb over your lips, “three years of growing. We’re different now– I’m different.”

“No,” you sniffle, feeling like a child. Whether he’s changed or not is still up for debate, but your sore heart can only take so much. He’s so beautiful, soaked in sun and wine and temptation, simpering at you. Your resolve is weakening by the second.

“Yes,” Eren insists, “it’s me. You belong to me, you know you do.”

“Eren–”

“You always do this, always try to run from me, but I’ll always find you,” he murmurs, “I’ll go to every corner of the earth if I need to. I’ll always find you because you’re mine.”

You’d love to say that he leaned in, he grabbed your face and pulled you to him, but you’d be lying. It’s you who leans forward ever so slightly, catching your chapped lips in his and kissing him tentatively. You wouldn’t be lying if you told anyone that he sighed into your mouth, ready to feel your body under his hands again. You wouldn’t be lying in the slightest.

Eren allows you a few tentative kisses, a few pecks against his lips, familiar and new all the same. Once you’ve had your fill of shyness, your obligatory ruse of unassuredness, he reaches for you, scooping you into his lap. You straddle him, whimpering at the friction of his already-growing bulge against your clothed cunt. He has to push your dress up to allow you room to spread your legs over him; you’re wearing a slinky little silk number, a gorgeous deep brown against your tanned skin, but not cooperative for lap-sitting.

Eren’s tongue is practically down your throat, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you have to pull away for air, hands roaming your now-bare thighs.

“This dress,” he pants between kisses, “is so fucking perfect on you. Look so good for me.”

You sigh into his mouth, running your hands through his hair. Off to the side of your mind, you realize you may have knocked his hair out of its bun, but the dark locks feel so soft in your fingers, you can’t bring yourself to apologize for it. He’s wrapping his hands around your ass; Eren always loved your full hips, and it seems that that fact hasn’t changed.

Your hands find their way to his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He’s grown stronger over the years, definitive muscles rippling under your fingers, but the broadness he’s always possessed is still there. He’s large compared to you, twice as wide and at least a head taller, and you loathe to admit it, but it turns you on. You love the way he manhandles you, the way he pushes and pulls you exactly how he wants you, the way he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise, rocking them against his own.

A particularly well-placed thrust of his hips against yours elicits a wanton groan from you, spilling into his mouth. Eren moans back, moving away from your lips to mouth his way down your throat.

“Gonna sit you up now, okay?”

He stands, knocking the chairs aside on his way up, to set you on the table, the perfect height for him to grope at you, pull your dress this way and that.

“Wanna get this thing off, will you let me?”

You hesitate, or try to, at least. His hands are dizzying, flying all over your body and squeezing at just the right spots as he nibbles on your earlobe. “But, the reception–”

“Sh, sh, sh. We’re so far away, baby, they’ll never even know, yeah?” Eren goads you and you’re putty in his hands, the rapidly-shrinking rational part of your brain growing quieter with each kiss, each pet. He manages to wrench your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but a stringy pair of panties. Eren steps back to look over you; you resist the urge to cover yourself. You know his routine.

“Fuck,” Eren breathes, palming your tits, “you’re perfect, do you know that? So beautiful just for me, aren’t you?”

You flush pink from your chest to your forehead. Even after years of love and war and running, his bedroom talk still gets to you. Eren loves to tell you what he thinks of you, and you’ve never managed to grow accustomed to hearing it.

“Say it.”

“Hm?” You hum, preoccupied with his mouth pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts, even pausing to suck a bruise into the side of your left.

“Say you’re beautiful, tell me how pretty you are for me.”

This part is new; Eren has always loved to talk to you in bed, but your participation in the dirty talk has been minimal until now. Your blush grows even deeper. “I’m beautiful, beautiful just for you.”

“Good girl,” Eren purrs, allowing you to pull his head closer to your chest. His tongue swirls around one nipple. He closes his lips around it, sucking hard, and you moan openly, pulling him closer. Eren grins, letting his teeth pinch down on it. “You still like when I play with your tits, hm?”

“Yes,” you hiss, too caught up in pleasure to address his smugness.

“Know you baby, know you inside and out. These tits are mine,” a hand wanders down to your cunt, swiping across your panties and feeling the wetness that soaks them, “and this pussy’s mine too. You might not love me anymore, but your body– oh, she loves me.”

You have no way to respond to that, no way to address what those words do to your brain. Chagrin as you might be to admit it, he’s right. Eren was your first and only adult relationship, fucking your body into submission for years and training it, training your cunt to respond to him and the way he liked to touch you. He’s pushed and prodded you into his perfect little fuckdoll, and you let him and you loved it. You loved every second of it, and god does it feel good rushing back to you now, finally under his hands again after years without.

Eren nudges your panties to the side, rubbing quick circles over your clit, just the way you like it. A long, heady whine leaks from your lips, your hips urgently roll towards him.

“Missed me? Is that it?” Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smug grin on his lips. Eren loves when you’re needy for him.

“Mhm,” you indulge him in the hopes you’ll get what you want, and you’re right. A long finger sinks into you, instantly curling to press into the spongy spot within your walls that has you swooning, clutching desperately onto his shoulders.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it?”

You pull at his suit jacket, fumbling with the buttons on his collared shirt. “Want it off, want to see you.”

Eren relents, pulling his hand from you to step back and strip his shirt and jacket. He is as muscular as he feels; you drag your eyes over his strong chest, his defined abs, and the deep V leading down below his belt. You briefly remember all of your post-college friends, girls that had never known Eren, teasing you that he was your hottest ex. You had blushed, but you understand. He’s like a Greek statue, glistening with sweat from the evening heat, every crevice of him on display just for you. It sends a fresh wave of heat pulsing through your body, and you pull him back to you, relishing in the feel of his hands on you.

“Want me to make you cum, is that it?” Eren’s amused, sinking two fingers into your heat. You croon, nodding desperately. He chuckles, moving his fingers against the spot inside of you. “I’ve got you, don’t worry baby. Gonna make you feel good.”

You nod again into his shoulder, attached to him wherever you can find the space, grasping his body and pulling it to yours. You wish you had the capacity to be ashamed of your need, laid bare for him to see, but you don’t. All you can think about is his fingers moving in you, gaining speed and bringing you closer to an embarrassingly fast orgasm.

He slides a third in, just to be safe, and you’re so wet that your pussy accepts it willingly. The stretch makes you pout, push at his chest. “Too much, Eren–”

“Gotta get you ready for me,” he huffs, his arousal getting the better of him, “get you ready to get fucked. Cunt’s tight after all these years, isn’t it? Gotta work it open.”

That does a lot to your hazy brain; you bite deep into his shoulder, moans coming faster and louder as he works his fingers in you. The bubble is building in the pit of your stomach, your hips are canting towards him.

“Eren, Eren I–”

“I know, I know,” he coos, fingers curling inside you even faster, “my girl needs to cum, doesn’t she? You want to cum all over my fingers, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry into his skin, biting and moaning alternatively. Your head’s spinning; you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. You’re no nun, not by any means, but Eren knows your body, crafted it to respond to him, to his hands and mouth and cock, and your body is rejoicing at the feel of him on and in you again. You can’t hold it, you know you can’t, you’re moments away now. “Eren, I’m going to cum, I’m gonna–”

“Do it, baby,” he growls into your ear, his fingers working even faster, thumb moving up to swipe at your clit, “give it to me, want to hear you cum.”

Your body convulses and you’re cumming hard, with Eren the first one of the night always goes that way. Eren knows it, pulls you close against him and works his fingers in you, helping you ride it out. He’s practically purring into your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, cumming all over his fingers like that, and you eat it up. You cry into his flesh where it’s secured between your teeth, rocking your hips into his hand desperately.

Your orgasm begins to fade, and you find the presence of mind to shove at his fingers, begging for a reprieve. “Give me your cock, want it in my mouth.”

“Is that what you need?” Eren’s already helping you onto your knees, gentle, but needy. “Need my cock in your mouth?”

“Please,” you say eagerly, adjusting your knees to a comfortable position on the dirt floor, easily unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down his legs. He steps out of his shoes, kicking his pants off, strong thighs twitching under your nails as you softly scratch down them. A groan rumbles in Eren’s chest at your enthusiasm, he places a hand on your head, running through your curls.

“Can’t be for too long, ‘kay?” Eren pants, hissing when you press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock. “Still gotta fuck you, feel you cum on me.”

You hum your approval, popping him fully into your mouth with a satisfied moan. You’ve always loved taking him in your mouth, the comforting weight of him on your tongue. You’re getting impossibly wetter, feeling the heat gather between your legs as you bob your head up and down on him, listening to his satisfied little grunts and groans above you.

Eren rubs a hand over your cheek, mutters his approval, thrusts his hips forwards unwittingly a few times. You gag when he does, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve taken him like this so many times, even with his impressive size, you love the feel of him pressing back into your throat until you choke.

“Fuck, fuck, baby it’s– it’s too much,” Eren indulges in a few more thrusts into your throat before grabbing your hair and urging you off of him, “need your pussy, okay?”

You’re not going to argue with that, letting him pull you to your feet, an anticipatory smile cracking across your face. You’re drunk on the wine and sex and him, babbling nonsensically. “Wanna feel you, Eren, need you.”

“I’ve got you, gonna make you feel so good, princess.” Impressively, Eren scoops you off of the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both over to the wall, pressing you up against it. “Gonna make you mine all over again, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a loaded question, but you’re so captivated by him, all you can do is murmur your agreement, tell him you want to be his because at least for now, you do. Eren’s magnetic, the man you run from so you don’t get lost in him, but tonight, you’re willing to drown. You’re begging for it.

The stone wall is rough against your bare back, but the head of Eren’s cock rubbing through your folds distracts you, a promise of what’s to come.

“Please, please put it in, Eren, I need–”

“My girl needs to be full, doesn’t she?” Eren’s smirking at you, slipping the tip of his cock in. Even the stretch of that alone is enough to make you moan, digging your nails into his back. “There you go, gonna fill you up, make you all better.”

You nod into his shoulder, the weight of your actions catching up to you as he presses himself into you, fills you entirely. Eren’s your kryptonite, he’s a drug, he’s an overwhelming presence, you can’t think straight around him. Before coming to this wedding, you told yourself you’d stay away, but you can’t help it. Everything about him is like he’s sculpted just for you, your body yields to him so easily you think you might be made just for him too. His skin, salty and sweaty from the summer air, is delicious under your tongue.

He’s moving now, fucking up into you desperately, like he loves you and like he wants to break you. You jolt in his arms, helpless to do anything but take and take and take everything he has to give you.

He smiles against your open mouth, placing a sloppy kiss over it. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so fucking good,” you whimper, letting him manhandle you. Eren’s always rough with you, always riding the line of too much, and you love taking it. You love letting him push you to your limits.

“Missed my cock in you, didn’t you? This cunt was made for me,” Eren huffs, “made just for me. Mine, isn’t it?”

You don’t indulge him with an answer, loathe to admit that your cunt is made for him, but you feel yourself clench down around him, more of your wetness soaking his lower stomach. Eren chokes out some mix of a moan and a breathless laugh, fucking up into you harder. “What a perfect answer, baby. You love it, I know you do.”

“I love it,” you agree, simpering against him as your willpower fizzles out to nothing. You’re reluctant to believe it, but there’s another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. Your body responds to him in a way it responds to no one else, clinging to him and growing wet for him and tightening around him.

Eren’s digging his hands into your hips, moving you up and down on his cock more so than actually thrusting. He’s panting against your ear, hot and heavy and in tune with your own gasps. He nudges his mouth down to plant sloppy kisses around your shoulder, just at the crook of your neck in the sensitive spot that he knows you love, remembers even after all these years.

“Been too fucking long, baby,” Eren says, “gonna cum soon.”

You nod into his neck, cunt tightening around him at the prospect of his cum inside you. Just the thought of it sends your mind into orbit; a little fantasy forms in your hazy head of him fucking you like this every night, like he used to, a child with your curls and deep, green eyes-

“Gonna let me cum in this perfect cunt, aren’t you?”

As usual, Eren’s right in line with you– the synchronicity makes you moan again. “Please, please–”

“Gotta cum with me, alright? You can do that for me, can’t you?” You can, you will, but you’re so close to the edge when you try to respond your words are jumbled together. Even so close to his own release, Eren snickers at you. “My sweet girl’s all fucked out, can’t even talk.”

“Need your cum,” you manage, “please, Eren, m’close.”

Years ago, through strenuous games of overstimulation and denial, Eren trained your body to wait for him, you can’t cum unless he does and you know it. Your only option is to beg, hot shame warming your face. Eren remembers, just like you do, it makes him grin, feral and dangerous in the early evening light.

“Need my cum, baby? Needy, so needy, so beautiful,” he’s starting to slur, you know he’ll finish soon, “gonna cum in this perfect cunt of yours, never let you keep it from me again. Maybe I’ll knock you up, hm? Can’t run from me with my baby in you.”

Your watery eyes fly open at that, the logical part of your brain long-quieted, and you moan loud for him again, just the way he likes. Eren’s thrusts have grown sloppy, he’s grabbing you so hard now you know you’ll be left with Eren-shaped bruises on your hips.

Eren finally cums in you with your name on his lips, long and deep, keeping his cock fully seated inside you. It triggers your orgasm, a toe-curling wave of pleasure coursing through your body, straining your sore muscles. Eren’s mouth is pressed against yours and all you can manage is a whimper, feeling his cum warm your pussy, leak out around from where you’re both still joined together.

All the energy’s been pulled from your body now; you slump against his shoulder and whine when he slides out of you. Eren places you gently on the floor, presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before leading you upstairs on shaking legs. It smells like Eren up here, the pricey cologne he favors and the scent of well-loved sweatshirts intoxicating you. There are no words between the two of you as he leads you to the bathroom, helping you sit on the toilet seat as Eren rummages around for a washcloth to clean you.

“We need to go back to the reception,” you say weakly, wincing as Eren rubs the cloth over your cunt.

“What do you think?”

You frown, confused. “About?”

“Us, again,” he’s avoiding your eyes, focusing on his work between your legs. You’re not surprised he waited until you were disarmed to ask, brain still muddled and dizzy.

“Eren–”

“I am different now,” he finally meets your eyes, gaze alight with the burning, too-hot-to-touch love you know so well, the only love Eren knows how to offer, “got a therapist like you were always asking me to. I meditate every day. I’ll be so good to you, you know how good I am.”

He is good to you, you remember it well, your own tendency to flee was what broke you up in the first place. You’d left his heart shattered on the sidewalk of your apartment back in New York City, overwhelmed with commitment and unwilling to give his flaws the same grace he gave yours. You’re opposites: he’s hot where you’re cool, angry where you’re distant, argumentative where you’re cold. You sigh, head feeling heavy on your shoulders.

“Do you know what you’re asking of me? What about the lives we have now?”

“We’d make it work, line our schedules up together” the corner of his mouth curls, you want to kiss him again, “we’re always able to figure something out.”

You hate yourself for it, you want to run from him, get a car to the airport right now. You also want to pull him into your arms, feel his heartbeat against yours, kiss that hesitant smile on his face and never stop. “I…can I sleep on it?”

Eren’s face lights up, a kid on Christmas morning. He’s always been so expressive in these quiet moments; unreadable in a crowded room, but when it’s just you and him, his heart’s always been on his sleeve. He can’t help it. “Yeah, just sleep on it.”

You get yourself as put-together as you can, wipe the mascara from under your eyes, slip the dress back over your shoulders and concede one more kiss to Eren. It’s slow, long and languid, tongues slipping over one another, the desperation now cooled into a sense of homecoming.

You hold hands as you climb the hill back to the reception. Your knees wobble, and it makes Eren laugh, makes you blush. He’s still going on about the villa’s history, and you’re half-listening, admiring the stars above you both. The reception is still going on, albeit a bit more subdued than earlier. Some guests have trickled out, finding their beds, but your friends are still seated around a table, drunk and laughing.

Connie’s the worst, of course, leaning on Jean and regaling everyone with a tale about their Midwestern childhood together; Mikasa’s buried under Clara, who’s sleeping soundly in her lap; Ymir and Historia are alternating between listening and kissing one another; Sasha’s struggling with a corkscrew and a tricky wine bottle, Armin attempting to help her.

Your face warms as all eyes turn to you, rumpled and suspicious and late. Mikasa raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her face.

“Where have you two been? You missed the garter toss,” Ymir nudges Historia conspiratorially.

“Just touring the grounds,” Eren answers coolly, pulling the empty chair beside Mikasa and offering it to you. You sit, grateful to be off of your shaking legs.

“It’s so beautiful here, thanks for putting us all up…” you accept the glass of wine Armin is offering over your shoulder, tipping it in the happy couples’ direction. Historia murmurs a quiet ‘you’re welcome’, the entire table exchanging knowing glances. You scowl, being left out of a joke is one of your pet peeves. “What?”

Jean grins lewdly. “Nothing, just…I don’t think Eren’s room is as far from the main house as you two think it is.”

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siriusleee · 10 months

Text

LIKE BLOOD ON IRON

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a three part series that I intend to be pretty long - at least 20,000 words. If you want to be added to the tag list, make sure you comment below. This is a historical fantasy, however, it is not magical. spotify playlist part two

His sword carves a gorge in the dirt, dust swirling in the sunlight left behind him. The sun threatens to fall before he makes it to the center of the village, but it doesn't dare fall before he gets the chance to finish his day's work.

You watch him from the window of your family's house, lucky enough to be close enough to the center that you can see him coming for ages. Your fingers dig into the windowsill; the wind - salty from the nearby bay- blows gently through, rattling the windows you threw open the moment your sister whispered that he was coming down the road. There are only moments before Mother will storm upstairs, chastising you for trying to watch what's going down below.

"It's not appropriate for a girl your age to see this," she'll say for the hundredth time, slamming the windows shut. The wavy glass will distort his features, and leave you nothing but a hint at his form, but even then Mother won't let you continue looking. She'll pull you downstairs into the kitchen with your two sisters and set you all to work.

"Your father and uncle will be hungry when they get home; you all pitch in," she'll say, pantomiming joy when just outside a man will lose his head - your father and uncle observing from the crowd. Father will come home grim, and not speak over the dinner that you and your sisters cooked, and will go to bed silent.

In the morning when you go to the market for whatever Mother needs for the day, blood will have stained the stones paving the center of the village. And the executioner will be back in his small cottage situated far away from everyone in town, not to be seen until he was needed again.

But this time, Mother takes longer. You hear her speaking sharply to your youngest sister, about how she needs to be more aware of her surroundings and stop sloshing all that damned water all over the place. Today you get the chance to see him come closer.

He's large and cloaked - you know from the village boys whispering that he has a mask on to cover his face.

"It's covered in ashes - smeared to look like a skull."

"It's to remind those on his chopping block that he is Death."

No one accompanies him on his journey to the dias that all the buildings spiral away from; every person that will be there is already waiting for him to arrive, breath held in their throats as they hear his approaching footsteps. You watch as each house he passes draws its shutters shut to him as if they could be next if they looked at him. The sea rages down past the docks, far enough away to be just a faint chorus as he approaches your house.

The tilt of his shoulders enamors you - he's enormous, but walks with a grace you can only wish to have. You don't need to be near him to know that the only sounds are the swish of his cloak against the ground, and the sword drawing against the ground.

You startle when Mother grasps your shoulder, letting out a gasping noise, but you don't turn away from the window. As if he could hear you, the executioner's head snaps towards you. You see just a hint of the white ash smeared across his mask before you're pulled inside. Mother throws you into the room with enough strength to cause you to hit the wall behind you, rattling the porcelain that sits on a nearby shelf. She slams the window hard enough that the glass rattles before slamming the storm shutters and latching them.

"What are you doing?" Mother's voice is venomous as she rounds on you, eyes burning. "You are going to humiliate this family acting the way you do."

"I'm sorry Mother," you appease, pulling at the wrinkles in your skirt and avoiding her eyes. "I was just curious."

"Your job isn't to be curious."

"Yes, Mother."

"How would your suitors think about you hanging out the window to watch something so grim?"

You close your eyes to hide the sudden anger behind them; your head stays down and you don't answer. Anything you say won't be good enough for her. It's the same every time there's an execution.

"Come - let's prepare dinner."

You follow, slowly. Inside the kitchen it's warm, and smells of honey and meat. Your mother gestures to a lump of dough that needs kneading and you roll your sleeves up. Your sisters, still eager to get a nice word out of Mother, patter around, stirring and checking on the baking. You know you were given the dough because everything else in the kitchen fails you.

Mother had been attempting to get you some proficiency in the kitchen, giving it her damnedest, curses flying out of her whenever you burnt something. For the past two years, she tried to no avail.

"At least you're a smart girl," she'd say with a sign. "And you can do books - you'll just have to hire someone who can cook."

For three years, your father and mother had been trying to find someone for you to marry.

"Seventeen is when I met your mother, and I courted her for three years to finally get her yes. And you're her elder by three."

The story sickened you.

You'd had some luck that not many wanted to court you - it wasn't unknown in the village that you argued with your mother and father. Everyone whispered behind your back about the time you tried to smuggle yourself on one of your father's cargo ships, bound for somewhere far away and exotic. They whispered about how you fought the sailor that found you tooth and nail, leaving him a scar down the side of his face as he dragged you to the deck. No one wanted a wife that wouldn't listen.

But still, some had come knocking.

Nice young men who would wait the years it took you to be ready to marry if you would just say yes. Nice young men who winked at your younger sisters across the dining table, who pressed flowers into Mother's hands, who clapped Father on the back at the end of the night.

Nice, young, boring men who wanted a boring wife to oversee someone else doing the cooking.

Nice young men who would want their wives on hands and knees cleaning during the day, tongue out at night.

Nice young men you detested.

You'd rejected each one that came knocking - fits that included screaming loud enough that the neighbors could hear, and a few shattered glasses. Once Mother locked you in your room and threatened to send you to a nunnery if you didn't stop screeching. But your father had called on them, spinning a web that you'd been intrigued by them and to come back for dinner again in a few weeks.

You'd been threatened with the nunnery and the whip if you misbehaved the next time they came back, so you sat there, unspeaking while the men spoke only to Mother and Father.

You're broken out of your reverie by your youngest sister, Lily. She presses against your side, tugging your apron to pull you down so that she can whisper in your ear.

"Mother is going to check on you tonight."

You give just a curt nod, eyes trained on Mother and your oldest sister, Maggie. They have their backs turned to you and Lily. Lily who has always hidden your secrets and you have hidden hers. Lily who knows you sneak out at night, climbing carefully out of your window onto the trellis and down where the horse is stabled. Lily who knows you spend all night swimming in the dark ocean, imagining the merfolk and monsters that linger there.

You press a quick kiss to her temple, a thank you for the heads up, as you begin shaping the dough into two loaves of bread.

The front door opens and the sound of your father's boots on the wood breaks through the kitchen. Mother wipes her hands on her apron, flour falling onto the dark blue skirt below, and leaves to say hello. Maggie follows closely behind, leaving you and Lily behind to finish dinner. Lily does most of the work, directing you on what to do to keep everything from burning.

When everything is finished, the two of you cart it to the dining table where Maggie straightens the plates to perfection. You hear the gentle hum of Mother and Father talking, no doubt about your antics in the window. There's an extra plate at the table.

"Who is this for?" You ask Maggie, skewing one of the spoons.

"Edward. And don't mess everything up." She reaches across to straighten the spoon.

Edward the apprentice tailor, her two-year suitor who no doubt will agree to marry before the end of the year. You feel relieved that tonight you will be ignored, you and Lily can eat at the end of the table in peace, whispering jokes to each other.

You leave to wash up in your room, scrubbing at the black dirt that you collected from the windowsill. You wonder if the executioner has made it home; if he drags his sword behind him or does he sheath it. Does it drip blood as he retraces his path?

Lily waits for you at the top of the stairs, and you lace your fingers together as you make your way down the stairs and into the dining hall. You pull faces at each other across the table, and stifle giggles into your napkins - ignoring the dirty looks Maggie sends to the two of you down the table.

Dinner is tortuously slow - when it's over and you're clearing off the table you can see Edward and Maggie in the hallway, pressed against each other in a way that would make Mother blush if she were to see it. You elbow Lily and point toward them, sticking your tongue out and pretending to puke. She laughs loud enough to catch Maggie's attention and the two of you scurry out of her line of sight.

After getting ready for bed, you brush out Lily's hair, perched on the bed you share. Her hair shines midnight beneath the brush, long and thick. The most gorgeous in the family.

"Can you braid it in two tonight?" She asks, trying to turn and look at you, but you turn her head forcefully back to the front.

"If you stay still I can. Keep wiggling little mouse, and you're going to have crooked braids."

Her hair slips heavily between your fingers as you cross one strand over another. You're wrapping a tie around the bottom of the first braid when she speaks again, this time in a whisper.

"Do you think being married would be terrible?"

You concentrate on the tie, measuring out each word before saying it.

"Why do you ask, my little mouse?"

"It's just - Maggie seems so eager to marry, and you're the opposite. Mother and Father seem happy."

"Well, Maggie and I are different people. Maggie is wonderful at this house stuff, and she wants that life. I want to explore, to see more. I want to fall in love with someone that isn't a pick of Father - someone…" You trail off, unsure of what you're trying to say. "Anyway, marriage isn't terrible for everyone. And if your marriage was, I would come and rescue you myself. Even if it means killing your husband. I'd sweep you out of that house, and back with me."

Lily giggles at the suggestion.

"You would end up under the executioner's sword then."

Inside, something twists at the idea of lying down, looking up at the broad man staring down at you.

"He doesn't scare me," you tell her, finishing the second braid. "Nothing scares me."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

The two of you settle into bed, Lily tucking herself into your side. Just as she said, in the middle of the night, Mother comes in, candlelight casting long shadows across the room. You keep still, pretending to sleep until she disappears. It's too risky to leave tonight, so you let Lily's warmth and soft snoring lull you to sleep.

***

The next night, you press your ear to your bedroom door. You can hear Father snoring faintly down the hall; the moon, directly overhead, tells you it's late enough to slip out. You press a kiss on Lily's forehead and slide your legs out of the window, skirts bunched up to keep from getting caught.

The trellis groans under your weight, but you're sure it won't break underneath you. You climb down, familiar with where to put your hands, where the spiders like to build their webs, and the weak spots - you drop the last few feet down to the ground. The horse nickers softly from her spot in the small stall she's in. The village is quiet, the only sound the whisper of the sea.

You keep to the darkest spots, the shadows even the night fears as you sneak through town. It's too hot for a cloak, but you still keep yours over your head, just in case anyone other than the spiders and bats is awake to see you. The closer you get to the sand, the faster you walk, pausing just once for a drunken sailor to slip past you without noticing you are hidden just feet away from him.

The port is small - bringing in just one or two ships - nearly all of them laden down with wool your father sells. But this time of year there is only one ship, here to pick up sailors that were on leave. It bobs gently across the water in the small port, the flicker of a candle seen sporadically. From this distance, any soldiers on it look like dolls in the distance. The air is cooler rolling off of the ocean, and the salt in the air sticks to your skin. Your bare feet hit the sand and you race to a spot hidden in a cove that separates the village from the ocean - a hidden spot used by couples in the town when they wanted to get away. But at night it was always empty.

Your toes dip in the water, and the bottom of your cloak gets soaked each time a fresh wave breaks on the sand. The water in the distance is still, reflecting the moon and stars. You let your cloak slip off of your shoulders, beneath you'd laced a dress up loosely, enough that if you were caught, you could feign innocence. It comes undone and pools at your feet. Your skin erupts in gooseflesh when the ocean air rolls over it - your chemise not thick enough to block out the wind.

You wade to your hips- the water is warm and still. Beneath your feet the sand shifts, shells sharp against your skin. You turn, making sure that you're still hidden from anyone who may be walking to the port at night, and when you're sure no one is there looking at you, you dive.

Your eyes burn in the darkness, moonlight filtering down just enough so that you can see your hand in front of your face. You push farther out into the bay, not resurfacing until your lungs burn from lack of air. Breaking the surface, everything is blurry, you fall back so that you're floating on your back until your eyes readjust and the stars come back in sharp focus. You float there, watching the subtle shift.

And all at once you feel it: someone's eyes on you. You flounder until you can get your feet underneath you, eyes straining to see the shore - you're farther out than you thought you were, toes barely able to scrape the sand below. You can see your dress and cloak, still pooled on the shore, but there's no sign of anyone nearby. Slowly, worryingly, you push towards the shore, until it's back to your hips. Your eyes never leave the shore, looking for someone there.

That's when one of the shadows ripples forward. You freeze your heart stuttering in your chest as you watch someone walk towards you - you can't think of what to do. Even if you screamed, no one would be able to hear you. You realize for the first time how foolish the venture is.

When the moonlight fully covers the figure, they stop feet from your clothes. Your hands clamp across your chest, the thin white fabric covering you completely transparent now that it's wet. Neither of you moves, and you realize that if you don't, they probably never will.

Hands still clamped across your chest, you walk to the shore. With each step it becomes clear just how massive the person on shore is - it has to be a man, you've never seen a woman that tall, that broad. You're in ankle-deep water when you catch just a glimpse at them beneath the hood of their cloak: white ash, reflecting in the moonlight.

Your panic increases tenfold, but you think if you move too fast, he'll move faster. Snatch you up. So as if he were a dangerous animal, you reach down and grab your dress from the ground, leaving it over your arm as you pull your cloak around yourself. Your eyes never leave him. He waits until you're completely covered before he turns to look at you - just the barest hint of flesh around his eyes.

"Don't you think it's dangerous to be out here alone?" His voice is gravel and honey, deeper than you'd expect. You wonder if it's that way because he doesn't get to speak often.

"It depends on who's out here," your voice wavers, but doesn't crack. He seems to like that answer, letting out a short 'hmm'.

"There's plenty of monsters out here in the darkness." He speaks but still doesn't step toward you. You tighten your cloak around you, wishing for once to be back in bed with Lily.

"The merfolk and the selkies are the only things I worry about." You take small steps backward as you speak, feet shuffling over the sand.

"I've seen worse lurking in the near forest," he says, suddenly stepping towards you. You trip over your own feet, but before you can crash into the sand, his hand is around your elbow, pulling you up roughly. You don't mean to, but you let out a small squeak at his touch and recoil away; he drops your arm as if it burns him.

"You should go home," he says, nodding his head back towards the village. "It's too late for you to be out."

"I think you and my father would agree on that matter."

You can't tell if it's a trick of the light, but you see the corner of his eye crinkle for just a moment.

"I'll walk you back up, then you are on your own to get home safely."

He walks ahead of you as he talks as if he expects you just to follow without saying anything. And you do, terror and intrigue mixing inside of you. His scent wafts to you in the wind, woodsmoke, and metal, and something sweet- like rotted wood. It flashes through you, just a second long - to bury your face in his cloak and take a deep breath. Your curiosity is raging inside of you, mingling with the apprehension of being near him - the same man Mother refuses to let you even look at through the window.

You slip on the sand and rocks behind him, his boots leaving footprints that dwarf yours. It takes just moments, but the two of you emerge out of the hidden crag and onto the soft grass that overlooks the ocean.

You're panting, your heart still beating erratically in fear of him, the executioner, here at night on a dark roadside, and no one to notice the two of you. He pauses, just long enough to throw a look over his shoulder at you - you recognize his silent instructions to hurry home. You take two small sideways steps, eyes trained on him as he walks in the opposite direction, to the small cottage situated between the forest and the sea and far away from where he found you. His exile - where he never ventures out unless called. As soon as he's far enough away, you turn and run.

When you make it back to your trellis you're out of breath, a stitch cutting your side open. You ready yourself to climb up, trying to catch your breath and remember his scent and the way he towered over you.

You wonder if he'd been there with you before, hidden in the shadows.

***

"What are you doing? Are you senseless?" Maggie's voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Your fingers slip over the apples in your hand as she grabs your wrist, pulling you back towards her.

"You're supposed to stay with me and Lily; not wander off to do god knows what?"

Her face is pinched, angry - you jerk your wrist out of her touch.

"I'm sorry Maggie, I just got busy looking at the produce."

She gives you a look that says she knows you're lying, but you fall in step behind her anyway. You had been lost in thoughts of the executioner, of how his eyes shone in the moonlight and his smell. Her hair, lighter than yours and Lily's, is pinned up elaborately; she spent two hours in the mirror this morning doing it. She didn't have to say it, but you know she hopes to run into someone who will run back to Edward and tell him about how gorgeous his future betrothed was today in the market.

Lily slips her hand into yours, and you two trail behind Maggie - ducklings behind their mother duck. Lily had whispered to you this morning between bites of breakfast that Mother had set Maggie to watch you to make sure you didn't slip off. She couldn't catch you out at night, but she knew you were disappearing somewhere.

She'd been creeping into the room for the past two weeks, only to find you pretending to sleep beside Lily. You'd close your eyes, and bury your face into the pillow, trying to sleep, but instead filled with thoughts of the executioner. Wondering if he was out there standing in the same spot, the waves soaking the bottom of his cloak, the ash on his mask shining in the moonlight. Wondering if he was thinking about you.

"I'm going to take Lily to the butcher; it's stupid for all three of us to go to the same place," you say, winking down at Lily. Maggie stops and sighs, heavy enough that you can see her shoulders heave.

"Mother said for us all to go together."

"What trouble can I get into with Lily?"

You elbow Lily just before Maggie turns to level a suspicious look at the both of you. Lily speaks up for the two of you, trying to keep her face serious.

"I can keep an eye on her - no one will get into any trouble when I'm around."

Maggie rolls her eyes at the two of you, you can see her wearing down.

"Besides if we go to the butcher, then that means you can take the long way home. And pass the tailor's shop."

That gets her - Edward will be there, working with his father, and if she doesn't have to cart you and Lily around, the two of them can meet in the alley.

"Fine. But meet me at the end of the street and don't tell Mother."

"I would never think of it."

You and Lily watch her disappear into the market vendors before the two of you turn in the opposite direction.

"What do you want to do?" You ask, nudging Lily with your shoulder. "We have at least an hour of freedom."

"Let's go by the bakery; I want something sweet."

"Something sweet? You are the best baker in the house, all you do is eat sweet food."

The wind blows your skirts around as the two of you walk across the village, dodging loose stones and puddles. You're trying to jump from one stone to the other when Lily grabs your arm.

"Look!"

Thirty feet away from the two of you, in the middle of the street, the executioner stands. People shove themselves onto the sides of the buildings, straining to get away from him. He doesn't seem to pay anyone any mind as he walks. Lily pulls on your arm, trying to pull you to the side, away from him. But you're stuck fast to the ground; even from this distance, you can see him looking at you as he walks.

Lily whines your name, pulling harder on your arm. He gets closer, close enough that you can almost make out the wrinkles beside his eyes. His eyes catch yours - you can tell recognition sparks in them. You want to say something to him, but you know if you do, it will get back to your Mother. So you let Lily pull you away from him, closer to one of the buildings, but your eyes never leave him.

He passes by, nearly silent for such a large man, black boots shining in the sunlight.

"Why is he out?" Lily hisses in your ear as he passes. You pull your attention from his broad back to her.

"I'm sure he also has errands to run."

"He's so scary."

You watch as he disappears around the corner - wondering what he thought about you, about what he'd say if you stopped and spoke to him, say hello here in public. The thoughts stick with you as you and Lily duck into the bakery. You're stuck thinking about it as she bribes the young boy behind the counter to give her two sweet rolls for free, promising that she'll pay him back next time. The two of you eat them as you walk to the butcher's, honey coating your fingertips.

You watch the butcher wrap meat in brown paper, but your mind is on the executioner: on how he refused to look at you until you were dressed, how he walked you back to the edge of the village. It takes just a short walk to make it back home, Maggie waiting for you at the end of the street so that you can all walk in together. You notice the way one of the pins in her hair is gone, a single lock of hair falling.

Inside it's a commotion - the three of you come through the door to your Mother rushing past with an armful of clothes.

"You all took your damn good time! Hurry up and go get clean for dinner. We're going to have guests tonight."

You press yourself against the wall as one of the hired girls hustles past, a tablecloth in her hand.

"Who's coming? What is this?" You inquire, as your mother shoves a dress into your arms. You try to peer at her over the royal blue material.

"Your uncle is coming to dinner, and so is Jonathan." Your heart sinks. Jonathan. A suitor hand-picked by Father for you. You've barely digested the information before your mother whirls on you, hair in disarray and fire in her eyes.

"And you will not act like a brat tonight. You are twenty years old - nearly twenty-one. Your sister will be getting married this year and I intend to announce your wedding shortly after. You will dress like a lady and act like one or so help me, I will send you to the nunnery this time.

And you," she whirls to Lily, her chest heaving. Lily shrinks half behind you, "will behave also young lady. You and your sister will not make a fool of me tonight. Do you understand?"

The two of you nod in unison together, too scared to say anything else. Mother waves the two of you upstairs - you trip over the dress in your arms, slamming your shin into one of the stairs. You emerge at the top, cursing under your breath.

The two of you rush to your room - Lily's dress laid across the bed; you shake the one Mother shoved in your hands out, nose wrinkled. It's one of Maggie's old ones: dark blue and heavy, elaborate embroidery across the bottom.

"I don't know how she expects me to fit into this," you mutter, throwing it across the bed. Maggie, taller than you by an entire head and more willowy, had never been able to share dresses with you.

"What do you think Uncle is coming for?" Lily asks, emerging from the neck of her dress, turning around in a silent request for you to lace her up.

"Probably to ask Father for money for another stupid business prospect, just like the last time."

You lace her dress, loosely.

"Can you tighten it up?"

"Why do you need your dress tighter? You're thirteen."

"The other girls wear theirs tighter."

Lily pouts at you, and you sigh at her.

"Come here; I'm only doing it a little tighter. When you lace mine, make sure it's loose, if I can even get it on. I'll braid your hair for you."

You re-lace her, just incrementally tighter, and redo the braids you did for her that morning, pinning them up in the back. From below, Mother is yelling to hurry up! You get dressed in a hurry, and to your surprise, the dress slips over you, but you know lacing it up will be difficult.

When your mother comes up the stairs ten minutes later, you have your hands braced against the end of the bed; Lily is pulling with all her might to try to get the back to close.

"Go wash your face, Lily," she says, brushing her away and taking the strings herself.

You know what's coming next; you breathe in, and she jerks the laces tight - you can feel the boning squeeze your ribs.

"Does it have to be this dress?" You ask as your mother pulls the strings again. You press your hands to your stomach, trying to breathe better as Mother ties the back, tucking the strings so they can't be seen.

"Jonathan likes the color blue."

"And that means I have to be packed into this like a sausage?"

Mother sighs, pushing on your shoulders so that you sit on the end of the bed. Her hands are soft in your hair as she pulls it down, and twists it back up, pinning it into place.

"You could do much worse than Jonathan. At this point, he's the only man that will have you."

"Have me? Like I'm a cow."

She sticks another pin in your hair, nearly stabbing your scalp.

"No. Like you're a woman; you can't do everything in this life alone. Besides," she tucks the last piece of hair in, "he travels. You could go with him."

Your hands smooth down the skirt of the dress, picking at a loose thread.

"I want to travel where I want to go, not where someone is going to show me off."

Your mother's fingers are soft on your shoulders as she turns you so she can look at you.

"We don't always get what we want in life. Sometimes we just have to take what we're given. Come on. Your uncle is waiting downstairs to say hello."

She holds your hand down the stairs; at the bottom, your Uncle Henry stands - taller than your father and thinner but not nearly as imposing. He kisses you on each cheek before moving to Mother. You leave them to talk and take your place at the dining table. It's empty except for the plates already sat down. In the kitchen, you can hear the hired girl banging around. The sound grates at your nerves, and the dress itches at your back where you can't reach.

There's a knock at the door - it sounds like a funeral cannon going off. You try rearranging your face into a smile and push yourself up from your chair. You're sure you look more like you have an upset stomach. In the hallway everyone explodes into a chorus of greetings. A moment later, Jonathan walks into the dining room.

If you're being honest, he's not the worst pick that your mother and father could have chosen. He's never been rude or forward with you, and he's not horrible looking, but as he reaches you and takes your hand, all you can think about is how small they must be compared to the executioner's hands.

"Hello, Jonathan." You try to smile at him as he kisses your hand.

"Hello, darling."

He turns just in time to miss the grimace on your face - turning to shake your father's hand when your father walks in behind him. You take your seat, waving at Lily to come sit down beside you quickly.

Dinner passes slowly; you're barely able to eat anything from the rolling in your stomach and the way the dress presses into you. The conversation is flowery and fake - Uncle Henry laughing too loudly, Jonathan smiling to politely across the table. It sets you on edge; Lily can see it because she reaches under the table to pat your knee.

It comes to a boiling point when Uncle Henry begins to describe his new business of shipping items.

"We've got a new ship; smaller and faster than the ones usually used. It can't hold as much cargo, but it can sail routes in half the time. With just two of them we can double how much cargo we're moving out of ports."

Your mother is leaning into the conversation, no doubt to know what she's going to tell Father no to later, Father is enraptured by your uncles conversation, and Jonathan leans across the table, listening in.

"You know," Jonathan says, cutting into the conversation, "I think you'd have more success using them to ferry people. Imagine how much people would pay to get where they're going faster."

Uncle Henry points at him across the table, a grin spreading over his face.

"The boy understands."

"Of course he does," Father says, pausing to take a drink, "he's already got plans to take my daughter on a cross-oceanic trip after the wedding."

Your fingers falter on your glass, it nearly spills, red drops spattering across the table like blood.

"Excuse me?"

Everyone turns to look at you, and you get the feeling that there's a joke you haven't been let in on.

"Well," Father says, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Mother cuts her eyes at him, a look you don't miss. "We were going to discuss this later."

"Discuss what?" You ask, voice rising. "Because it seems as if the decision has been made for me."

Jonathan's gaze swivels between you and your father; you bunch the tablecloth in your hands.

"Calm down dear," Mother says, rising slightly from her seat, "we will talk about this later."

"No!" You yell, slamming your hands to the table and pushing yourself up. "We won't. Because I know how the conversation will go. I will be forced to agree. This is an ambush!"

Your cup spills, staining the table red. Everyone in the room seems to hold a collective breath. Jonathan moves to stand; you turn, knocking your chair over. Across the table, Maggie gives you a look of contempt - it's enough to push you toward the door.

Everyone calls your name; you can hear your uncle laughing behind you. Someone's hand grabs at your wrist, but you jerk yourself away without looking to see who it is. Outside it's dark; windows are lit up with candle light and fires flickering. In the distance lightning strikes, grey clouds rolling towards you.

You run, slipping on the grass, towards the cove. You scrape your hands, cutting one of them on a sharp rock as you scramble down. You ignore the sting, and the sound of fabric tearing. You land hard on the sand, scrambling to pull yourself upright.

Across the cove, you see a flicker of white and a shadow ripple.

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