#Tan leather sandals

[susoriginals]

Vintage Ladies Beige Tan Leather Open Toe Bootie Sandals 4 1/4" Stiletto Heels by Nine West Size 6 Only $4.99

[elderjourney]

[freshthoughts2020]

[docandmark]

Desert boots, also known as chukka boots, are a classic style of footwear that offer a blend of casual and sophisticated aesthetics. They are characterized by their ankle-high design, two or three eyelets, and typically made from suede or leather.

[leadyoutothelight]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

This wasn’t supposed to be your place in life, you were the second daughter, a spare given to the temple of Minerva to serve as one of the many temple maidens. But when your father comes to you, telling you of your sister’s sudden passing, suddenly you’re thrust into a new role. Expected to fill her place in a political marriage to the famed General Marcus Acacius Rome’s beloved war dog.

Rating: Explicit +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Dubious Consent/Coerced Consent, Age Gap (no specified ages), Virginity Loss *discomfort mentioned, no blood* , Implied physical abuse from a parent, Patriarchal world and expectations of women, Grinding, Unprotected p in v sex, reader is a virgin, first time sex *please let me know if I miss anything*

Word Count: 8k

Author Note: Hello, first time writing for a Pedro Pascal character, but finally saw Gladiator II and I couldn't resist writing this! Please note, there is very little research into Rome actually done, I'm not writing this based on historical accuracy, just had an idea and wanted to write it. The title is based off a common Roman wedding vow meaning, Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.

Please let me know what you think!

-

Your sister is dead, you shall be the one to marry General Acacius. 

It had been the most your father had ever spoken to you in your entire life, the most he’d even looked at you. 

Being born the second daughter of a noble family is about as important as a new pair of sandals. Especially when you were the last born of five, and three of the five being boys. Your father was more than happy to direct his attention to his sons and his wars. Your sister and yourself were content to live in the house learning from your mother, waiting for the day your father drafted a marriage contract and sent you to a new household. 

Until it was decided that in a bid to gain the gods favor you were given to the temple of Minerva as a temple maiden, at ten you were bundled up with your few worldly items and left to the Priestess' devices. 

It was a sudden and chaotic change. But after the first year you found, you didn’t mind this new living arrangement. Yes, you had chores now, and you needed to share things. But you grew to like your new home with other women and girls working in the temple. Learning the day-to-day needs, and expectations of your new home. You flourished, and your mother and sister visiting every now and again helped you settle as well. 

The last time you’d seen your sister she’d been an excited mess talking the whole time of her engagement to General Acacius, that they’d be wed as soon as he’d returned home from another conquest.

“Just think sissy, me, a famed general’s wife!”  

Her eyes glowed in the lamplight as she’d clutched your hands in hers. You’d given her a smile and a nod, as she went on and on. Whilst you’d thought to yourself that you’d be stuck cleaning the temple floors for the next week due to staying out longer than allowed.

“You’ll be there right?” 

Her question pulls you out of your glum thoughts, and you give her a wide eye-scrunching smile. You don’t have the heart to disappoint, maybe with your father’s status you can ask for the time…

A pain twinges through you at the thought, the high priestess had been kind, giving you the time in exchange for you doing more chores when you returned. 

But today, a day you expected your sister to visit, with her finished bridal veil in tow. You expected to ‘oh’ and ‘aw’ over her hard work, compliment her delicate needlework, ask her jokingly which parts your mother had helped with. To comfort her, she’d mentioned fainting spells had started since the date had been announced. 

Maybe you’d even offer to bring her into the inner sanctum to ask the goddess to protect her, and her future husband. To give her calm in the coming ‘battle’ of marriage. 

But now you sit across from your father. A beast of a man, skin tanned and leathered from the sun. Scars criss-cross along his arms, you resist the urge to glance at his left pinky. Where only a ghastly stump sits. 

His voice brokers no argument, yet, you can’t stop yourself.

“What do you mean?” 

He blinks, those dark eyes boring into you, and you see a flash of anger, mixed with surprise. Again, your existence has been a fleeting one in your father’s opinion. He was the one who sent you here…he was the one who gave you to the gods. He can’t just–take you back. 

“I wasn’t aware you were an imbecile–” 

“I’m not, but you cannot take me from the temple–from Minerva herself–” 

“I have made the appropriate tithes and the priestess herself has granted your hand–”

“I am to serve the goddess, that is what you–”

“And now you shall serve the family!” It’s the way he stands, the clatter of the chair he once occupied. The roar of his voice, the one you know he uses to order his troops into battle with. You cower, well aware that this rage is one you don’t survive. 

Tears brim over your lashes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from arguing further, here in the temple, you are free to share your opinions. Voice concerns, even vent frustrations, rare luxuries in this male dominated society. You’ve found you enjoy the thrill of conversing, and theology the other maidens and priestesses provide. 

But now, that’s all being taken, when you’re so close to the priesthood. To take the sacred robes of Minerva, learn the sacred rights. Bless soldiers, generals, and emperors in their great conquests for the Roman Empire. 

That was your purpose, your place in this world. Being born a woman was a curse in this empire, but here you were safe, here you could make a life. 

“You shall be collected in the morning, the wedding will take place in a week's time.” 

That tone again. One brokering no peace, no argument. The voice he commands thousands with, and you are one of them. 

The next morning passes in a blur, your few things taken by slaves. You’re barely given enough time to hug the girls, and women you’ve come to see as your new family. Careful to hide your tears as the High Priestess stops you outside the temple doors. 

“Go with Minerva’s blessing,” her voice is soft, though there is an edge to it. You don’t respond, for fear that you’ll fall to your knees and beg her to stop this. Claim Minerva’s hold over you, refuse your father’s demands. 

But she won’t, your father is a powerful man, marrying you to another powerful man, and not even the goddess of war can prevent it. 

You’re whisked away on a chariot handled by one of your father’s trusted soldiers. A clear warning to behave, the city passes by. A few of the bustling crowds pause to watch you entourage, but it’s fleeting, they return to their day-to-day lives as it's nothing new to see a noble pass in their gilded transports. 

A blink and you’re home. The home you hadn’t seen in years, still a marbled behemoth, a villa of luxury befitting one of Rome’s finest generals. The sandstone pillars glow in the mid-afternoon sun. Banners the color of blood mark the door, along with coal black braziers that will be lit when the sun disappears behind the mountains. 

Awaiting you is a group of slaves, heads bowed, they drop to kneel as you are escorted from the chariot and into the house. 

It’s barely changed, since you last ran about the halls, as a wild precocious child. Tripping over your feet to follow your older brothers. The large atrium, with a lapis lazuli lined pool. Filled with various plants your father brought home to your mother. More braziers and torches line the halls. 

Gold, and weapons decorate the walls, all of them spoils of war taken by your father. Silk curtains billow in the afternoon wind, and distantly you smell the incense your mother uses throughout the villa. 

Your sister used to smell of it, well, the incense and rose water. A pang ricochets through your chest.  Her voice doesn’t greet you, and you’ll never hear it again. Instead it’s the rush of silks, and the patter of feet, and your mother enters the atrium, in the warm glow of the sun she shines. 

Dark hair in tight ringlets cascading down her back, her eyes shine with unshed tears. She stops seeing you in the entrance, then her arms spread wide, and like a child you rush into them. 

She smells of her personal fragrance of jasmine, and cinnamon. The mixture your father had gifted her after a long campaign many years ago. She buries her nose into your hair, fingers threading through the tresses. She presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Mama,” you whimper into her bosom, and she shushes you. Pulling back, her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against the apples of your cheeks. 

“Well, not the way I expected my beloved child to return to me but,” another kiss is pressed to your forehead. Her lips are soft and warm, tears well and threaten to spill a lump gathers in the back of your throat. “I am grateful to have some time with you again.” 

 For a moment, you’re grateful for the reprieve as well. But it’s short lived. She ushers you into the house, into her personal chambers. Where she sits you on the lounge, it’s darker here. Not as many windows, and most of them blocked by curtains. 

The incense is thicker here, and you stifle a cough as you settle into the dimness with her. 

“Oh my dear one, how I’ve missed you.” She smiles, and again her eyes take you in. Just as you do her, she’s aged in the years you’ve been gone. Where once was smooth skin, you see wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. The creases of her lips, a few grey hairs decorate her dark curls. 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t under…better circumstances.” You mutter, fingers toying with the robes you had left in. They’re still the temple robes, a simple woven woolen tunic. Good for completing chores, and easy to move in. 

Not like her opulent robes, her pure white muslin, with a deep blue dyed sash. A golden belt cinching in her waist. Her smile falters, a look of pain crosses her expression. 

“Y–your sister fought hard against the sweating sickness,” her voice wavers, and tears spill over her lashes, smudging the kohl lining her eyes. “But, she has been given her last rights, and she rests now in Elysium.” 

You nod, your chin quivers, as your own tears rain down from your eyes. Your mother tuts, and leans forward her hands warm and soft, unlike your now calloused fingers and palms.

“She would not want us to mourn–” 

“But Mama, she wanted this,” you gesture to the room of grandeur around you. Feeling your mother’s gaze watching you as you struggle with your next words, “I was promised to Minerva–to the gods!” 

You stand beginning to pace as you consider everything, and are finally able to do so.

“She should be here, I should be at the temple, learning the rites, blessing soldiers–”

“My darling you’re here now,” your mother’s voice is firm, a tone you recognize as her warning, and just like your father you know she’s not going to entertain you abandoning this marriage. “Come.” 

She offers you a bedecked hand, rings, and bangles gleaming against her skin. All the finery a woman could want. Sullenly you take her hand as she pulls you beside her, her hands take yours in a solid grip. 

“Your sister’s passing was a tragedy, but the gods have smiled upon us, in that Acacius is willing to continue the betrothal with you,” her voice is soft, you stare at your clasped hands. She’d done this before, when you’d first been promised to the Temple of Minerva. 

How strange to be here again, a child begging her mother to see reason and send you back. She pulls your hands up to her lips, pressing a warm kiss to them, as more tears spill from your eyes. Rolling warm, and wet down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to marry him Mama,” a soft sob leaves you, and you bury your face into her shoulder, losing yourself in her smell once more, you forget how much you’ve missed her. Missed this, just being with her, but there’s a hollow feeling inside of you, your sister should be here, and that makes more tears form. Another tut and her arms wrap around you, a hand goes to your cheek, another to your back. “I was happy at the Temple.” 

She hums low in her throat, the hand on your back rubbing soothing circles against your spine. She is warm, and solid, a soothing presence and she lets you weep. You don’t know how long you cry for but finally the hiccuping sobs ebb and you calm. 

She pulls back her hands returning to your cheeks as she takes in your red eyes, and tear-streaked face. 

“My love, I will say this to you, I understand more than you know,” she brushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, curling the wayward pieces behind your ear. “I know the fear of marrying a man, much less a military man.” 

You sniffle as she gives you a weak smile. “I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.” 

She pulls back, her hands resting on her lap, your tears have dried and you sigh, nodding, face downcast as you consider her words. 

“I swear my love, I know your sister dreamed of love, and of a grand marriage, I assure you that General Acacius is a good man,” her fingers lift your chin and your eyes meet, she gives you a final wistful smile, “it may not be a marriage of love, but…maybe it can be a marriage of equals.” 

-

The next week passes in a blur, and suddenly it’s the hour before your wedding. The final adjustments to your sister's dress are being made. You stand alone, a slave placing pins in the areas the garment might drag. 

Silently staring at the reflection in the copper before you. You don’t recognize the girl in the reflection. Your hair has been styled in the traditional bridal braids. A golden hairnet pinned against your scalp, a few strands have managed to escape. Make up paints your skin, mica shimmers on your eyelids, kohl darkening your waterline. 

The slave pauses in her adjustments, she glances up with a fearful look. 

“M–my lady, I’ve run out of pins–” 

A spark of your father’s rage courses through you, of course it doesn’t fit you it was meant for your sister. 

“Go fetch some then!” 

You don’t mean to snap but your nerves are shot as it is. She jumps and with a fearful bow leaves the room. Alone you slump, staring at yourself, unwilling to keep staring at the stranger before you. Your sister truly spared no detail, the embroidery along the edges is her finest work. With golden thread painstakingly sewn into the edges, when it catches the light it almost seems to glow like fire. The main shawl dyed a deep burgundy, is decorated with words of protection, along with her favorite flowers, pale lilies blooming along the skirt. 

I want him to think me a goddess made flesh. 

You hear her in the back of your mind, and wonder…if you should have admonished her. Maybe her vanity was her downfall, and the gods sought to correct her error. Tears spring to your eyes at the thought, no, they couldn’t have. 

She was good, and kind; her only wish was to marry and give her husband strong sons. Now she lays alone, and cold in the family crypts. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud chorus of calls from the atrium.

You hear it somewhere below, the revels have begun. The boisterous voice of your father as he jokes and cajoles with his old war fellows. The wine is flowing freely tonight, he has much to celebrate. 

“-it’s a good thing you had another one!” 

A laugh from your father as he claps someone on the back. 

“Ha! The only thing a second daughter is good for!” 

The rage sparks again, and before you can stop to think, you’re grabbing a jar of perfumed oil. Throwing it with a shriek, it lands with a satisfying shatter against the copper mirror. The thick liquid drips to the floor in a dark puddle on the sandstone. 

Your outburst has called attention to the crowd, a few moments of silence and your mother appears with the slave who left you. She gives a withering glare to the woman, who cowers, before turning her gaze to you. You clench your fist ready to fight, the rage in you growing, daring your mother to say something, anything.

“My love–” there is no time to admonish you, as a great rushing of horses and the wheels of a chariot sound, along with calls from the atrium. 

He's here. 

Before you can think your mother and the slave rush to finish the last minute adjustments, and finally the fine veil is placed over your head. You're dragged through the halls, almost tripping on the skirt, that’s still too long for your legs. 

Your sister’s belt is cinched so tight it cuts into the soft fat of your stomach, at least an old pair of your sandals fits, one of the only things of yours on you tonight. Your mother stops you just outside the atrium. The crowd is rowdy, the sweet smell of wine, the smokey herbs of the many roasted beasts, and finally the mixture of the florals from the many bundles of your sister’s favorite flowers fills your nose.

It’s beautiful, and your sister would have been beaming. You feel your stomach churn, your mother’s fingers rub soothingly along your arm, but it doesn’t quell the fear to run, the deer forced into the hunter’s trap. 

You don’t want to, but your eyes search the crowd, none of your brothers are in attendance. Your mother mentioned that all had been called away to far reaches of the Empire, one a rising commander in his own right. Another a promising scholar in Alexandria, and the last is a Senator, most likely schmoozing with the twin emperors to gain more political favor. 

Of course none of them felt it dire to come to their younger sister’s funeral, and the other’s marriage. You’re not surprised…though maybe a bit hurt, after all…they should have at least come home to give your sister her last rights. But even that is too pitiful a request compared to their great lives.

There are others here, all your father’s friends, and their wives, entertaining themselves with food and drink. Dressed in the finery expected for nobility, none of them take your attention for too long. 

You see your father speaking animatedly with someone you don’t recognize. He wears the traditional Generals uniform, the armor a pitch black, with the extravagant golden embellishments. A long red cape, fastened at his shoulder, you almost wonder if the man came straight from campaign. 

Then again…the twin emperors have been insistent that their empire grow, and the General has been the ever faithful war dog. You’d never met him in person, only the high Priestess of Minerva could bless the generals before a campaign.

You are loath to admit it, but he's handsome. In a rugged way, a strong jaw, full lips, a proud nose, with tanned skin. His beard is shorter but well kept, and his hair, was probably once a deep brown, has greyed and silvered with age, is kept in neat curls. 

His eyes remain on your father, but as if the gods enjoy your torment, seem to feel your gaze upon him. He turns, and those eyes the color of polished mahogany lance through you. 

For a moment you forget to breathe, forget to think. Those eyes take you in, just as you had done moments ago. But it’s short lived as your father spots you, and your mother. 

“Ah! Acacius, your bride arrives!” He leaves the General to come usher you over, you’re grateful for the veil, the fabric is thick enough it hides your face, so he can’t see your face very well, can’t see the panicked look in your eyes, as your father yanks you from your mother’s protective grasp. 

You want to reach out to her, to claw your way back, scream, dig your fingers into his eyes till he releases you, but resist. As he pushes you to the General, up close he’s nothing like you thought. He bows his head to you with a soft, “my Lady.” 

You respond in kind with a low bow and a muttered, “my Lord.” 

And with that the ceremony begins, with Acacius taking his place besides the officiant. One of your father’s many senatorial friends. 

Your father’s grip is a painful shackle around your wrist, the stump of his left pinky digs into your arm. 

“You will do well to make him happy girl,” he snarls beneath the music, his gaze burning a hole into the side of your skull. “It’s because of me, he accepted you, remember that.” 

You bite your cheek, the taste of copper filling your mouth as you ignore the remark, in favor of staring at the man who will take his place. 

The ceremony is short, the officiant stumbles over your name, as he clearly practiced for your sister’s name. It makes the ache in your chest grow, through the ceremony you feel the General’s gaze upon you as the final call for the gods to bless your union is made. 

“General, you may now reveal your bride, and take her to your home as is commanded by the gods.” 

Your heart has leapt from your chest to your throat as his hands take the veil and lift, revealing your face to him. 

Your eyes meet his, and he stares silently at you, those dark eyes taking you in, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His lips are soft, the rasp of his beard against your skin sending a chill down your spine. The kiss is quick, emotionless, before pulling away, he glances to the side, you follow his gaze. Your mother stands beside your father, tears stream down her face, and your heart breaks seeing her in such despair. 

“Take a moment with your family, I will collect you in a moment.” 

You don’t waste a second rushing away from him to your mother’s arms, she collects you with a soft sob. You can’t help the tears that spring forth. 

“My love, my dear,” she weeps into your hair, and you cling to her, a little girl once more. Afraid of your father’s anger had you broken something, or worse he had come home from a failed campaign, and no one would be spared from his rage. 

She would be alone after this, alone with only your father for company, and he barely stayed home long enough to acknowledge her. She presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Please…Mama, please,” a whimpered plea into her bosom, where your tears stain the silk, you look up to her eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t let him take me.” 

Her lower lip quivers, and more tears spill from her beautiful eyes, she shakes her head, her answer, and it cleaves your heart into two. She can’t stop this, no matter how much you beg, plead, all she could do was make sure he was a good man. You feel it then, Acacius’ arms wrap around your middle, the shriek that leaves you is animalistic, your fingers claw into your mother’s dress. 

“No! Mama! No!” It only takes one pull from Acacius for your mother to release you, your fingers pulled from her dress by your father. So you go to the next best thing, his arms, nails dig into skin. He grunts, the only sign of his pain, as he hauls you away from your mother who wails in chorus with your panicked shrieks. 

Your mother collapses, her palms slapping against the marbled floors in grief, your father just stands there, no better than a statue. No one will comfort your mother tonight…though you hope, somehow your sister will. That her spirit will curl about your mother’s form and give her rest. 

Or maybe she’ll spare you the horrors of the wedding night, but as you struggle uselessly against Acacius you know neither of those things will happen. As he drags you from the atrium to his chariot. You struggle, scream, and cry a final plea to Minerva to intervene. 

But alas she does not answer, and you're dragged from the safety of your mother’s arms and to Acacius’ villa where your wedding night awaits. 

-

It’s quiet in the spacious bedchamber, as you consider the marble flooring beneath your feet. Acacius hasn’t appeared since he placed you here. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you’ve ripped the veil and golden hairnet off. Your hair remains in its painful tangle of braids, you’re unsure of how to get them out without help. 

You take in the room around you, and from what you could see of Acacius’ villa like you thought it’s a luxurious home, maybe even greater than your father’s. 

You take in the fineries here, golden chairs and marble-topped tables. The fires of the braziers warm the room comfortably, and a soft breeze from the outside keeps the air fresh. The light of the fires gleam off the cups, and decanters of wine placed about the room, even the bed silks are a fine fabric you’ve never felt before. You absentmindedly run your hand over the softness, considering your options. The bed is pushed to the farthest wall, a behemoth of dark wood, and fine muslin curtains. 

Large windows line the eastern wall, to let in the light of the morning, and doors lead to what you can only assume is a terrace. Your legs twitch as you consider rushing to the doors, seeing how far the drop is, escaping into the night, the General none-the-wiser. 

But the idea is foolish, he’s a General with thousands at his beck and call, you are a noble girl, raised in the halls of a temple…You’d get no further than the city gates if you’re lucky. 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the sounds of footsteps echo into your silence. Your head snaps to the noise, a deer suddenly aware of the danger lurking somewhere in the trees.

He stands in the doorway, orange light of the fires play over his face, his eyes black pits, face unreadable. Your heart stutters in your chest, as you both consider each other. 

He’s removed his armor, though it does nothing to soothe you, he still stands with the rigidity of a military man. Prepared for battle should he need to be. You consider fighting him, but it’s a laughable idea. 

He could kill you with a flick of his wrist if he so dared, but he hasn’t moved closer. So you both remain silent, observing. 

It is a tense standoff, both of you sizing the other up, Acacius makes the first move. Taking a chair and settling into it with an exhausted huff. 

You tense, watching him as he takes a cup and decanter, pouring a healthy swig of wine, before drinking deeply. He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his fingertips trace the rim of his cup. 

“I am pleased to see you haven’t run yet,” he gives a humorless chuckle, and takes another drink. “I will say, this is not how I expected my wedding night to go.” 

You remain silent, waiting for his next move, he doesn’t say anything for a moment staring into the cup with a pensive look. 

“Those braids look uncomfortable,” those umber eyes meet your gaze. You can’t find your voice, so you nod. He sets the cup aside and stands, you can’t help your gaze falling to his exposed legs. The bunching of his muscles beneath his skin, the subtle strength there as he approaches you, a subtle grace to his movements that years of swordplay, and war-making has refined. The glow of his skin in the firelight, paints golden highlights along his flesh. 

A clearing of his throat stops your exploration, your gaze snaps up to Acacius, he gives you a small gesture to turn around. Tense you follow his directions, a moment of indecision, before the softest touch against your scalp. 

You can’t stop the yelp that leaves you, and the jolt of your body. The touch leaves, and there is a sigh through his nose. You wince, awaiting the strike that’s sure to come. 

Acacius surprises you again, a hand cups your chin and turns you to face him. You’re shivering, and fearfully you look up at the General. 

“I–I’m sorry–” 

“I promise, I will not strike you my Lady, I just want to unbraid your hair.” His hand is warm, his fingers large, and his palm is rough with calluses from holding a sword. You try not to notice how his hand easily encompasses your lower jaw. You nod, and again turn away. 

This time when his touch returns you steady yourself. For such large fingers, you’re surprised at their delicate caresses. As he finds the pins, and ties that keep your bridal braids in place. Slowly the pain of the too tight braids are relieved. 

His touch is gentle, the final braid is undone and he takes a moment to card his fingers through your tresses. A ripple of something courses through you, goosebumps alight along your skin. He chuckles, you finally find your voice. 

“Thank you, my Lord.” 

He doesn’t answer, instead you feel the brush of his knuckles against your cheek, again you jolt away. 

You know what must be done tonight, but you had hoped, and prayed, that he’d busy himself with his something, anything else. That you’d be forgotten and left to your own devices for the night. Acacius sighs through his nose, disappointment clear in his tone. 

“It is our wedding night—”

“I know my Lord–”

“I do not wish to force you.” 

The statement silences you, your heart pounding in its cage as you clench your fists in your lap. 

“My Lord Acacius please–” 

“My Lady,” he kneels beside you, one of his hands easily encasing both of yours. You resist every urge in your body to pull away from him, to scream, shout that you won’t allow him near you. “Your father told me, he would visit in the morning, to assure his daughter had done her duty.” 

You will give him this, he looks disgusted at the prospect, those full lips pulled into a grimace as he considers you. You glance down at his hand over yours, before meeting his gaze again. 

“Lord Acacius please, I was given as a child to the Temple of Minerva, I have no…no sense of the things required of a wife.” 

You press forward, one of your hands leaving the captivity of his to cover it. He seems surprised at the touch, glancing down at your hand before meeting your gaze again. His eyes are beautiful, and considering him for a moment, you recall your sister’s voice. 

He’s handsome sissy, you would agree. 

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes, you do agree, he’s handsome. A part of you was jealous that she remained at home, with your mother. But after settling in the temple you knew this life would never be yours, and some small part of you…knows that hint of jealousy still lingers, somewhere deep in your mind. It would have grown a bit more seeing who she married today. 

“You can learn–”

“I was given to Minerva,” you snap, a spike of your father’s rage, Acacius’ brows lift, a flash of surprise crosses his face. The hand beneath yours tensing. 

“What’s done is done, and your father would sooner kill you then return you to the temple.” 

His eyes darken and your shoulders slump, he’s well aware of your father’s reputation then. Well aware of the violence he so easily wielded even when not in battle. 

“But you could return me–” 

“I do not intend to.” 

That statement leaves you bewildered, and scrambling to come up with something, anything for him to change his mind. He leans forward, in the glow of the braziers he looks otherworldly, and you can’t find your voice. 

“I swear to you, I shall be a devoted husband, and I am willing to give you liberties in this union,” you consider silently, gaze going from his eyes and to his lips, “I cannot give you all the freedoms priesthood promises, but you will want for nothing.” 

You bite your cheek, searching his umber eyes for any hint of a lie. His other hand comes up once more to cup your cheek. This time you do not flinch from his touch. 

“I can make it pleasurable for you,” heat rises to your face as his thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, “but this union must be consummated tonight, as the gods demand.” 

The silence between both of you is thick, he’s right, you know he is. There is no way you will be able to return to the temple, it is either death or Acacius. 

I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.

Your mother’s words ring out in your mind, you close your eyes to stop the tears forming there, and nod. 

“I need to hear you,” he whispers, he’s moved closer to your face, the warmth of his breath ghosts over your lips. “Please, my Lady.” 

“I–I accept Lord Acacius, but–” you don’t know why it tumbles from your lips so freely, “but please, I don’t want it to hurt.” 

His lips press to yours suddenly, your eyes snapping open at the touch. The kiss is quick, he moves on from your lips to your cheek, then jaw, ending at your neck. 

You gasp as his tongue slips from between his lips, wetting the skin above your pulse. A heat rushes through you as his lips suck on the skin there, teeth nipping. 

Your fingers turn to claws as they grasp at his tunic, his hands shift easily, one going to cup your head. The other around your waist pulling you against him. His lips continue their exploration of your neck, finding new bits of flesh that he attends to. 

Pulling noises from you that surprise you, as a feeling courses through you, like you're hot and cold at the same time. You can feel your pulse between your legs, his mouth shifts further up your neck, Acacius pauses at your ear. 

“As we are going to be husband and wife,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, his lips sending electric zaps along the cartilage. You shiver as his voice drops to a rasp, “please call me Marcus, can you do that?” 

He nuzzles into the corner of your jaw, giving the skin another nip, a soft keen leaves you, as the nip sparks with a soft pain before dulling to a throb. As your fingers flex again in his tunic, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push you both apart. 

He has to be doing something, must have given you something, for this–feeling, this sensation to be burning through you. 

The hand at your waist is quick, fingers plucking at your sister’s belt, and it releases with a soft clink. The soft leather falls away, leaving your dress to sag, heat rises again to your cheeks and you squirm a moment. 

Acacius’ hand in your hair tightens, and for a moment you fear you’ve angered him. But all he does is move lower, the tip of his nose trailing down your neck, along the path he created with his lips. 

Marks of varying colors have bloomed across your skin, before stopping just above the cut of your bodice. Those deep brown eyes meet yours in silent question, you give a nod. The pulse between your thighs is growing. 

He works quickly finding the folds of your dress that keep it around your shoulders and covering your breasts. The silk falls away, you move to cover yourself, only the other temple maidens, and the priestess’ had ever seen you naked. 

Embarrassment fills you, should he see you, but Acacius is quick, his hands find your wrists. The short tussle sends you back onto the bed, Acacius hovering above you. He positions your hands beside your head. For a moment you consider fighting once more, thinking he intends you harm, but freeze as you see his eyes explore your newly exposed flesh. You can feel every touch of his gaze as he takes in the swell of them, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill. 

“M–Marcus–ah!” 

Saying his name spurs him into his next move, his face descends and he presses a kiss to your sternum, then shifting to your right breast. The scrape of his beard on your skin sends flutters of pleasure through you. 

A surprised moan leaves you as his lips find your nipple, pulling the hardening bud between them, sucking lightly your body convulses. Your eyes roll, the muscles of your abdomen clench, fingers twitch digging into his knuckles as he keeps them pinned. You gasp, back arching, pressing harder into his mouth. As if your body begs for more of the sensation. 

“M–Marcus,” you whimper his name as his tongue swirls around the bud, and gives it another suck, toying with it gently between his teeth. “Marcus please!” 

Your mind is becoming a fog, unsure of what you’ve begun to beg for, but the pulsing between your thighs has grown almost painful, and even as Acacius switches to your other breast giving the neglected bud the same attention. 

You squirm, thighs pressing together, another soft moan leaves you as the pressure gives some relief. Acacius pauses in his attention to your breast, his eyes are changed, that umber brown swallowed by the dark of his pupil. He presses kisses to the swell of your breasts, before asking, “What do you need of me my Lady?” 

You whine struggling to understand his question, as your thighs writhe, you bite your lip whimpering. 

“You said it wouldn’t hurt–” 

“Where does it hurt?” His reaction is quick, he returns to your face pressing a kiss to the underside of your chin. “Tell me.” His breath is warm, and smells of the sweet wine he indulged in before all this. 

“B–Between–” it feels foolish to say it, to mention the heat between your legs, the strange throb that’s continued to grow since he began to touch you. 

“Where?” he asks again, another soft kiss to your jaw. 

“Between my legs,” you whine, the writhing of your thighs no longer offering the necessary relief. You feel feverish, unwell, your stomach tightening uncomfortably. Acacius huffs a laugh against your neck, he releases your hands trailing his fingers down your arms. Over your breasts, where he pauses a moment to toy with your nipples once more. 

Your body reacts back bowing, pressing yourself into his palms, Acaius hums appreciatively, before his hands delve lower. Pushing down the rest of your sister’s wedding gown, you’re left bare to him. 

Again the embarrassment of it floods you, but Acaius is quick to stop you, laying on his side, he pulls you against him, one hand cupping your hip, cradling it  between his legs where something rubs against you, your other hand nestled between your bodies, the other splayed to the side finding purchase in the sheets. 

Acacius pauses taking his bottom lip between his teeth whilst considering you. 

“I promise this will make the pain go away,” he whispers against your cheek, and you nod, half mad with the overwhelming sensations devouring every coherent thought. 

“Please.” You whine, and his hand slides between your legs, a noise leaves you that’s closer to a howl than anything. The rough pads of his fingers find your clit, two circle the bud slowly, teasingly. Before pinching it between them, your hips buck into his palm. He groans softly into your hair. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, the sudden onslaught of pleasure leaving you reeling in its wake. 

Only a few garbled pleas, and his name can leave your lips, it’s all your mind can remember to say. As his fingers release your clit, and return to swirling in indiscernible patterns around the sensitive bundle.

It feels like too much, the rough stroke of his finger pad against your clit, your fingers close around his wrist. 

“W–Wait–” your tongue can barely form the words, it’s too much, and if he keeps touching you like this, you fear you’re going to break. A sensation you can’t name growing in your belly, the throb between your legs. The wetness there drips down your thighs, staining the sheets beneath you. 

“T–too much, it’s too much.” Acacius hushes you, the muscles of his wrist flexing against your palm, as he continues his pattern. Every touch sends bolts of lightning up your spine, clouding your thoughts. 

“It’s alright, let it come,” he whispers against your throat, the rasp of his beard adding another feeling that makes your body ache. Muscles bunching, toes curling, your mouth opens in a silent scream as something washes over you. Overwhelms you, your nails dig into his shoulder. He muffles a noise into your collarbone. 

This must be the gods, or death, or–or something. Your body convulses, the throbbing between your legs pulses with every beat of your heart. Eyes rolling in your skull, Acacius groans as you settle. Something hard presses against your hip, but you're still caught in the undertow of whatever spell he’s placed you in. 

“M–Marcus,” you whine, as his finger toys with your clit again, the feeling borders on painful, as the touch causes another throb to race through you. “Wh–what did–” 

“To help with the next part,” he hums, his fingers leave between your legs. He pulls away from you. Body shivering at the loss of his warmth, the solid form of his body against yours, and you feel more exposed than ever before. A deer caught in the line of Diana’s arrow. As those soft umber eyes look over your exposed flesh, pausing at the swell of your breasts heaving with every breath. He pulls instantly at his wedding tunic, shucking the last article of clothing off. 

His skin is a sun kissed tan, and scars lace across the expanse of his flesh. Swords, spears, knives. All manner of brutality has marked him, as your gaze travels lower you stop. The hardness you felt against your hip, long, with a mushroom-like head, a pearl of fluid leaking from the tip. It bobs with his breathing, veins pulse along the shaft, it looks painful. You pull your hazy gaze to meet his, and your breath hitches. 

His eyes gleam in the firelight, he reminds you of the towering Jupiter, or Mars. A god made flesh, and your heart stutters as he kneels on the bed between your legs. That fear returning full force. You stumble, and scramble in the sheets. They stick to your sweat-coated skin, and you can’t escape as he settles over you. 

Caging you beneath his form, you struggle, Acacius traps your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I will go slow,” he whispers, as again, tears brim along your lashes. His thumb rubs the hollow of your cheek, in an attempt to soothe. It doesn’t, as your heartbeat spikes, and your hands go to his chest weakly. His skin is rough, the scars knotted and strange against your fingers. He makes a noise low in his throat as your hands splay over his flesh. 

“But–I thought–” he settles between your thighs, you look into his eyes, pleadingly, a gasp leaves you as his length brushes against your core. He grunts, and his length twitches, you feel it, sudden and foreign. You squirm, and a hand lashes out grabbing your hip to still you. 

“Be still,” he whispers through clenched teeth. It’s a command and you listen, forcing your eyes closed, his hand leaves your hip to trail between your bodies. For a moment you think he only means to pleasure himself, but you tense as the head of his cock brushes against your cunt. 

“Acacius what–” you're silenced by the pain, though his previous ministrations helped, he’s large. The stretch of him entering you burns, your fingernails dig into his flesh, as if that will quell the pain of him entering you. 

You can’t breathe, can’t think, as all your mind can focus on is the stretch of his cock filling you. The way his length spears you, opening you, a soft whine of pain leaves you. Acacius huffs above you, the fingers beside your head curl into the sheets. He leans down forehead against your shoulder. 

“So tight,” he rasps, he almost sounds to be in pain as well. You think for a moment, maybe he’ll stop, that it’s too much for him as well. But he presses on, inch by painful inch he opens your cunt. “I’m sorry.” It’s whispered to the flesh above your heart, his lips brush the skin, sending a jolt of something through you once more. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he settles. You whimper feeling the press of his hips between your own. 

“Acacius, please…” You don’t know what you’re begging for, as the uncomfortable fullness settles. You swear you can feel every part of him, the throb of his cock as it rests heavy and thick in your cunt a warm sort of pain that lingers behind your navel. His cock twitches and you jolt, Acacuis grunts above you, again that hand returns to your hips. 

“Y–You must be still,” he gasps, your fingers flex, you glance down, seeing the red half moons  where your nails dug into his flesh. You silently hope he felt a bit of the pain he put you through. “Tell me when it stops hurting.” 

You glance up, those eyes giving you pause, he’s watching you. Taking in every wince, every hiss of breath as he remains still inside you. For a moment you consider lying, telling him it’s too much, but as you both remain there you feel it. The burn subsides, though the fullness remains. 

You take your lip between your teeth considering him, the greatest General of Rome, waiting for your lead. You shift, and Acacius gasps, your cunt flutters around him. He shudders above you and his length throbs again inside you. 

“D–Don’t–move,” he pants his fist clenching again on your hip, his head lowering to press his forehead to your shoulder again. A stutter of breath against your skin. “Does it still hurt?” 

A whispered plea into your breast, you hesitate to answer him, fearing another onslaught of pain. His voice is soft, as his hips give a subtle thrust, “I swear my lady, I will make sure we both find our pleasures.” 

A choked noise leaves you, as his pelvis grinds against your clit, your cunt walls quiver around him. Acacius gasps, his arm shakes, and you whine. 

“Please–” he grunts, “tell me I can move.” His dark eyes meet yours and your lungs refuse to breathe, your heart stops beating for a moment, and the world slows. His skin shins with a layer of sweat, he’s trapped his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Move,” a whispered acceptance, Acacius takes it with fervor, pulling his hips back, your head falling back into the softness of the sheets. You feel every inch of him, every pulse of his veins as he pulls from your soaked core. 

Acacius curses under his breath as he begins a steady, hard rhythm. Every thrust of his hips sends new shock waves of bliss up your spine. Your cunt flutters around his shaft, with every thrust he seems to plunge deeper. 

Your legs shift, thighs settling on the solid form of his hips, the movement making you tighten. Acacius gasps, you feel it, another pulse of his cock. He grunts a hand moving from beside your head to between your bodies. Fingers finding your clit again, you keen, toes curling as another wave threatens to overwhelm you. 

“Are you close?” He huffs, his hips continue in their thrusting, his fingers dance along your clit. Your eyes can hardly focus on the man straining above you, all you can offer is another high pitched moan, your hips beginning to rise to meet his thrusts. 

Acacius groans again, his arm shaking as he pistons into you with a gratuitous fervor, the sounds of your coupling fill the room. Your skin shines with sweat, as does his, those eyes meet yours as he grits his teeth. 

His fingers press against your clit, and his cock thrusts so deep inside of you that for a moment you see stars. Your body stills, you forget to breathe for a moment, you think a scream of his name leaves you, as your back arches pressing into Acacius who shouts. 

Your cunt quivers around his length, you feel a warmth as his cock throbs inside of you. Both of you remain still, breath returning in soft pants as your vision returns to you. Acaius huffs above you, his hair, once well styled is mussed about his face. But you think distantly that it suits him, he leans down pressing his forehead to your chest. 

For a moment you wonder if you will have to remain like this, until with a slow movement Acacius pulls from you. A whine leaves you, as he pulls from your cunt. 

You lay on the bed, eyes closed, sweat cooling uncomfortably on your skin. None of your muscles wish to work, and you don’t sense Acacius still in the room. 

You’re shocked to feel…disappointment worming its way into your mind, after everything you should be grateful that he’s left you be. 

But you’re surprised again as his footfalls sound, with a tired blink you open your eyes and glance up. Acacius has put on a robe, and he kneels beside the bed with a rag, he takes his time cleaning you. 

It reminds you, for a moment, of the baths in the Temple where you would clean, and help clean other initiates. His hands are careful as he reaches between your thighs, noticing you tense he’s gentle. Careful of your still sensitive core the roughness of the rag makes you whine, hips bucking away from it. His hand steady's you as he works.

The rag cleans away the wetness that drenches your thighs, and butt. He finishes his cleaning, and then moves to lift you from the edge of the bed to the middle, carefully tucking you into the soft sheets. Your body doesn’t respond to anything, not even the want to help him does it respond, until he turns to leave. 

“Marcus,” your voice is soft, unsure, but he stops and turns looking at you, “aren’t you…going to stay?” 

His eyes seem to lighten at the question, he bows his head, “Would you like me to?” 

You nod, and he relaxes moving back to the bed he settles in beside you, careful not to move you too much. You don’t mind it though, you notice that his sheets smell of jasmine. You huddle into the sheets, staring at the general silently. 

And you consider…this marriage my not be one of love…but maybe…of equals.

[johnbrand]

Call to Action

William was getting antsy in the airport, crossing his legs and kicking his feet anxiously as he awaited his flight. It had been nearly two months since he had last seen his long-distance boyfriend and the excitement was riling him up. William had been preparing for this trip for weeks now. Everything was packed, the shuttle from the airport coordinated. As soon as he landed he would quickly change from his plane pajamas to a fancier outfit to surprise his true love.

All of this made William bouncy with a child-like giddiness. The two had been lovers since their first year of college, but William’s boyfriend had made it clear early on that senior year he planned to study abroad. Even though this separation was planned and temporary, the young, romantic William had swooned since the day he left. He practically looked the part too, his average, lean build and mousy brown hair perfectly accompanying the lovelorn persona.

Doing his best to distract himself, William grabbed for his phone, surprised to find an unknown number trying to reach him. With nothing better to do, he decided to accept the call. William did not notice all the other men in the airport simultaneously reaching for their phones and answering the same number through their devices.

“Men!” a rugged, masculine voice exclaimed from the other end. “It is our time to rise up to save our country!”

William was not prepared for this sudden call to action, but curious, he remained on the line. He did not realize his decision was already made for him.

“Men should be with women! Men need to become fathers again!”

William’s eyes glazed over at the strong words as the masculine voice continued to spout even more offensive remarks. It was jarring, aggravating to a point that…aggravating to a…aggravating to his dick.

William let the man’s uproar of commands project on, unaware of the small boner that rose from his soft pants as insults were delivered at his masculinity. Each of the man’s statements were absorbed willingly into William’s innermost self, adjusting the poor boy to the expectations of a complete stranger. William’s height rose dramatically, a soft breeze tickling against his shins as his pants rode higher up. His thighs and calves began to fill the empty space as the pants became a starchy material, khakis functional either indoors or outdoors. His shoes too, once cheap sandals, grew larger into massive athletic sneakers that (thanks to his manly privilege) passed as "business casual."

“Straighten out those backs and puff those chests!” the voice urged, and William obliged. His muscles tightened beneath the worn-out tee, which was quickly thickening into a sporty-yet-still-professional polo echoing a more standardized hue. William’s chest, now supported by hard-earned bulk, began to cover itself with little hairs while his entire being broadened and squared. The changes crawled out from underneath the new shirt down his arms, leaving William with tanned, lightly dusted appendages and thick mitts begging for a game of catch on the front lawn. A single finger was graced with a simple silver band.

William’s manhood continually throbbed with the man’s words, pulsing larger with every new mandate ordered upon him. “Your role is to reproduce a spitting-image, not a spitting savage!” William felt himself agree, tightening the typical leather belt that had secured itself around his stronger base. His evolving cock protested the loss of freedom, now a machine for fertilization built for a purpose other than sheer pleasure. “You are a man, so act like one!”

“I am a man!” William repeated, his vocal chords deepening with maturity and testosterone. His jaw squared out with manly aftershave, years brutishly piling onto his body to make him better prepared for fatherhood. William's hair flattened out into a neatly combed shape, a long-practiced art form that matched his weathered, experienced eyes.

“Families and jobs are the priority.” the man signed off. “Father our children, father our country!”

Bill placed the phone down, noticing his flight had just arrived. The 30-something-father watched as the passengers got off, noticing all the proud men with their families. The thought aroused his massive paternal schlong, quickly forcing him to spread his legs to make some room. Bill had just finished a week-long corporate retreat, talking business, the home life, and politics with the other like-minded men out on the greens. Now though, he was excited to get home to the wife and kids. So excited in fact that he had to hear his voice one last time.

“Hey hun, boarding the plane now. Have dinner ready by the time I get home." Bill's command held the dominance and authority of natural masculinity. "Tell the kiddos I'll see them soon, love ya.”

[morgana-ren]

Come down to the Black Sea VII

Merry Honda-Days and Toyotathon everyone, here's the latest chapter of that story that everyone has forgotten existed lmao

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, attempted assault, slight sexual content, one very pissy, overgrown fish and bad writing. It's getting worse folks, much much worse. Soon there will be plenty of uh debauchery for all. I swear.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Who is the first to burn?

 What an absolute hell-day. 

The café had been swarming with customers to the point of overflow, and you'd barely gotten a chance to rest your throbbing, aching feet— or even take a damned breath without someone practically breathing down your neck for you. 

With the entire island abuzz with the news of the gruesome beachside slayings, anyone with free time and not much else to do had congregated in social forums and restaurants to speak in hushed tones and exchange gossip. 

Small communities don't have much going on in the way of excitement, so they swarm like bees to honey to any sort of scandal, and it seems that a potential murderer walking among the population is the best form of news to get people in all up in a bluster. Sure, the police had said it was likely an animal attack in their press conference, but people love to talk, and it turns out that a murder is much more titillating than a displaced predator. 

Oh yes, the tips had been great, but you could barely feel your legs, and exhaustion was rapidly taking hold. You’d had another date scheduled for tonight, but in the wake of things, you weren't sure if you could even keep your eyes open long enough to cancel it. A quick apologetic text and a promise to make up for it later is the best you can muster before the dreaded drive home. 

Thoughts of crawling into bed and sleeping through the next afternoon occupy your head, mind on autopilot as you navigate your way back to your apartment. The winding road takes you by the shore, and you can't help but stare longingly for a brief moment before the light turns green. Twilight turns the sky a velvet purple, ocean lapping gently against the sands, and once more, your thoughts turn towards the sea. On nights like this, you’d used to visit the beach, basking in the silence and peace of nature. Truth be told, you miss it terribly; it feels as if a piece of yourself is missing as you deny yourself the opportunity to visit your once special place. 

The vicious sea creature lurking beneath the waves has robbed you of that. 

Vindictive, but more so, utterly drop-dead exhausted, you take the turn the opposite way towards your home– and duvet cover tantalizingly waiting on your bed– instead. 

It’s a rink-dink pop-up apartment that costs more to live in than it likely cost to build the entire thing. It’s not much, but it’s home, and it’s yours– and right now, there’s nothing in the world you want more than to be inside, curled up under the covers layered on your cheap, shitty mattress. 

You’re almost home-free, pulling into your designated parking spot when you spot her : A sun-tanned, leather-skinned older woman that you'd rarely seen without a bent cigarette between her bony fingers is smoking just outside the stairwell. 

Lisa. The resident nosy neighbor. Clearly, news about the beach had reached her as well, as she’s perched in the stairwell like a vulture waiting to pounce on the rest of the unsuspecting tenants and entrap them into a lengthy conversation about her thoughts on it. 

Eyes almost rolling out of your head, you can’t help the audible sigh. You don't have the energy to converse with her, but you steel yourself, knowing it's entirely unavoidable. She's clearly hooking for conversation, several butts lying scattered around her ancient brown sandals. The best you can do is try to cut it short– as short as you can with a woman like Lisa. 

You almost feel bad, being so catty and dismissive of her. She's a very nice lady; she's just exceptionally chatty– and nearly deaf to social cues— and you aren't feeling up to it right now. The only thing you give a good goddamn about is the sink of a pillow. 

“Hey Lisa,” You stifle the sigh that threatens to escape, pulling your bag from the passenger seat and slamming the car door shut with a tired swing of your hip. 

“Howdy kiddo!” She smiles at you, light from the setting sun spotting through the patterned holes in her wide brim straw hat as she nods at you in acknowledgement, clearly gearing up for the whole conversation with barely contained eagerness. “You hear the news?”

“Yep,” You fumble through your bag for your keys, trying to give a clear hint that you aren't in the mood for a chat today, even knowing it's pointless. “Been at work all day. Hard not to. You know how people here talk.”

“Well, I'm glad they let you outta there before it got too dark. It's not safe out there anymore. Not like it was when I was young. You know, used to be you could sleep on the beach and not worry about a thing.” 

That was never the case. Lisa sees things through nostalgia glasses, as is evidenced by her attire, which might have been considered hip at one point before you were even born. 

“Yeah, it's a real shame.” 

“It’s a shame alright,” She inhales another drag from her cigarette, ashing onto the concrete beneath her as she shakes her head. “They were probably good kids. Hurts my heart to see folks so young gone before their time.” “Who?” 

“The kids that were killed— Well, kids to me ,” She purses her wrinkled lips. “About your age, if I had to wager. Nothin’ but youngins. They were having some kind of party on the beach when the tragedy occurred. Such a pity their life was cut short like that, especially in that way. What a travesty.” “Yeah, it’s awful,” You yawn, half intentionally, half unable to help it. “I’ve been warning the city council for years that they’re infringing on mother nature, and she’s going to bite back one day. Looks like she has now. She can be brutal, when she wants to be. You know, I told them about that new harbor. You seen that thing? Like we don’t have enough around here. Pokes right at the boundary line.” You nod, not really sure what else to say. It’s clear she wants to spark a discussion, but your head is a mass of fog and exhaustion, and you’re drawing a blank. Thankfully, she seems to get the hint, frowning slightly as she moves to let you pass up onto the stairwell.

“Right, well, you must be tired– you take care now, girlie. Don’t be staying out too late. Something is stirring on this island. Been here long enough to know something ain’t right.”

“I won’t, Lisa. I’m going straight up to bed. I’m wasted.” 

“Good,” She flicks the butt onto the floor, stamping it beneath her shoes before reaching into a half-empty pack for another, apparently still set on fishing for conversation from another unaware person just trying to get home for the day. “Heart can’t take losing anyone else. Old lady can only take so much heartbreak.”

You offer her a sincere smile before continuing on your way. She’s a genuinely sweet woman– lonely, if you had to guess. She doesn’t seem to have any children or family of her own, thinking of herself as some kind of den-mother to the apartment instead. Normally, you’d be more sympathetic to her, but right now, all you can think about is crawling into bed and curling into a ball. 

“Take it easy, Lis. Don’t stay out too late either.” 

You drag yourself up the metal stairs, footsteps heavy and echoing off the metal steps and against the concrete walls. With one last look at the sunset, you flip through your keyring, more than ready to fall into the sheets. You insert the key and–

The door handle turns without you needing it. 

That’s odd. You’re damned sure you locked the door today. Pretty sure, anyways. It’s possible you didn’t. You were a bit preoccupied, after all. It might’ve been one of those little mental slipups. Either way, you’re too tired to worry about it. With a shrug, you kick open the door with a nudge of your boot, hurtling your body through the archway like a stone. 

Your apartment is dark, and left with a pounding headache from overwork and undernutrition, you don’t even bother with the lights. Instead, you fling your bag onto the sofa, where you resolve to deal with it tomorrow. Right now, you want something to calm your churning stomach. Lunch breaks are a fantasy when things get so busy, and you’d only been able to shovel a few bites into your mouth between rushes.

Poking your head in the fridge, you note over the half-eaten leftovers strewn about the shelves, something foul-smelling clearly hiding amongst them. Whatever it is, it’s permeating what little good food you do have, pulling out a few things of tupperwear only to throw them back in disgust, shaking your hand off as if it could wave away the stench.

No dinner tonight, it seems. Even if the lack of food wasn’t enough to turn you off, the smell certainly is, and waiting for takeout sounds like the worst idea you’ve ever had. Tea for dinner it is. 

The stove hums to life, the burner transforming into a bright, scalding red as you fish the teapot from one of your cabinets. It’ll take a few moments for the water to reach boiling point, and it should be just long enough for you to slip out of your day clothes and into something far more comfortable. Nothing in your life has ever sounded better than getting out of these pants and into something light and airy and comfortable.

The hallway is dark, and you nearly trip over a pair of shoes you must’ve left there earlier. The last few days have left you scatterbrained and in disarray, and clearly you’d been letting yourself lose sight of your mental faculties. Forgetting to lock the door, kicking off shoes in the hallway, and who knows what else you’d been neglecting. Tomorrow will have to be an organizational day– but you’ll deal with that tomorrow when you have the ability to process it.

Fumbling through the dark, you manage to find the closet, shucking off your shirt and kicking your pants off your legs as you reach for a clean tank top and a pair of sleep shorts on the shelf. You hear your phone vibrate in the pocket of your work pants, but you can’t be assed with it right now. You don’t even bother fishing it out as you kick your pants to the side. There is no one in the world you feel like talking to right now. Not even your scorned date who is probably bummed you decided to cancel. You are too, to be fair, but you wager you wouldn’t be much fun right now. 

As you unclasp your bra and slide the straps off your shoulders, you could swear you hear some kind of thump behind you. Creaky, miserable old apartment has you scoffing under your breath. Probably the damned AC unit thunking out again. Yet another chore to add to the list of shit to do tomorrow– not that the superintendent will do anything. As far as he is concerned, you pay to sleep here, and that’s that. 

The teakettle starts to whistle from the other room, and you shuffle your dirty clothes to the side, shutting the door to the closet and stepping back into your bedroom. Your eyes haven’t quite adjusted to the darkness, but you swear you see movement .  

It’s far too dark to truly observe anything in the shadows, but it leaves you with the lingering feeling that something is wrong . Something that sends your hackles raising and a shiver down your spine. Nothing seems out of place, but something feels off . 

You try to shake it clean, ignoring the strange bristling that has the small hairs on the back of your neck rising, opting for the kitchen instead. Everything that has happened lately must have your brain fried and your nerves on end. Or you might just be exhausted. 

Yeah, that seems right. 

The kettle steams and pops as you pull it from the burner, filling an old mug with the water and stirring in a teabag. It smells adequate, and you're halfway through inhaling when you swear again that something moves out of the corner of your eye. You haven’t slept properly in days, and the dull light of the setting sun must be playing tricks. Shadows dancing on the walls. The awful news playing on the edge of your mind, making you paranoid. Whatever it is, it can wait.

It's nap time, and not even the God of the sea himself could stop you from it. Nor can that edging fear that grips at the fringes of your mind and won’t relinquish its grip. 

From the hallway, you can see the finishing line. The pale outline of your bed in the darkness, soft and waiting, inviting and utterly perfect. You don't bother flicking on the lights to settle in first. It's so close now, you can practically feel the pillow. The tea goes onto the nightstand, and you're not sure that you'll be awake by the time it's cool enough to drink. You fall into the feathery mattress, so ready for sleep that you swear you're already practically half way there. Your eyes close, not even bothering to worm under the covers. 

Finally . 

Your body sinks into the feather bed, limbs falling limp and relieved exhale inevitable. It’s unbelievably comfortable in a way you could swear it never has been before, and it feels like you’re wallowing in a cloud. It’s so close now, the sweet, lovely embrace of rest–

But that strange, terrible feeling stays sharp on your mind, ever insistent and refusing to quiet despite your whinging mental protests. 

Something has you on edge. Some subtle thing that doesn't feel quite right. Something uncanny and off that has you shifting restlessly. Your body is so exhausted that you can barely think straight, but something raw and primal and cold has lodged itself in your gut, refusing to let go. 

You try to ignore it. Try to shrug it off as typical weird day strangeness. You flip onto your back, trying desperately to will yourself into the sleep you'd been so desperate for. Your stomach churns, anxiety and adrenaline racing through your veins for no real discernible reason, and even as you grasp for rest, it slips through your fingers. 

The short hairs of your body stand on end, that dreadful feeling of being observed without your knowledge edging into your mind. What was once a persistent tired warps into a cold dread, your heart pounding, something urging you to run–

Your eyes open of their own volition, scanning around for something . Something abnormal, something wrong. You're greeted by nothing but blackness, but you swear, you could swear —

“You humans are so dull. No wonder you’re all half dead already.”

You did not imagine that. Your eyes dart in the direction of the noise, blood like ice and hands beginning to shake. Body paralyzed in fear, refusing to move. That voice, it sounds like—

“It's a– how you say– modern fucking marvel you haven't been killed off already.”

Sparking to life like an old motor, your body shoots up off the mattress, heart thrumming in your ears and legs quaking but ready to bolt. Your feet hit the cheap carpet, knees bent and poised to flee. How is it possible, how is it possible?

A heinous cackle resounds through the room, echoing off the thin walls of your apartment. That hideous laugh that haunted your dreams the first time you'd heard it. 

“T-Tomura?”

This has to be a nightmare. It has to. 

A frantic look around greets you with two horrible red eyes in the shadows, glowing faintly in the dark. Somewhere in the dim light, you can make out the shine of ivory teeth, beset by twin sets of fangs, bared in a snarl. Your hand slaps the nightstand, determined to prove to yourself you must be losing it. A flick of the light on your table only proves true your worst fear. 

He’s here.

Like a horrid shadow, a monster clad in black, a figure stands in the corner of your room bearing down on you. Tall and imposing, menacing as he glares you down with horrible red eyes.Whatever reason he’s here, it cannot be good. Your mind swims through memories of your last encounter: The ferocity, the viciousness, the vindictive and sincere way he’d lunged at you. He’d wanted you dead– and now he’s here to finish the job. 

A desperate rabbit cornered by a fox and left with no other options and, frankly, nothing to say to him, you bolt . 

Like a newborn fawn on stilted legs, you tear towards the door of your bedroom, almost tripping over a pair of wayward pants. You barely manage to catch yourself on the wall, scrambling to right your balance. There's heavy football behind you like the beat of a drum, approaching inhumanly fast. You claw at the door frame, desperate for the extra momentum. Another cruel laugh, this time immediately behind you.

He's on you before you can even manage a scream, large hand encircling your neck, sharp nails dimpling painfully into the soft skin. Squealing and dizzy, he rips you to your feet with a fluid and disconcerting ease, tossing you back on the mattress with a shove of his arm. 

You try to scramble backwards on the bed, efforts squandered as his frigid, clawed fingers wrap themselves around your ankle, yanking you forward once more. Fear and horror mix a caustic cocktail in your gut, kicking fruitlessly at your assailant. His soft chuckle is almost somehow more dastardly than his shrill bark of laughter, sending a riptide of terror through you as he approaches, your leg held in his unrelenting iron grip. 

“How is this possible?” The words force themselves from your throat, your hands clutching the sheets as if they could protect you somehow. “You can't— it's not possible!”

“You arrogant little idiot,” he spits, a guttural growl overtaking the ends of his sentence. “You don't know what I'm capable of. But you'll find out.”

“But you're— your tail and— But –” 

His other hand curls into the neckline of your tank top, the fabric audibly stretching between his fingers. “ Disgusting , isn't it?”

He pushes forward, your head pulling instinctively backward as he leans closer. An overly large hoodie envelops his upper body, with an ill-fitting pair of black jeans riding low on his hips. The hood is pulled over his head, pasting a smattering of frazzled silver hair to his forehead and over his face, leaving only his chapped, snarling mouth visible to you. 

“ How ?”

Another derisive laugh, mouth curling into a twisted grin. “I'm capable of all sorts of things you can't even fathom.”

The metallic, acrid scent of copper becomes palpable and assails your nostrils as he leers over you, and even in your terror, you begin to notice suspicious, dark stains spattered over the fabric of his ill-fitting clothing. Sand stubbornly layers in the creases, rubbed obstinately to the cheap cotton, and you notice strange rips and tears far too clean to be organic and ‘hip’ all over his attire. 

Still, it’s not until you see the barely visible logo for a local college, bloody and half-torn from where it had been ironed on, that it hits you. 

The clothes aren't his. They can’t be. 

He took them. From his victims.

“Jesus— it was you !”

“You'll need to be more specific,” he grins. 

“The beach! Those college kids— the massacre— you killed them!”

He rolls his slitted eyes, an obstinate sense of  pride still shining through his dismissive expression. “Don't act surprised . You thought someone else had finally had enough of your kind to do something about it? Don't be stupid.”

“God— how could you? They were innocent—”

Snorting air through his nostrils, he scoffs. “Innocent? There's no such thing for one of you ,” He pushes your back further onto the mattress, torso leaning down and head pushing closer until he's so near that you can feel his breath puff on your collar bones as he scents you. “Besides, it's your fault.” 

“I didn't kill them!” 

“But you made me do it. Didn't you?” 

“What are you talking about?” You try to shove at him, feeling his chest against yours. The burn in the back of your thigh from how he’s stretching your leg wails and whines, but it’s a dull roar compared to the cacophony of fear that blares in your brain like a siren as you hear him snap his teeth. 

“I couldn't even eat them all. I wasn't even hungry ,” he giggles maliciously, driving the point of cruelty home. “They died because of you, you know.  Because you had to be a stubborn little brat.” 

“You're a fucking monster,” you hiss, anger starting to bleed through the fear. “Don't you dare blame me.”

“If you'd have let me do what I wanted, they'd still be alive,” Softly, he huffs onto your neck, raspy voice laced with faux-sympathy. His hand releases your newly-maimed shirt to trace his thumb over the hollow of your throat, fingers eventually settling to rest on the precipice between your shoulder and neck. You can feel the tip of his claw prick at your skin, threatening to sink deeper. “So it's your own fault.”

“ Fuck you!”

“Offer still stands,” He mockingly grins, tongue lashing out against your pulse point as you recoil. “I'm sure I could figure it out in your clunky human form. The outcome will be the same either way. I wasn't hungry then, but I am now. Starved , even.” 

His fangs graze your flesh, finally removing his hand from your ankle only to anchor you down by the hip instead. His grip is steel, claws sharp as razors resting threateningly against your skin. You whimper as he chuckles, tongue lapping more insistently this time. 

“Where's all that fight now? All that brattiness you had? Not so brave now that I can touch you, are we?” His fingers tighten on the rounds of your hip, nails divoting just enough to punish and leave you twitching. “It doesn't matter now.”

Hate sparks your survival instincts, your arm slowly moving to the side and praying the movement doesn’t catch his attention, your hand desperately searching for something— anything— you can use against him. It reaches the cool wood of the nightstand, fingers fumbling about for a grip on something weighty. 

“It doesn't have to hurt,” He pants, fingers beginning to wander beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can be merciful— if you beg me.”

“Like hell ,” you spit, longing to tear those terrible eyes from his head as they scan over you.

“There's a girl,” He exhales in a ragged way that leaves your gut shooting through the floor, hand slinking to squeeze at the rounds of your waist. His tongue slips through his teeth one last time, lapping at the tender spot on the crook of your neck until you’re certain it’s gone raw. “I'll almost miss you when you're gone.”

Faster than you can register, his lips latch, fangs driving into your yielding throat without pity or remorse. Your mouth opens in a wordless cry, scream caught like a flightless bird in your chest. He wiggles above you, worming his way further onto you and clutching for leverage as he gnashes. His teeth are like knives, your blood warm and feeling horrifically uncanny as he tears into you almost teasingly with every whimper and whine, clearly testing the limits of his restraint. You can practically feel his every synapse longing to rip into you, quaking with ravenous need. A true predator, held back only by the leash of his own urges.

It will only satiate him for long. He's supping on your fear— your terror— reveling in his own victory. 

You won't let him have it. 

It's now or never. 

Your voice strains with pain and adrenaline, your shaking fingers curling around the handle of the mug of tea, still almost warm against your flesh. 

“The feeling isn't mutual!”

Driven by pure survival, it’s over in a flash. With as much momentum as you can muster, you bring the ceramic down on the top of his head. There's an audible thunk hidden somewhere underneath his animalistic howl, and your body slams into overdrive, kicking him off of you with every ounce of hidden strength you have as his fangs release their hold. Faster than you knew yourself capable of, you're off the bed, hand still cradling the sodden mug, body hunched in a defensive position, unsure of whether to fight or fly. 

He turns to face you, mouth still wet with your blood and eyes ablaze with fury. His hands brandish those dastardly claws, so eager to tear you apart. Abject terror nearly nails you to the spot, a deer in wretched, red headlights, but some hidden strength drives you to throw the heavy mug square at his head and make a break for it. He narrowly dodges it with inhuman reflex, lip curling into a vicious snarl as it smashes against the wall instead, shattering into fractured pieces that scatter across the floor of your bedroom. 

You don't stick around to hear what he says next. Feet pounding the carpet, you take off down the hallway, desperate to reach the front door. So close, if you can just get outside, you can call for help. You can almost feel the air from outside, hand reaching forward towards the handle—

“ Get back here! ” 

Fingers snag in your hair, nails grazing your scalp and ripping you backwards, a high-pitched cry erupting from you as agony sears through your spine. Your back hits the wall of the hallway hard enough to bruise, a cold hand curling around your neck once again and squeezing hard enough that it leaves you gasping.

“You little bitch .”

The back of his hand meets your cheek with uncanny strength, and now it's your turn to taste blood– your own – as one of your teeth juts into the tender, soft flesh of your inner lip. You see double for a moment before your eyes manage to focus in on his face. His expression is twisted into one of hateful rage, teeth bared and dyed a watery crimson. Another yank forward only to slam you against the wooden wall once more, your head making a hideous crack as it makes contact. Pain explodes through your skull, tears forming on your eyes against your own will. 

“You could have made this easy,” He tightens his grip on your throat until you struggle for breath, hiccuping air pathetically where you can. “But now? I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to make it hurt .”

“Go to hell— you overgrown clownfish—”

“Talk tough while you can,” Five sharp pains where his fingers dig into your skin. “Soon you won't even be able to beg me to stop.”

You slam your bare foot into his bony shins, trying to kick him off. You swear you hear him chortle, tongue flicking out over his lips. A stray picture frame clatters to the ground at your struggling, glass shattering as it makes contact with the floor. 

“You humans are so weak. It's pathetic. ” he loosens his grip only a modicum, just enough to watch you flounder in his grasp. You grab at his wrist, raking your nails across his pale skin, tearing at his sleeve and leaving red welts in your wake. If he even notices your weak attempt to pry him off, he shows no indication. 

“Let me go!”

“I don't think so, you sniveling little brat. I gave you a chance, and you spit it back in my face.” 

“What are you even talking about! You're the one who threw a fit and attacked me again out of nowhere! I didn't even do anything to you!”

“You're just like the rest of your kind,” he growls, spitting the final word like an insult. “You understand nothing .”

“You don't even try to explain! You just— you just get all pissed off and start throwing tantrums!” 

His face contorts, and then evens out. “Do you really think mocking me is the wisest idea?”

“What does it matter? You're going to kill me either way!” 

“True,” he shrugs, lips curling upwards into a sinister smile. “You might as well just let it happen. Let this all be over.” 

You wince as he leans in again, legs kicking wildly, ankles pounding the wall of the hallway. 

“Yes, soon, it'll all be over, and things can go back to the way they should be. You'll be gone , and I can forget all about this and you —”

Something pings in your brain. As you scratch and claw at his skin, something nags at you. Something he’s said.   It doesn’t add up. Even your fear-shackled brain recognizes that something is off . He can hate you, sure, but all of this? Forgoing the sea, dragging himself through a city he loathes filled with people he wants dead? Risking life and limb and his prized freedom simply to teach you a lesson? He could have waited and watched, but he didn’t . He was willing to bet it all to see the light leave your eyes and suffocate the lingering flames of your influence on him. Behind the terror of the situation, the logic cracks apart and begins to break. 

Through some effort, you manage to drag your gaze away from his hate-filled one, eyes flickering to the pale of his bony wrist, your fingertips brushing against a bit of fabric tied around it. 

Clothing. Your clothing. The scrap he’d ripped from you in his last monstrous fit of rage. 

Something clicks. 

“S-sounds like you’re the one with the problem–” You try to force a snigger, laughing in the face of death. “You think killing me will make it all go away, huh?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He sneers. 

“Don’t I?” You heave air into your lungs where you can beneath his steely fingertips, body panicking at the looming suffocation. 

“No, you don’t!”

 “It’s almost romantic. You made yourself human just to get little old me– ” 

“Shut up .” 

“N-nah,” You offer him a cruel smile, equal parts spite and amusement. “Got you really twisted up, doesn’t it? Never been told no?” “You’ll be quiet if you know what’s good for you–” 

“Don’t think– Don’t think I will. And I don’t t-think that’s what you want either, if you think about it.” “You will ,” He tightens his grip. 

“Did it make you that j- jealous ?” 

Another slam before you can even finish the word. Your head is spinning, pain splitting your skull in two. Your head lulls, eyelids fluttering. 

“Y-you can’t take it– being told– n-no,” Your head swivels loosely. “And that’s why you’re here. I mean, that—” You inhale raggedly, regaining your strength to glare up at him with unrelenting accusation. “—Or you’re that lonely .”

“You have an awfully big mouth for an idiot about to die!” “Admit it,” You swallow, cringing at the taste of pennies in your throat and tinging the taste buds on your tongue. It’s thick and sickening, but you power through. “You were bored . I’m the closest thing to entertainment you’ve had. The closest thing to a friend. You missed me–” 

“You’re a pathetic human whore . I came here to end you like you deserve .” “Did you?” You grin up at him, your own teeth slick with blood. “How’d you find me, Tomura? ”

He says nothing, but his lips twitch ever so slightly. There’s that murderous glint to his eyes, a fire feeding into an inferno, but you can’t help pushing. It feels like he’s accidentally revealed some sacred part of himself against his will. Some baleful, forsaken, deep place he keeps hidden even from himself. 

“And now you’re in my apartment, t-trying to kill me. Or is it your own misery you want to snuff out? You think if you kill me, it’ll all go away–” 

“I’d kill you and every other filthy human if I could,” He says, eyes flashing and voice full of conviction. 

“But you can’t ,” You cough, still trying to breathe through his steely grip. “So now you’re here.” 

“Not yet. But I can sure as hell kill you .”

It’s a gamble. A huge one. But the way you see it, the bad end will come either way. 

“And let me guess, you think if you kill me, everything will go back to the way it used to be? That the crippling loneliness will subside, and you can go back to sustaining on pure fucking hatred alone? ‘Kill your friends and you can miss them’ type of deal? That you can pretend that you never cared at all? Fool even yourself?” 

Looking back at your ‘friendship’ with him, it seems more antagonistic than anything, but for him, that’s probably the only contact he’s had in ages. There may be others of his kind, but you have an inkling that they are either gone, or he hasn’t seen them– or isn’t welcome among them. Despite his best efforts to appear otherwise, he has the quiet desperation of a man who hasn’t been heard and allowed his sadness to fester and harden into molten rage, oozing and destructive and directionless. 

“We are not friends !” 

“Fine line between care and hatred. You just seem like you can’t tell the difference anymore. You’re here trying to murder me and that doesn’t happen when you’re as apathetic as you claim to be.” 

“You’re a fool.” “And you’re lying to yourself! You think killing me will make it go away? You think that ache will stop? Stop and think for a fucking minute, Tomura! You have no plan, no prospects, and the entire island on high alert. You risked your life to be here and do this. You think that’s normal?” 

“It’s your fault!” He hisses, spitting words between his teeth. “I hate you!” “Well at least you can admit you feel something! ” 

He growls, a low rumble in his chest, but again, he says nothing. 

“Look, if I disappear, people will come looking. I have a job, family , people that will know something is wrong. They’ll find you here, and you’ll be carted off to be a glorified science experiment for the remainder of your life. You’ll never see the ocean again. Is that what you want? Is this really worth it?”

Silence. The wheels in his head are turning, and while he will never admit it, there’s the tiniest flicker of dubious doubt there. “Your only hope of ever making it home again is to let me live– unless you’re willing to die for me. For this . I could take you back, and we can just– just forget about this. But that’s your only chance. If you kill me, it’s game over. For both of us.” 

A stand-off between the both of you. His white-hot stare, eyes like malignant rubies boring into yours, steeling himself against your invasive words. There is no part of him ready to admit anything close to what you've accused, but the pressure on your body doesn't increase. Frozen, a violent moment in time suspended for what feels like eternity in amber. 

You're certain he could have waited like that for an age. A never ending nightmare he's more than happy to keep you held hostage in. 

At least, he would have. 

Something catches your attention. A noise that isn’t your wild thrashing or his whispered threats. A thumping noise, a bit too rhythmic and controlled to be from your struggle. 

Just down the hall, someone is knocking on the front door. 

It only takes him a moment to realize as well. He looks at you, and you look at him, both of you in a stasis. His hand on your neck, your nails dragging against his wrist. An endless moment with the both of you frozen in a tableau of violence.

“Darlin’, you in there?” 

Lisa . It’s Lisa. Oh, you could kiss her. 

He shoots you an accusing glare, as if you had planned this from the start. A large hand slaps over your mouth, fingers still flexing on the rounds of your throat. His body bullies you further into the wall to stay your struggling, doing everything in his power to keep you quiet. 

“Not a single word,” He hisses. “If you even try to scream, I’ll break your neck.”

It’s difficult to breathe through his large hand cupped on the latter half of your face, leave alone through the pressure on your windpipe, but you obey, nodding to his command. If nothing else, it might buy you a bit of time to think. 

“I heard some commotion from downstairs, so I thought I’d come check on you. Are you in there?”

Neither of you move a muscle, entirely frozen in place. Moments pass, but you know Lisa. She’s persistent. She won’t be leaving.

“Sweetheart?” she's pounding on the door insistently. “You’re worrying me. I know you’re in there. Is everything okay?”

“Don't fucking move,” He reminds you. “I'll kill you both .”

Lisa, nosy as she is, is a good woman. You don't want her hurt. You keep your mouth shut, even as you could scream. She keeps knocking, even as you pray for her to leave. Think, think, think–

Tomura’s entire body is tensed and coiled like a cobra, each muscle pulled taut and poised to strike. He seems caught between fight and flight; his instincts screaming that he turn tail, but his hatred demanding he stay. More humans is the last thing he wants, but he refuses to allow this to have been for nothing. He won’t get the chance again.

“Well, that does it. I'm calling the cops!” She croaks from outside the door, panic rising in her throaty voice. 

His eyes widen the tiniest bit, and for the first time, you see it. Fear. He can't take on an entire department. Guns drawn and ready and eager to brutalize. At best, it cuts his plans short and kills him. At worst? They take him alive. 

That. You can work with that.

His smothering grip on your face muffles what you try to say. His eyes flick to you, and against his better judgement, he eases it the tiniest amount. Just enough that you manage to squeak out a sentence, but ready to clamp down again if you’re foolish enough to try to yell.

“She's not going to leave, and she will call.”

“Then perhaps she needs to die –” “People will notice her missing. Two missing people in the same apartment? There’s no way in hell you’ll make it back to the ocean. You won’t make it anywhere! They’ll cordon off this entire block. We’ll be dead, but so will you. Or worse .” 

He seems to panic for a moment, eyes flitting about, and gripping tightly. He clearly didn’t plan for nosy neighbors– if he planned at all. “And how do I know you won't run anyway? You humans are stupid like that–” 

“I don't want you to hurt anyone else! If I run, you'll just kill us both, like you said! I’m not in any grand hurry to die!”

He seems to deliberate for a moment, fingers flexing and eyes narrowed as he realizes his time to decide is running short. Even as he tries to hide it, there’s the tiniest hint of panic hidden behind the wrath of his expression. 

“Look, the longer you wait, the more likely it is she’s calling the police. Then we’ll both have a lot of explaining to do that I know you aren’t keen on. I can make her go away, but you need to trust me.” 

He flinches at the word trust , mouth pulling into a snarl. 

“You don’t have a choice!” You remind him sharply. “Go ahead and answer the door yourself if you want, but her seeing a strange man in my apartment isn’t going to ease her suspicion!”

He huffs, hand pulling from your mouth to ball at his side. The other still tenses threateningly on your neck, even as he realizes he’s been bested by unforeseen circumstance. 

“ Fine ,” He releases you slowly, questioning his decision even as he does it. “But I'm listening. And if you so much as hint— ”

“I won't!” You rub at your sore throat, voice croaking. “ Now give me that robe! Inside the bathroom door.”

He seems perplexed, but does so, throwing it carelessly over and watching intently as you pull it over your shoulders and cover your freshly bruising neck and bubbling bloodwork smeared over your chest. 

“Just– Just stay here! Don’t move! And don’t let her see you!”

You unlock the padlock to the door, just noticing the damage now from where Tomura must have forced his way in earlier. Great. No way in hell you’re getting your security deposit back now. A flustered Lisa stands outside the doorway, cellphone in hand, smelling of stale and acrid cigarette smoke.

“Hey! Hey— sorry,” You offer her your best ‘ I swear nothing is wrong’ smile. “I was a bit tied up.”

“I— Jesus, girl. Are you okay? There's been one hell of a ruckus coming from up here. You're bleeding—” Her eyes settle on your temple where you’re certain a dribble of blood is matting in your hair.

“C— Closet shelf fell on me when I was changing out of my work clothes,” you smile, wiping your hair out of your face. “I knew I shouldn't have put it up myself. Came crashing right down on me. Broke all my stuff right on my head.”

“My God, that’s horrible! I knew I should have told the superintendent to do his damn job and come up and help. Do you need an ambulance? Here, I'll call—”

“No!” You almost snatch at her phone, panic rising as you can practically hear Tomura gearing up. “No! Really, I'm okay. Just a bit of ice and a few bandages and I'll be fine. It looks worse than it is.”

She gives you a skeptical look, trying to peek into your apartment in a less-than-inconspicuous manner. 

“Honest. I'm fine! Just a bit of a shock, is all. Scared the hell out of me, but I'm fine. I’ll fix it later. I’m just exhausted, is all. I want a nice bath and some sleep.”

“I—”

“If it's bad, I'll get it looked at,” You insist, unsure if you’re more desperate for her to stay or to leave. With the threat of the malevolent creature perched in your hallway, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, you decide it’s the latter. 

“I don't have insurance, Lis. The café can’t afford it. You know I can't go to a hospital. It'll put me in the poor house. I can barely afford anything as it is, leave alone medical bills.”

It's a dirty card to play, but it's honest, and more importantly, it works. She pauses, shoulders falling in defeat after a moment as shakes her head, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Damn shame, the state of things. Ridiculous.” 

“Yeah,” you force a rough laugh, trying to appear calm and composed even through your rabbiting heart. “I'll take it easy. I'm going to lie down. It’s not that bad. It just looks that way.”

“Alright, honey. You know to call if you need anything, right?” 

“I do. Thank you, Lisa. Really.”

You mean it sincerely. Her interference probably saved your life… for now.

“Do you want me to stop by tomorrow? Help you clean up?”

“I’ll let you know. I’ll give you a call either way and let you know everything is alright.”

“You better,” She pokes at your chest with an orange acrylic. “Don’t go scarin’ me like that.”

“Sorry again. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

Reluctantly, she turns, offering you one last look. This won’t be the last you hear of this, but you’ll have to deal with that later. You have a bigger issue to deal with now. 

But you think you have just the idea how to.

[y3ager]

MATERIAL GIRL.

— and what do you give the girl who has everything? two rich boyfriends!

jean k. x eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, fluff, polyamorous relationship. socialite!reader. lovergirldeepdown!reader. 4k word count. inspired by this blurb.

HAILING FROM OLD money— your father the CEO of a century old automobile brand and your mother the third generation runway model—you have seen all there is to see, worn what there is to wear, had every priceless stone dangle from your neck and fingers, and tasted the most decadent of foods. the belief that just superficial things would be enough to sway you offends you greatly. if you don’t have it, you will have it as if it’s your right at this point. it takes much more than dinner and a yacht ride to make you squeal.

and that’s what’s so tiring about the whole dating scene. the pool is filled to the brim with arrogant nepotism babies in khaki shorts and sweaters around their shoulders. they’ll never worry about a thing because daddy kisses the ass of this man and mommy grins in the face of that woman, and by god, do they make it known. if another man brags about owning original modigliani pieces over dinner, he’ll be met with an oyster shell to the eye. who are you supposed to be, some bright-eyed influencer? please. check the pedigree.

things changed when you met them, however. one in the summer, and one in the winter.

you were on the jet back home from italy when hitch, a girl you’ve known since you were a tyke, bombarded your phone with messages about christening her new penthouse with a pool party you just had to come to, lest she’d drag you there. after confirming your attendance, you rolled back over in the white leather reclining seat and pulled your silk eye mask back down, making a mental note to get your braids refreshed and place an order for a new bikini.

you’re reborn as a literal doll, the braids on the left side of your head coaxed into an intricate butterfly while the others lay flat against your scalp in faultless rows and hang low to your hipbones. white, white, white everywhere, from the nails, the strappy swimsuit, the miu miu sandals; a beautiful contrasts against your glistening ebon skin dusted with body shimmer for good measure. perfect, as usual.

hitch’s new high rise penthouse is something out of a multimillion dollar budget drama, with its dozens of crystal clear windows and modern interior. sitting far away enough from the city to avoid the hustle and bustle, but close enough to gaze at the twinkling lights, it’s practically a palace for the dreyse corporation heir.

champagne flute filled with 1820 juglar cuvée, you mingle amongst the next generation of the one percent. hitch’s friends, and your friends by proxy you assume, are a breath of fresh air. human.

but there’s one person amongst the gaggle you don’t recognize. from your spot next to the slightly tispy miss dreyse, your dark eyes glance over the rim of your ivory framed sunnies, glass rim tapping absentmindedly against lined, glossed lips. light brown mullet, slightly tanned skin, dark brown eyes...

“hitchie...” your elbow gently bumps into the blonde’s sides, snatching her out of her mild stupor. “who’s that?” you ask innocently, gesturing with your half full flute. it’s casual, inquisitive.

hitch squints a little bit, pure concentration written all over her features as she tries to put a name to the face. “oh!” when the name comes to her, her hand meets the back of your shoulder in a kinda hard slap, totally unintentional, of course. “jean, kirschtein! you know, from-” a hiccup interrupts her introduction, making her burst into a quick giggle. “-the oil company.”

the pieces begin to come together, you know the names all of the elite; the braun’s, the leonhart’s, the ackerman’s, names listed amongst yours and names you close deals with. clans with power, influence, wealth, distinction.

he, jean, is walking over now; casual with an easy stride that shows he’s in no rush, he’s confident. he pays his respects to the girl of the hour, congratulating her on her new playhouse before her attention is diverted by another guest calling her name to get her to come over there. hitch slips off, but not before discreetly tapping your lower back in excitement; an unspoken ‘get him.’

“jean,” he introduces himself, extending his hand in a polite greeting. “i wanted to speak to hitch, but i wanted to talk to you, too. you are breathtaking.” his eyes drink you in, from head to toe, even though they’ve been roaming your frame since you first caught his attention. the heir simply cannot get enough. “but you get told that a lot, yes?”

“thank you.” your lips spread into a small smile, one hand slipping into his larger one as the other pulls off your sunnies, sticking one of the arms down into your top. “i’m ___” jean bore a lean swimmer’s build, dark navy beach shorts hung low on his hips, and his tanned skin decorated with a dusting of faint, brown freckles over his body. years of private villas and yachts, no doubt. he was impossibly tall, too, you find yourself having to gently tilt your head back to see his face fully. it was cute from afar, maturely handsome up close. was that a faint hint of a mustache? it was hot.

jean repeats your name slowly, enjoying the feeling of that line of syllables rolling off his tongue. “i’d love to get to know you more. ___, you’re so beautiful. i have to impress you somehow. name it,” his other hand comes up to rest of top of yours, successfully encasing it in a gentle hold. an excuse to touch you just a little bit more. “i’ll make it happen.”

your smile becomes a grin, and your dark eyes glint mischievously under your delicate lashes. one quick test, because where’s the fun in not initiating one? you just want to see what he’d say, pick at his brain. what sweet words will he spin from his golden cords now? “but jean,” you begin softly, “what if i was the type of girl that liked a man that took control? told me we were doing this, at this time, on this day, and in my prettiest red dress?”

“it’d be rude, ___, at least in my eyes, to so quickly assume i had a right to your time, and drag you around this way and that. allow me the privilege of occupying your time, and space.”

before you can catch it, one of your expertly threaded and sculpted eyebrows quirks up in mild surprise. you beckon him a bit closer to your face with a wave of your acrylics. “good answer,” you tease, honeyed voice playful and whispery. “phone? i can put my number in, and we can talk about how you can try to romance me when i have my schedules laid out in front of me.” you watch as he fishes the device out of his shorts pocket.

you were captivating afar, but up close with your tawny skin soft, glittery, and emanating an intoxicating vanilla scent, your dark eyes glistening with mirth and playfulness… it makes jean’s body go into some type of shock, his heart plummeting to his feet and his blood running cold but racing through his veins at the same time.

“well then,” you chime as you save your digits into the millionaire’s phone, the contact simply your name with no bells or whistles to adorn it. “i hope we can get to know each soon, mr. kirschtein.”

jean thinks that pearly white smile will be the death of him.

…

every year, no matter what, your father throws his annual christmas party. you long assumed that it brings him a special type of happiness because your normally humble father goes all out for them, each year being better than the last. he flies out the best chefs in the world to cook for hours, orders the tallest, greenest tree for the foyer, and has the house cleaned til someone could check their reflection in the perfect marble floors. when it comes to this, the man skimps on nothing.

you take it upon yourself to make the most of it, requesting custom design dresses from the most exclusive sewing tables over in Europe, shoes fresh from the runway. only the very best for you, the heiress, the crème de la crème, the girl who has never known the word no.

“dance with me?”

you had been absentmindedly swirling your wine glass by its delicate stem, attempting to place its origin (red, tart-like with its cranberry flavor and a strange orange bite near the end), when you’re approached. once you turn your head, you’re meet with striking green eyes and a sharp little smile.

“you looked bored, and that’s what these parties are for, right?”

eren yeager, the german-american son of grisha and carla yeager, 2nd generation genius neurosurgeon with a net worth in the 7 figures, and the just-as-talented, third generation wedding gown designer. according to the rumor mill, after graduating in the top of class in one of those ivy’s upstate, he gallivanted across the country (no, the world) as the not-so-favorable yeager son. of course, there are entirely too many eyes on the yeager clan for grisha to do too much of anything and a son can do no wrong in a doting mother’s eyes; so eren is left free to his disagreeable desires. everyone wonders how long that will last.

steely dark eyes and your naturally neutral face does nothing to deter him. you decide to indulge him, slipping your hand into his and raising up, allowing him the luxury of whisking you to the dance floor. “i guess i don’t see why not.”

“great.” his hand is soft and a little cool against your own, the woody, cedar notes of penhaligon the inimitable gently wafting off his skin and pressed shirt. unbeknownst to you, a few pairs of eyes bore into yeager’s back. the arrogance he has to whisk you away so early into the party, especially with it being his first one. if eren was the wiser, he’d revel in their envy.

there’s a handful of other couples waltzing across the floor when you two arrive. your fingers thread through his as his free hand finds a respectful place on your waist, blessed with the feeling of the smooth skin exposed by the opening in your dress.

no matter how much money your father makes, he’s an old black man at heart. old r&b plays from the expensive sound system he had installed, tevin campbell’s can we talk playing through the speakers. the irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. nonetheless, you hum nonchalantly to the tune and glide around the floor with your partner.

“i gotta ask, do you enjoy these things? or does your dad put you up to it?” your arm is held above your head and you’re spun around in a quick circle before being guided back to eren’s chest. face still impartial, you nod your head towards your five o clock, the wavy blonde strands dangling from your delicate updo tickling your face. a table teems with gifts for you and you only, bachelors from afar vying for a wisp of your attention with shiny, expensive gifts. they fail to realize that a girl like yourself isn’t so easily bought. but, it’s their money not yours, and few things in life bring you greater joy than pulling ribbon and wrapping paper from luxury brand boxes.

“of course i do. i’m not ‘put up’ to anything. i dress up, i get my presents. what isn’t there to love?” manicured hand splayed across the man’s back, you’re dipped towards the floor. you’re one to give credit where credit is due, yeager is a good dancer; the confidence in his movements isn’t a lame front and he maintains the delicate balance between taking the lead and dragging his poor partner around. since this is suddenly an interview, you have questions of your own. “when i have time to go through them, will i find your name on anything?”

“of course you will. be pretty damn rude to show up to a party empty handed. especially when it might be my only chance to get a gift for the princess.” a name your normally cringe and scrunch your nose at sounds surprisingly nice passing by his lips. he grinned boyishly. “no hints.”

“i can wait. for your sake, i hope it’s no ring. it’s going straight into the garbage.” just the thought of such a “present” makes your blood want to boil. who raised these “men”? i mean honestly, what brain dead fool buys a ring for a girl who didn’t even know his face? and expected her to wear it? you would sooner die and go to hell first.

“no way someone is that dumb. you’re fucking with me.”

“what do i have to lie for?”

"well, taking a look at these guests, i take it back. some of these bastards look dumb enough to pull a stunt like that." eren scans the array of guests over your shoulder, and you can't even feign offense for your father's sake. scanning over a guestlist for former flames and explaining why you didn't want them in attendance would take too much time, and you really didn't feel like explaining "relationship troubles" to your dad of all people. loved him as much as you did that really wasn't his business. besides, watching them shiver and skulk away from your disinterested and annoyed glance made up for everything. "are you a betting woman?"

"did you waste grisha's money on a degree in journalism?" your eyebrows furrow and eren laughs again.

"you're funny, ___. most of our peers aren't so witty. and if it so pleases her majesty, i want to bet on the odds of one of these dumbasses putting a ring under your tree." eren's green eyes stare down into yours, gleaming with playfulness, mirth, and confidence. "what do you say? someone does, and we can go on a date, just us two, and you can smile and laugh a little bit."

"and if there's no ring?"

"i'll leave you alone and fall in place in your long string of broken hearts."

luck has always been on your side. look at the family you were in born in, the riches that are your birthright! the universe has never dealt you a bad hand and surely wouldn’t start now. and worse case scenario, you hang out with one of the few men that can mark your plump lips twitch in the shadow of a giggle. “fine.” your brown eyes meet his green, and neither of the waver. “deal.”

several days later, gifts from around the globe surround you. handbags, shoes, dresses, envelopes bursting with cash; you’ll have to tell your dad you need some walls knocked down in your already spacious closet to make room for more. amidst all this, though, a godforsaken ring is gripped between your fingers. if looks could kill, it would melting and dripping from your grasp. holding it like it’s contaminated, you snap a picture to send to yeager:

‘i’m free the 3rd weekend and tuesdays.’

…

as temperatures rise again, you spend the next few months allowing jean kirstein and eren yeager the luxury of whisking you away when your schedule permits.

the former is a bit... old fashioned, in a good way! you're led off to slow paced, cozy dates; the two of you roaming italian streets, attending shows in their original opera houses, he never strayed you out of the bubble you two were born in. it was casual, soft, predictable in a good way.

eren on the other hand, spent money like it would burn through his pocket if it sat there too long. he spent money like a man who just felt its crispness in his palms and was addicted to the feeling, knowing deep down it'd never stop flowing for him. you're frequenting the night scene in your tight, revealing dress, his firm hands on your hips as you two grind to the pounding beats. shopping spree dates that lasted all day, if your hand so much as brushed it, it was bought, packaged up, and in the car. spontaneous flights abroad, stealing you away for weekends. it was exhilarating.

they both provide the things you're looking for. jean is the type of man you imagine yourself settling down with one day, when the whole young and turnt shtick melts away into something more domestic and slow paced. he has gentle hands and treats you so delicately, softly. his reliability will be something you can learn to lean on and need.

eren could possibly be that type of man too, but for now he has a fire, impulses that keep you oh so entertained. having everything in the world gets boring, and eren brings that spark that you crave.

you ruminate at your vanity. hair tied down and tucked away under a silky soft bonnet, you run your gua sha across your moisturized face, long sweeping strokes that end with a gentle tug. eye masks rest on your face, your feet clothed by a exfoliating mask, and a fluffy robe envelopes your body. you stare at your reflection, you're the only one who gets you.

you're really at a crossroads. you choosing between something is unheard of. you're ___, you get everything you deserve and want tenfold. you like jean, you like eren. the way they look at you with such adoration, how their hands and lips caress your body, the sweets words they declare, and how every promise they've made to you remains unbroken, oh how they must certainly feel the same for you.

as greedy as it may make you sound, you want both. your cake and to eat it too. two of your richest peers fawning over you day in and day out, them caring for you and you caring for them. them loving you, and you loving them. it’s a dream that will be your reality.

…

after a long day at sea on one of many jean’s yachts, the sun beaming down on not only the beautiful blue water but the two of you, entangled in each other’s arms, docks at the private harbor.

you’re running your fingers through your french curl braids as jean talks to one of the dock’s attendees, slightly sleepy from your sunbathing session. the gentle breeze of the day brings the smell of saltwater up to your nostrils and you hear seagulls squawking from spots on the wooden posts. obviously, a day at the water leaves you craving seafood, juicy lobster tails with a decadent pasta on the side. your daydreams of the soon to be dinner are interrupted by an extremely familiar “yo!”

heads turn, and it’s none other than eren striding across the dock’s walkway towards where you and jean are standing. his green eyes shine at the sight of you, the hot pink of your two piece bikini a perfect contrast to your skin and showing curves and bends he’d worship for the rest of his life. oh, and jean’s here too.

another woman might falter, her heart catching in her throat and sweat beading up on her flesh as her suitors stand before her, but you’re the epitome of calm, brown eyes smoothly meeting eren’s. there’s no ring on your finger, and besides, you know what you’re after right now.

“haven’t seen you in a while, yeager.” knowing it’d be cliche, jean fights against the urge to wrap a protective arm around your waist. “done gallivanting the world?”

“seen all there is to see kirschtein, and you say that like it’s insult. what use is money if it just sits in accounts collecting dust.” eren looks at you again, god you’re a sight for sore eyes. “especially when there’s a woman like her to spend it on.”

jean’s eyes can’t help but to roll. what a cornball. “well, good chat, but ___ and i are on a little time crunch. i’m taking her to niccolo’s, especially after being on the water.” his hand slips into yours, taking charge but not tugging you along. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this side of him.

“well, now that you mention it, i could go for some niccolo’s too.” eren’s grin is shit-eating. what a cute dynamic these too have, one you know has a bit more bite to it when a lady isn’t in their presence. “how about i join? matter of fact, my treat.”

“that won’t be necessary.”

“i insist.”

“you two would argue all day if i let you,” you interrupt this small tussle, and now their attention is back on you. a manicured hand raises up to cover your small yawn. “like an old married couple.”

“it’s all in good fun,” eren’s shoulder nudges jean, and if jean had lasers for eyes, the youngest heir to yeager fortune would be a pile of dust before your feet. “we go way back.”

jean ignores him entirely, but eren finds it hilarious. “what he’s suggesting is insane, ___.”

you give a gentle shrug of your shoulder, coyness at the ready. “it’s nothing serious, it’s a lunch date between friends, and i bet you’d like to catch up.”

jean’s jaw tenses. he turns to you completely as eren looks on curiously. “i think it’s a sign that you say that, ___. i’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while. yes, we are friends, but i want to be more with you.”

this moment, with the waves crashing across the dock, the sun illuminating the two of you, jean clasping your hands tight, would’ve been a soft, tender, picturesque one had it not been for eren’s booming laughter.

“oh, so now this is a pissing contest, huh, jean? well, since we’re confessing feelings, i have my own to speak for you.” his outburst breaks your gaze, and you and jean both turn in unison. “___, i want you to be my girlfriend, and i’ve felt this way for a while. i’ve been waiting for just the perfect moment, but i can’t let this jack-off take this one for himself right?” comically, you’re put between them, each of your hands in theirs.

“i…” this takes tact, a delicate way of stringing together words and honestly, with their eyes boring into yours, you find yourself falling just a touch short.

“i respect any decision you make,” jean assures.

“___, i will do anything for you,” eren promises.

any decision. anything.

you bit your bottom lip, hands minutely twitching in their clasp. you lean in neither direction, at the center of them. “any?”

and then there’s a beat of silence. and everyone’s looking at each other. this feels like a scene in a sitcom, something that should be accompanied with a laugh-track, but there’s no closed mouth that’s been fed.

“because in the time i’ve gotten to know both of you, i’ve begin to care for both of you. and i’ve made great memories with the two of you. i know i could make even more. i don’t value any time spent with you over each other’s.” your voice shakes just a tiny, tiny bit, vulnerability creeping in. “you too make me… so happy.”

eren cuts the silence first, ever the impulsive one. “i’ll do it.”

“you cut me off,” jean quickly interjects. eren really puts him on his toes, ignites an aggressive fire deep within, steps on just the right nerves. “i’m doing it too.”

“i said i’d do anything.”

“and i said i’d respect any decision.”

“okay!” you voice crashes down like a gavel. “okay. i’m glad that you two are hearing me out,” a smile tugs at your glossed lips, this feels so easy and lighthearted, a stark contrast from the seriousness you impose upon yourself. already, you feel yourself loosening up, because the two of them bring out the true, relaxed you like nothing else can. “but for our sanity the bickering needs to come down a notch before we all kill each other, yeah?”

two strong pairs of arms envelop you. it takes some effort, but you wrap your own around the two of them. three heads together, you find yourselves laughing. a weight eases of your shoulders, but not because you got your way, but because you know this is the death of a mask created by the circle you were born in. a mask that hides the love you can feel in an attempt to guard it.

“well, we won’t kill you.”

nov 13. 2021. nov 9. 2023. i nearly gave up. i almost threw in the towel. but goddammit she’s done. praise god.

[bebemoon]

which shoes do you think the sailor scouts would wear if they actually existed?

sailor moon | pretty sure she'd wear any/all of the sneakers from the vans x sandy liang collaboration, cutesy ballet flats in general, and also these mikiosakabe x pink house "jewelry" mohair trainers

{ also including the magical girl footwear, the gcds "bunny" boots }

{ bonus: neo-queen serenity would wear the melissa x y/project "court" point mules in white }

sailor mercury | unif "seph" black satin mary janes

sailor venus | versace "gianni ribbon" low satin mules in pink

sailor jupiter | prada wave leather heel sandals from the "fairy collection" (s/s 2oo8), fendi tan suede floral embroidered boots (c. 199o's)

sailor mars | prada "cloudburst thunder" low trainers in red and trippen "turbo f" asymmetrical sandals in black

sailor neptune | prada black leather mary janes (c. 199o's), christian lacroix heeled point mules in blue and gold (c. 2ooo's)

sailor uranus | either a nice pair of lemon pepper steppers or some kind of slick suede bootie. prada embellished leather lace-up derby loafer, marsell "gessetto" ankle-high suede boots in black

sailor saturn | maison martin margiela tall tabi boots w/ round heel (a/w 2oo3), (and the more tame option) unif 90's inspired "penny" platform oxford shoe in black

sailor pluto | masha popova wheelspin boots (a/w 2o23), giuseppe zanotti metal printed t-strap sandal

chibiusa | loveshackfancy x shelby mid ankle boot and city boot "cheek & bone" heart boot in pink

tuxedo mask | loewe black leather rose heel sandal

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue January 1952

Suzy Parker wears a dress with a bodice cut and folded like a kimono; a skirt gathered like a Japanese lantern. The waistline looks delicate, beautifully enameled, thanks to a patent leather belt. With it, the new shoe to wear with white, a sandal a shade darker than a tan. By Evins. "San Tan" stockings, Peck & Peck.

Suzy Parker porte une robe avec un corsage coupé et plié comme un kimono ; une jupe froncée comme une lanterne japonaise. La taille semble délicate, joliment émaillée, grâce à une ceinture en cuir verni. Avec elle, la nouvelle chaussure à mettre avec du blanc, une sandale d'une teinte plus foncée qu'un bronzage. Par Evins. Bas "San Tan", Peck & Peck.

Photo John Rawlings vogue archive

[docandmark]

Explore the best men's sandals for every occasion. From durable leather sandals to sporty, comfortable styles, find the ideal pair for both casual wear and outdoor adventures.

[koiimii]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 | 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“𝙄𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝘼𝙡𝙚𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞��𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚. 𝙃𝙚’𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮���𝙪 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮.”

————

You couldn’t wait to see Alex today.

Today was the only day you had been looking forward to since the month began. The past few weeks moved entirely too slow, and that slowness had done nothing but tortured you.

You hadn’t had proper sleep, you were forgetting to eat, your motivation had plummeted and getting out of bed was beginning to feel like a chore. Work was piling up and problems seemed to be boiling over in your mind and oozing from the walls of your little bubble.

You were forgetting to turn off the stove, and lock your doors at night, and you couldn’t take a hot shower without hot tears included.

You weren’t sad, but you weren’t happy. And that seemed like the worst of feelings… you couldn’t pin-point what was wrong with you. People have bigger problems, suck it up. Shake it off.

So you still smiled. You kept it together well. When your friends and family asked how you were, you were fine! Work was great! You’ve been eating well! Your smiled fooled everyone enough to leave you alone.

Stress had been eating away at your mind like a parasite and you just wanted Alex.

Alex… your sweet, sweet boy.

You hadn’t told him anything that was going on with you. You’d never. When on the phone, his tired laughs at his own jokes, and his jumbled stuttering when he told stories of his travels…

They made things more bearable.

You weren’t sure how you found someone so perfect, and patient, and beautiful, and kind… but here he was. Like a gift waiting to be received and you received it. In a heart beat.

He received you too.

Alex had always called you “His Thunderstorm”.

He always gushed about how strong you were, how confidently sexy you were. How soft you made him with your fiery eyes. He made you sound like a goddess with his praises. Lately however, you were finding yourself wishing to meet the (Y/n) he described. Lately you felt like anything but strong.

Today however, you’d get to have him close. You’d get to focus on the one person who wanted nothing but to pour into you with love and affection.

Alex would just be returning from a long promotional trip with the band. His first business trip in a while in fact. Of course he had offered for you to come along, but you rejected with the reason being work and your own personal endeavors.

You quickly realized you were definitely spoiled with your boyfriend’s presence when you found yourself missing him dreadfully after the first night!

Now today, you’d get to show him just how much you missed him.

You were sat outside the gate of his flight, picking feverishly at the lace trim of your dress. You wanted to look your best for him, although you knew Alex wouldn’t care what you looked like!

You wore a simple ivory silk slip dress with a lace trimmed neckline and a honey-toned underskirt. Alex had bought you this dress. He loved when you wore things he bought.

Your heeled sandals clicked against the marbled airport floor as you watched the exit tunnel anxiously. Various travelers flooded from the doorway and reunited with their families, you however, watched the door with stinging eyes.

Just then, you felt the world around you slow down as you saw him. He stepped out of the tunnel, looking around calmly, leather duffle clutched in one hand, and his jacket in the other.

He looked handsome as always.

High-waisted black slacks hugged his legs while a billowy white dress shirt covered his top half, first three buttons left open to reveal a delicate gold chain and faint growing chest hair. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tanned and toned arms flexing with tension as he searched for you in the crowd.

His eyes were wide like a child in search of their guardian, thick lashes batting rapidly whilst his thick fluffed hair fell over his forehead. You couldn’t help but laugh as you lifted a hand to wave.

“Al! Alex!” You shouted and finally, he saw you.

He smiled wide, the knit in his brow softening and instead being replaced with a crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes. He dropped his bag and jogged towards you, and you did the same.

You crashed into his chest, arms immediately locking around his torso as you buried your face into his chest.

“Hello, lovely.” He chuckled, his voice muffled with his face nuzzled against your neck.

You smiled and shook your head against his chest as tears pooled in your eyes and rolled down one by one.

“I’ve missed you… so much. You have no idea, Alex.”

“That makes two of us.”

———

You were now doubled over in what felt like your 50th fit of laughter as the two of you scrolled through the various ridiculous photos and videos from his travels. It looked like Alex had the time of his life! He was getting to relax and work on things one at a time in a new atmosphere.

Alex deserved that.

You hugged yourself close to his side in the comfort of his living room, cuddled up on his couch. His house smelled like him. You had grown sick of your house, your house made you angry…at least this past month it has.

The laughter died down and Alex shook his head with a smirk before sighing softly and scrolling to another photo. It was a sunset. A beautiful, vibrant sunset of bright citrusy orange that melted down into a vibrant pink, then a velvety purple.

You had never seen anything like it.

What made the photo hit you the hardest was the silhouette of Alex and the guys, arms around each other, and facing out into the city-scape. They looked so close, so happy.

You would’ve given anything to be there with Alex… to see that beautiful sunset with Alex.

It made your heart sink to think that while you were apart, you two had two very different experiences. You knew it wasn’t his fault, but it made everything come full circle again.

You weren’t okay, and now that Alex was here… you were doing exactly what you said you wouldn’t and giving yourself away.

Strong and unyielding. That’s what you had to be, not this. He had to come back to his thunderstorm, and you were nothing but a sulky gray cloud.

You stopped laughing, it simmering down into a sad smile. Picking at the throw blanket draped across both your laps, you hadn’t realized it, but tears were beginning to fall as you took the phone and zoomed in on Alex’s silhouette specifically.

“It’s… it’s gorgeous, Al…” you sniffled, nodding to yourself as your wiped your tears.

Alex had sat up straighter almost immediately, and leaned down to get a better look at your face.

“You’re crying? Babe I get it’s pretty but…” he tried to laugh it off.

Only his gaze began to morph into one of pure melancholy as your tears fell a little harder, your body jerking against his own until he pulled you closer.

“(Y/n)…? What’s wrong, darling?”

“I just- it’s so… it’s so pretty! I would’ve loved to see that with you.”

You laughed between softened cries, still moving your finger around the photo with shaking hands. Alex felt his heart breaking.

He knew this wasn’t about the sunset.

“I wish… I wish I could’ve seen a sunset like that, Al.”

He shushed you softly, pulling you until you straddled his lap whilst pulling the blanket over your shoulders. Your body continued to quake with broken sobs as he rubbed your back and stared into his living room.

His mouth formed a natural frown and that knit between his brows returned. Whatever was making you feel this way, he’d do whatever it took to make it stop.

He’d take all that pain if he could. He felt guilty for going on that trip, he felt terrible for even enjoying it now. He knew he should’ve gotten the first flight ticket home when he heard the saddens in your voice during your phone calls at night.

He knew you weren’t well, but all he could do now was be here with you.

After a long session of tears and silent comfort, you finally pulled your face from his neck and sniffled, wiping your puffy eyes and staring back into his glossy brown ones.

Alex’s eyes were saddened, but wide and ready. He wanted all of it. He wanted to take all your stresses, your problems, your doubts, and absorb them. Make them his own.

“You’ve got to talk to me love, I’m here…”

“I don’t know where to start. I don’t even- I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t explain it…”

“Just- throw out random words. I’ll do me best to get it right.”

You nodded and smiled, it was weak and barley full, but Alex knew it was progress already and waited for you to continue, hands gently rubbing your sides.

“I’m just overwhelmed. I can’t keep up with everything and the moment I think I’ve got something figured out, something else takes it’s place… it’s like… like—“

“Like you can’t breath.”

“Like I’m suffocating! Yes… and I solve the problems, the best I can. As fast as I can and yet…”

“You feel no happier. No better…”

“Yeah..”, tears started to form again but Alex quickly leaned forward to kiss them away, lips leaving ticklish butterfly kisses along your cheeks and on your forehead.

“(Y/n)… life isn’t supposed to be easy. I know that’s really annoying to hear. But in this world, you have to learn to breath, and move in accordance to what’s in front of you.”

“…What…?”

He blinked, as if he hardly knew what he meant himself. His lips parted to speak and once he finally got it, he started again, raking a hand through his hair.

“Don’t think about tomorrow. Think about right now. You solve problems as best you can, and that’s perfect baby. But some of those problems can wait…”

“But-“

“There’s nothing wrong with giving yourself grace, (Y/n). There’s nothing wrong with taking a break and moving one step at a time. Balance...”

His voice was firm, and unwavering. The rasped coolness of his words made you feel sleepy, yet it felt as though he was stripping you down to your weakest point, and wiping it clean.

You felt lighter.

“Breath. Start. Take a break. Breath. Start again.”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and looked town at your hands that had now stopped trembling and instead fiddled with the soft fabric of Alex’s t-shirt.

“As long as you’ve done the best you can do, really tried your hardest in that one moment, that one moment happening right then and there… no one and nothing else matters outside of it until you get to the next point.”

“One thing at a time…”, you breathed out, nodding to yourself and looking up to meet Alex’s eyes again.

He mimicked your nodding and pulled you close, and you reached up to move the hair from his eyes.

“One thing at a time, darling. And I’ll be right there with you… every step, love. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re still my thunderstorm, (Y/n). Strongest, most electrifying woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

You sniffled and laughed softly, leaning in to kiss his lips. It was sweet and gentle, and you could feel him smile against your mouth before you finally pulled away again to rest your head on his chest.

Your sweet, sweet boy.

His thunderstorm.

————

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.

A/N: This one hit hard for me. I wanted readers to really take something away from this fic while also pairing it with something or someone we all love. I feel like Alex is really wise and would be good at coaching his loved ones in things like this. Stress and pent up emotion. I hope we could all resonate!

[galtips]

The origins of gyaru possibly go back to the 1980s when all-girl biker gangs ruled Tokyo’s streets. Their hardcore style, attitude and rites of passage like graduation ceremonies, very much remind us of the gyaru of today. Even more so they embodied a rebellious spirit, now referred to as gyaru maindo (gyaru mind). The magazine “Teen’s Road” that brought this biker style to small town schoolgirls. Over time, leather jackets and boiler suits with kanji lettering became a more mainstream trend and real biker girls got angry at posers! Teen’s Road eventually ended because the staff were “tired of being physically assaulted by the readers” and some biker girls were even kidnapped.

At the same time, elite university clubs were throwing parties in Shibuya with organisers known as chiimaa (teamers). These well-to-do chiimaa regularly hit the dance floor instead of hitting the books. Chiimaa’s girlfriends mimicked LA beach style and earned the nickname paragyaru or “paradise girls”. Paragyaru didn’t know yet but their dress sense would inspire what was to follow in the 1990s,

Kogyaru (“ko” meaning “little” or “kid”) appeared in the 1990s. The name is believed to have originated as bouncer slang to describe the high school paragyaru girls who tried to sneak into clubs by dressing older. Affluent high school girls with chestnut coloured dyed hair (chapatsu), short school skirts, designer uniform blazers, oversized cardigans and modest tans were the trendsetters of the time. Loose white socks and white eye makeup were the cherry on top! But why were high school girls wearing their uniform after school? It was actually a popular ploy for rich schools to entice new freshmen with the fashionable designer uniforms. Girls wanted to be seen wearing their blazer and skirt after school as a marker of style, school pride and as a symbol of youth.

High schoolers eventually took over department store Shibuya109. Anything bought there was considered kogyaru style, like crop tops from Me Jane and Esperanza platform sandals. Many of the first kogyaru began to work at 109 shops becoming well-known gyaru fashionistas, dubbed “super charisma clerks” (スーパーカリスマ店員). Celebrities like singer Amuro Namie with her natural kogyaru appearance placed gyaru style into the mainstream’s consciousness. She had a natural Okinawan tan, light brown hair and wore white lipstick. Her stage outfits mimicked 109 style, and so Amuro fans thinned their eyebrows, wore chunky platform boots and colourful belly tops in admiration. That earned them the nickname Amuraa (Amuro admirers) which crossed over with gyaru style.

In 1995, Egg magazine launched as the number one source of gyaru fashion and lifestyle. After all, gyaru didn’t care what others thought about them and they took pleasure in being loud, sex-positive and even developed their own slang. Egg magazine took street snaps of kogyaru who sometimes went on to become regular models, for example Rumi Itabashi and Kaoru Watanabe. Meanwhile, purikura launched in 1995 with the idea for business professionals to take miniature portraits of themselves for their business cards. No one foresaw them becoming super popular in gyaru culture, with pages and pages dedicated to them in Egg.

Adults were worried about Japan’s declining national character in the late 1990s. Kogyaru with their gyaru mind ethos were targeted and chastised for their alleged practice of enjo kōsai (compensated dating). Growing up with new tech like pokeberu (early pagers) and terekura (telephone clubs), these women gained more independence but also new ways to wreak havoc. For example, terekura were created to connect men and women who wanted to date. But when kogyaru called in to the terekura, they set the men up on a date just to stand them up.

Teenage girls were also widely viewed as serial shopaholics. People thought that they wouldn’t think twice about selling their worn underwear to businessmen for money! Even though only a handful of kogyaru did this, the media didn’t care! Kogyaru were the face of “shameful” public morals. But the more the media covered enjo kōsai, the more schoolgirls congregated in Shibuya’s streets to make big bucks! In the end teenage prostitution became associated with kogyaru style.

After a decade of kogyaru mania, new substyles and gyaru circles emerged. One of the most prominent gyaru circles was Angeleek. Angeleek primarily wore a style of gyaru called ganguro, which were gyaru who darkened their skin. Other substyles like mamba and yamanba evolved out of ganguro. Yamanba wore the darkest foundation they could get their hands on, wore extreme white eyeliner, harsh nose contour and decorated their cheeks with gems and flowers. They liked tropical, beachy clothes and floral accessories. It was dramatic and yamanba were impossible to ignore! But by the early 2000s there was a sudden decline in these more extreme styles. Due to the style’s unsavory reputation, girls turned to other substyles of gyaru or stopped being gyaru completely. Egg even took a break from publishing for a few months. Was this the end?

Not exactly! Egg and other gyaru magazines returned as the mid-2000s brought about an unexpected gyaru renaissance. In 2005, another magazine called Ageha was launched. It was aimed at gyaru Hostesses who called their style agejo. By 2008, gyaru was thriving and there were so many genres of gyaru and the style became more popular internationally. Styles like hime-gyaru, hime-kaji, onee-gyaru, rokku-gyaru and ame-kaji entered the scene. Tsubasa Masuwaka, a prominent gyaru figure at the time, was featured on both gyaru and non-gyaru magazine covers. She also launched a makeup and false lashes line called Dolly Wink which is still popular today!

The late 2000s to mid 2010s saw a more laid back toned-down look. Gradually, girls lost interest in the style and Egg and Ageha ceased publication. Gyaru brands followed the magazines by toning down or rebranding. In 2014, Alisa Ueno’s brand Fig&Viper was dubbed as neo-gyaru in an article by ViVi magazine which sparked some debate. Many gyaru did not view this brand as gyaru and Alisa Ueno herself admitted that she never called her brand neo-gyaru.

Not many other styles have lasted as long, or made so many comebacks. From the biker gangs of the 1980s to the yamanba of the 2000s, gyaru fashion has gone through many changes. Some even claim we are in a post-gyaru era! Will it ever become a mainstream fashion again? Who knows, but in the meantime we’ll be rehearsing our Para Para dance moves!

Ps if you don’t want to read all of that here is some YouTube links!

[wombywoo]

21, 22 & 23 please <33

thank youuu <3

21. cold weather outfit

Quinn likes nice sturdy coats, something warm he can throw over anything. He usually layers up with a long-sleeved shirt +sweater +jacket, and keeps to jeans or sweatpants if he's more casual. Turtlenecks and scarves too, because he likes keeping his neck covered.

Vincent has several classy overcoats, plus his leather jackets. He doesn't experience the cold like a human does, but he still dresses accordingly; nice sweaters, cardigans, boots.

22. hot weather outfit

While Quinn is not typically a shorts guy, he will throw on a pair if it's excessively hot (england's 70° "heat wave" 🙄) He'll pair it with a casual tee or a loose collared shirt. You'll never catch him in sandals though 🚫

Vincent doesn't often go out in the sun (vamp reasons 💅) but if he has to, he'll wear something to cover up most of his skin. There are new sunblock options available, so if he lathers up, he might wear something short-sleeved with some linen pants. If the mood strikes, he might throw on boat shoes or Italian leather sandals (quinn informs him they are laaaaame)

23. beach look

asdfghjk I'm actually working on a beach pic rn 🤫 stay tuned

Quinn's bathing suit choices are usually tight and small, lol. Slinky shirts and sunglasses, still no sandals 🙅‍♀️ He's pasty so he doesn't deliberately attempt to tan, but if he's at the beach he might try some sun oils. He's got a decent body so he doesn't mind showing it off in certain conditions~

Vincent still has reservations about being in the sun, so the beach is not really his scene. On an outing, he'll wear a full-body wetsuit type of outfit +floppy hat and stick to setting up under an umbrella with a book. In his human days, he probably wore those high-waisted belted swim trunks or a one-piece 'speed suit' and now I can't get that visual out of my head 🤭

[theoneandonlysemla]

Thank you for the tag @sanza-17 for this week's Sujamma Sundas!

Tagging: @dirty-bosmer @sheirukitriesfandom @ladytanithia @lillxart @vanilleeistee @hircines-hunter @skyrim-forever

Some of you may have done this already, but my brain does not function anymore :P

Due to popular demand (me and @sanza-17) I'll tell you a little about my favourite vermin infested girly, Ria! (I need to do some art of her and I have ideas, but damn, there are so many other ideas?!)

Ria is a Bosmer with a low percentage of Imperial and Altermi blood. At first glance, she looks like a conventional Bosmer: tanned skin, elven ears and sharp, narrow features with high cheekbones. Her eyes have a black sclera in which a hazel iris sits. A closer look reveals the golden undertone of her skin from Altmer blood and the aquiline nose more typical for Imperials. Her lips are full and dark red, her hair is auburn with a red tinge and wavy. She usually wears it pinned up or tied back to keep it out of her way. In spring, she develops freckles that spread from her forehead across her nose and accompany her throughout the summer.

Her figure is in the medium range, neither really slim and athletic, nor overweight, but she has a generous bust, wide hips, a small belly and somewhat sturdy thighs. At 1.65m (5'4 ft), she is shorter than the average Bosmer.

Her clothing is mostly simple and in line with what is worn in Cyrodiil. Mostly simple leather trousers and blouses or tunics and boots or sandals, depending on the weather. She also wears simple dresses, her preferred colours are muted earth tones and pale green. When she was financially better off, she had a few more elegant dresses, of which only one remains. It is snow white and has a thin, golden belt.

Some day I will finnish my art of her. Really :P

[sex-storytime]

Coming Together

I met Jeff when I was 23. It was late August and the thickest heat of the summer. We met at the park, chatting each other up about our dogs (who happened to look very similar to each other). Jeff caught my eye from the first moment I saw him. He was tall, dark, and handsome, as cliche as of a description as that is. The first time I saw him he was wearing a tank top and his shoulders and arms looked super tanned and strong. His arms are still one of my favorite parts about his body. He has a very classically handsome face with a defined jawline, thick and shiny dark brown hair, and sexy blue eyes that sometimes look green in a certain light. He's extremely fit and lean, with defined cut abs, and strong arms and shoulders that drive me wild. He has a deep voice that is commanding and sexy. After a week or two of playful flirting, he asked for my number and we made plans to go on a date.

We met that Sunday evening in front of my apartment to go for a walk along the river near our neighbourhood. It was a warm night and I debated about what I should wear for probably an hour before we met, but I ultimately decided on a thin white tank top tucked into a navy blue cotton mini-skirt and a pair of leather sandals. Underneath, I wore my favorite white lace bra that made my perky breasts feel full and lifted and a matching white lace thong. I had decided before we even left that I didn't want to sleep with him that night, since we were essentially strangers, but I couldn't resist the temptation to wear a matching set of lingerie since I always feel sexiest when I do.

When I went outside to meet Jeff, he was wearing a blue long sleeved sweater and a pair of shorts and loafers. I was again confronted with the sexy shape of his shoulders and arms, and he seemed taller than I remembered as I leaned up to hug him hello. We headed out for our walk and ended up strolling for about 3 hours--we were lost in conversation and had some really intense chemistry.

When we finally circled back to my apartment, I didn't want the night to end, but I wasn't ready to have sex with him yet. When we arrived, Jeff leaned in closer towards me, feeling the small of my back gently with his sturdy hands. I looked up at him and he asked if he could kiss me. As our lips met, I could feel myself getting wet and excited since I had spent the past 3 hours anticipating what his tongue would feel like against mine. We made out for a bit in front of my place and I finally got the chance to feel his arms and shoulders and they turned me on. My mind was racing thinking of how his body would feel underneath his sweater. The feeling of just my thin white tank top separating his hands from my skin was driving me wild.

He asked if I wanted to come over to his apartment and watch a movie, which I knew was code for sex. Reluctantly, aware of how tempting the situation I was about to be in would be, I decided to accept his offer. As we walked back to his place I continued to remind myself not to sleep with him yet.

We arrived within a few minutes to his place. The long walk and the late summer heat had left us both a little hot after the walk and he began to take off his blue sweater and change into a grey t-shirt. I turned away instinctively, feeling as though I couldn't look at his body yet--I knew seeing his strong arms and tight abs would make me wet with excitement and make sticking to my plan all the more difficult. He made a joke about me turning away when he changed. I know he wanted to catch me looking at his shirtless body.

We decided on a scary movie to watch. He turned it on and we sat close together on the couch, him with his muscular arm that I had grown so fond of over the evening around my shoulders. I don't think I payed a single moments attention to the movie...I was so fixated on the feeling of his warm skin touching mine.

My mind began to wander to the thought of what his cock looked and felt like. I could feel my pussy swelling as I tried to quell my thoughts, and I realized I was instinctively squirming...crossing and uncrossing my legs in an attempt to subdue my visceral bodily response to being physically close to him.

Before I knew it, he gently grabbed my chin and began to give me slow, deep kisses that left me overwhelmed with lust. His shoulders felt so tight and strong underneath his grey t-shirt (which happens to be my favorite thing for a man to wear--I find it so sexy), and before I knew it, I was straddling him.

Our kisses intensified as I felt his strong hands slowly slip under my skirt. I swirled my tongue slowly around his, feeling his shoulders as I slowly moved my hips around in a circular motion over his body. I could feel my clit engorging as his hands gently gripped my ass--one hand moving from one side to the next, and the other feeling up and down the side of my stomach, working his way up to my breast.

I was becoming so overcome with desire that I knew I had to stop things or I would lose all control and have sex with him, and despite our obvious physical chemistry, I still wasn't ready for that.

I told him that we should stop because I wasn't ready to sleep with him, and I slowly returned to the spot next to him. I glanced over to see the outline of his cock in his shorts...it was bulging so much and I felt overcome with the desire to unzip his shorts and take his cock in my mouth. I was desperate to see what it looked like and feel it in my hands, but I had to be patient.

We continued watching the movie, and I wasn't able to focus on anything besides the feeling of my thin lace thong soaking wet.

I decided it would be best for me to head home, as it was starting to get late and I was losing what little self-control I had left. I knew if I continued sitting next to him I would straddle him and slide his thick cock deep inside of my tight pussy in a matter of minutes.

We got up from the couch and began walking towards his kitchen. I leaned up against his kitchen counter, feeling the cold counter top against my ass through my thin skirt. I had a silly thought of how much I hated my skirt for separating me from Jeff's body the entire night. I wanted him so much. Waves of excitement coursed through entire body and I couldn't help myself...I had to keep kissing his full, sexy lips.

He pinned me further against the kitchen counter top, this time his kisses were deep and hard and I felt his hard cock pressing against my bare leg through his shorts. He reached his hands onto my perky breasts, slowly but firmly pulling them out of my thin, white tank top and white lace bra. He let out a moan of excitement as he saw my small, perfectly shaped nipples, hard and firm with desire. His tough strong hands felt so powerful cupping my soft breasts and my breathing became short. I let out soft moans of pleasure as he kissed up and down my neck. I felt his soft beard brushing against the curve of my neck and knew that my clit was completely engorged.

He lifted me onto the counter top effortlessly and I spread my legs as he pressed his pelvis towards me. I lifted his grey t-shirt over his head and marveled at his sculpted, gorgeous abs and arms. He was ridiculously sexy and I almost couldn't believe that I was here with him, desperate to feel my lips wrapped around his cock. I glanced at his bulging shorts to see how excited he felt when he suddenly lifted me up from the counter so that he was holding me, my thighs wrapped tightly around him.

Because he was holding me, my skirt was lifted up so all that was separating my wet little pussy and his fat hard cock was his shorts and my white lace thong, which was sopping wet at this point. I felt my breaths become rapid and short, and I let out little moans of delight as he began to thrust onto me as though he were fucking me right then and there. It felt so sexy to be so close to having his cock thrusting in and out of me. The teasing was driving me mad with desire, I felt incredibly turned on. I gripped his soft hair passionately and ran my fingers across his broad, sexy shoulders and down his back. I could feel his muscles gently moving underneath my fingers as his hands gripped my ass so firmly...I thought I was going to cum then and there.

By some insane sliver of self-control, I put our near-fucking make out session to an end. I told Jeff I just wasn't ready to sleep with him yet and that I should head home. We kissed goodbye and I embarked on the 5 minute walk back to my place.

My wet pussy was almost shaking with desire as I rushed home.

Finally there, I closed the door behind me and immediately kicked off my sandals and slipped out of soaking wet thong. I felt my right hand slip under my skirt and I gently felt my pussy lips, still swollen with desire. I brought my left hand to my mouth and sucked on my index and middle fingers, imagining the taste and feel of Jeffs thick hard cock between my lips.

I began to touch my engorged clit in a circular motion, going faster and pressing a little bit harder as I took my fingers in and out of my mouth. Feeling my lips around my fingers was just a fraction of how it would feel to take Jeff in my mouth and my awareness of the difference in the size of my fingers and the size of his massive cock was making me feel incredibly turned on. As I continued to rub my clit with more and more intensity, I let out soft moans of pleasure. I took my left hand from my lips, licking them in a swirling motion as I would on the tip of Jeff's cock, and pulled my breasts from my shirt and bra, feeling the cold wetness from the fingers I was sucking on my breasts. My nipples were hard and I gripped my left tit hard as my clit became more and more engorged.

Leaning back against the door, I was circling my clit like mad. I moved my other hand down to my dripping wet pussy, and slowly began to enter my fingers inside.

Teasing myself, I put them in just a tiny bit until I was begging for it in my mind. As I inserted my two fingers fully into my wet pussy, I let out a moan and a whisper, "Jeff..."

He was all I could think about...imagining his hard cock and his sexy shoulders was making me so aroused. The inside of my pussy felt so fucking tight around my fingers and I thrust them in and out faster and faster, as my other hand continued to circle around my pulsating clit. As my moans grew and my pussy began to drip my juices over my hands, I felt myself on the precipice of cumming.

With my fingers as deep as possible inside me, my other hand was rubbing my clit harder and harder and finally, I came so hard my knees were shaking. I couldn't wait to feel Jeff's cock inside of me.

________

For the next week I couldn't keep my mind off of him. Each time my phone buzzed I hoped it would be him asking to see me again. After a few days without hearing from him, I dramatically decided that it was over. He was probably disinterested in how big of a tease I had been the other night.

That afternoon, I took my dog for a walk in the park and ran into Jeff. I saw him from a few steps away and my heart began to pound in my chest. He looked somehow more handsome than I remembered and I was so nervous to see him since I had made up in my mind that he wasn't interested.

As I approached him, he looked at me and smiled. I instantly felt more at ease. We spent a few minutes catching up on what we'd been up to in the past week. While he was talking, I glanced across his shoulders from left to right and was overcome with the memory of how it felt to have my thighs wrapped around him. I felt my pussy softly pulse at the thought. I needed him inside of me.

After what turned out to be an hour long conversation, he asked me on another date for the following day. I felt both relieved and nervous at the prospect of kissing him again.

At that point, I still wanted to wait to get to know him better before sleeping with him. I let this guide me when choosing what to wear this time, deciding that a skirt or dress created way too much temptation for me last time. For this date, I went with a pair of skin tight jeans that made my round ass look amazing, a dark blue low cut top, and a matching set of black lace lingerie.

As with our first date, he came to pick me up and we set off for an evening stroll through Soho.

As we strolled along, his charming personality continued to impress me. At one point on a crowded street, he put his hand on the small of my back to gesture me forward through the crowd. As I felt his hand on my lower back, I instantly decided that I wanted him to fuck me that night. I couldn't wait any longer and I didn't know if I'd have another chance.

We strolled and chatted for probably another two hours, finally ending up back in our neighborhood. I asked if he wanted to come up and he obliged. As we walked through my building door I began to feel extremely nervous but also aroused and excited at the thought of taking his cock in my mouth so soon.

We entered the elevator, and as the doors shut, I immediately wrapped my arms around his neck and began kissing him hard.

Our lips pressed together and I felt a wave of intensity course through me as I ran my hands through his soft hair. He gently wrapped his strong hands around my waist, moving slowly to caress my ass over my skin-tight jeans. Suddenly, he pushed me back to the other wall of the elevator, pinning my hands above my head as our kissing intensified. I felt his tongue swirling gently around mine and the force of his body pushing me against the wall, and feeling his hard cock on my leg from under his pants, made me immediately wet.

The elevator door opened on my floor, and I grabbed his hand and hurriedly led him to my apartment. Once inside, our kissing commenced and we made our way to my bedroom. As soon as we were there, Jeff began to put soft, slow kisses along my neck. I let out a gentle moan of pleasure as he kissed me right below my ear lobe. I could feel my pussy pulsating.

As he kissed my neck, I felt his hands slowly inch their way below my shirt, making their way up. He slowly lifted my shirt off and began to move his kisses down my torso. Feeling his soft lips against the skin below my belly-button was making me so aroused. As he kissed my stomach, I moved my fingers through his hair--I couldn't get enough of it.

He stood back up and passionately held my face in his hands as he kissed me hard and fast, my breath getting quicker and my soft moans becoming more frequent.

Quickly, he pushed me onto the bed and started unbuttoning my tight jeans. I felt so overcome with arousal that I was becoming impatient...I glanced at his bulging cock through his pants as he pulled mine off, revealing my black lace thong. "Fuck..." he said softly.

He began planting small gentle kisses on my pussy over my thong, he could feel how wet I was. I let out a soft moan that turned me on even more and I could feel my pussy pulsing for Jeff's cock. I needed him inside of me.

He moved my thong over to one side to reveal my engorged clit and wet pussy lips and he softly traced his tongue up and down my lips. I felt my hands tighten to grab the bedsheets as he teased me with his tongue for a bit longer. I couldn't help myself and I grabbed my tits, revealing my nipples from the black lace. I squeezed them hard and he glanced up at me. We made intense eye contact and he let out a sexy groan that drove me wild.

He swirled his tongue around my clit very slowly, and I felt it becoming more and more engorged when he spat on it and entered one finger inside of me. I moaned "Fuck..." as he began to thrust his finger in and out of me...slowly at first, then faster and faster in sync with my breaths.

"Take off your bra," he said in his deep sexy voice. It was commanding and assertive, and I couldn't wait to hear what else he would demand me to do.

I unhooked my bra and felt his hand move up and grab one of my nipples, his other still thrusting in and out of my wet pussy. I could feel myself on the verge of cumming, I was so stimulated by him eating me out and the excitement of what was to come. As he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of me, now using two of them, and swirl his tongue around my clit, faster and faster, I was almost there...

"You're gonna make me cum..." I whispered between moans.

He began to move his tongue even faster and it sent me completely over the edge. I felt my entire pussy shake as I came.

He looked up at me and said "Good girl." I was so turned on by him saying that. I thought I needed him inside of me before but now I was desperate to feel his cock.

I pulled myself up to him and grabbed his face, guiding his mouth to mine. I kissed him long and hard while I moved my hands underneath his shirt to pull it off. His body was ridiculous--his abs so tight and his arms so sculpted, just looking at him turned me on. I began to kiss his chest slowly as I worked my way down to his pants. As I hurriedly unhooked his belt, I looked up to meet his eyes.

Keeping eye contact, I pulled his fat cock out of his pants. It felt so thick and hard in my soft hand. I glanced down at it and could see a drop of pre-cum forming at the tip and I slowly dribbled my saliva over the tip and moved my head down to swirl my tongue very slowly around the tip of his cock.

With one hand wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, I took him in my mouth slowly--I could barely fit half of him in my mouth at a time because his cock was so big and I felt incredibly turned on by my awareness of his size. I switched between thrusting his cock in my mouth quickly and swirling my tongue and teasing him slowly up and down. He let out moans of excitement and I looked up at him.

"I want your cock inside of me," I told him.

Quickly and assertively, Jeff stood up and pushed me forcefully onto the bed. He spread my legs out on the bed and pulled my thong off. I looked down at my pussy and could see my juices all over my lips. I bit my lip as he began to slowly rub the tip of his cock over my engorged clit.

"Babe..." I said softly, "Fuck me, please..."

He looked me in the eyes and began to put the tip of his cock in, but stopped there. I was panting. I felt so overwhelmed by the desire to feel him inside of me.

"Please" I whispered.

He inserted his entire cock inside of me and then immediately pulled it back out so only the tip was in again.

"Fuck..."

I was going to explode. My pussy was so fucking wet, I couldn't contain myself.

"Fuck me, Jeff. Please..." My breaths short, dispersed with soft sighs of pleasure and excitement.

He inserted his entire cock inside again, and did the same thing--immediately pulled back so only the tip remained. I was going to go mad. I felt so incredibly turned on as I looked at the vein in his fat cock and my swollen pussy lips wrapped tightly around his tip.

"Please Jeff, please fuck me..." I said loudly.

He let out a moan and suddenly began fucking me hard and fast as I screamed with pleasure.

He held both of my legs up as he fucked me fast and deep. It felt so incredible to finally have his cock inside of me.

Watching the muscles in his abs and arms slowly move as he fucked me was driving me wild. I could feel my pussy becoming wetter with each thrust.

"Open your mouth," he commanded.

I did what he asked and he spat in my mouth. It was unbelievably hot to have him control me like that. I felt my pussy grip his cock tighter as his saliva covered my mouth and lips.

He began to slowly kiss along my calf and ankle, making his way towards my foot. He gently kissed my manicured toes.

"Oh my god..." I moaned softly. "...Babe...You're going to make me cum again…"

His cock was so deep inside of my tight pussy and I felt myself so close to cumming again. The buildup made me so horny I couldn't believe I was able to cum so quickly.

As he thrust his cock in my pussy faster and harder each time, I pressed my fingers into his back as I came so slowly. It felt unbelievable. It felt like I was completely in control and completely out of control at the same time. It felt like I came for an eternity.

As my grip on his back loosened and my body became relaxed, he flipped my legs over and said, "I want to see that pretty little ass."

I was practically shaking from the orgasm and his words made me so aroused again. I quickly turned over and got into doggy style, wanting to please him. I would've done anything he asked. I wanted him to boss me around.

He slowly pressed his fingers around my asshole, eventually moving his tongue to doing the same thing.

"Ooh...good girl," He said as he began to very slowly insert his finger inside of me. I felt my pussy shake. I slowly moved one of my hands towards my clit and began circling it.

"Good girl, rub your clit for me..." He said. I was insanely turned on. He began to finger me a little faster and said, "Do you think you can take two fingers?"

"...Yes, babe" I said between moans.

"You think you can take it?" He said again assertively.

He slowly inserted both fingers and I felt my pussy drip. "Fuck, baby...." I said.

As he moved his fingers in and out slowly, getting a little bit faster with each thrust, he began to insert his cock inside my pussy. It felt so incredibly arousing to have his fat cock inside of my pussy and two of his fingers in my little ass.

"I can't wait to take your cock in my ass one day," I told him.

He moaned as he began to force his cock in my pussy faster and faster, moving in synch with his fingers. "That feels so good..." I told him.

We both were breathing quickly and gently moaning. I was still gently circling my clit--the feeling of having all three stimulations, my clit, my pussy, and my asshole, was unbelievable. I had never experienced anything like this before, and I knew I was getting close to cumming again. I knew this time would be intense because he was hitting my G spot perfectly in this position, and I felt like I was going to have a clitoral orgasm too.

As he thrust harder and harder, and I rubbed my clit in unison, I let out deep moans.

"Uh...Uh....Jeff.....I'm cumming.....Uh......"

"Fuck...I'm gonna cum," He said.

"Jeff...." I screamed.

In that perfect moment, I felt his hot spurting seed fill my pussy at the exact moment that I came.

I came so hard--harder than the other two times combined. I felt my legs shake and my pussy pulse as I came for what felt like an eternity.

We both dropped to the bed, exhausted with pleasure.