#because part of being in a small group of the only people who know the full story about something is that it creates a bond

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Yitzhak Arad

Yitzhak Arad was a teenage resistance leader in Poland who became an Israeli army general, prominent historian and director of Yad Vashem. As the only member of his large extended family to survive the Holocaust, he devoted his life to making sure the Jews of Europe, and what happened to them, were not forgotten.

Born in Lithuania in 1926, Yitzhak grew up in Swieciany, a village in Poland. He attended Jewish schools and was active in the Zionist youth movement. Shortly before Yitzhak’s bar mitzvah, Germany invaded Poland. Life in Swieciany didn’t change immediately, but in July 1941, Germany occupied the town. The towns 3000 Jews were rounded up to be sent to a ghetto. Yitzhak, then 15, ran off along with about a few other 15-16 year olds and escaped to Belorussia.

A few days after they arrived in Belorussia, they learned that the Jews of Swieciany were not relocated to a ghetto but rather taken to a remote location and massacred. Yitzhak’s parents and 30 immediate family members were killed, along with most of the Jews of Swieciany. Only 250 people were left alive – skilled laborers who were forced to work for the Germans as tailors and craftsmen.

Yitzhak and his companions were safe in Belorussia – for a few months, until the Nazis came for the Jews of Belorussia. A teenage orphan, out of options, Yitzhak didn’t know what else to do so he returned to Swieciany. He found a handful of people he knew among the few survivors, but he was soon captured by the Germans. Yitzhak was sure his life was about to end, but instead he was put to work cleaning weapons the Germans had confiscated from the Soviets. Not one to waste such an opportunity, Yitzhak hid a small pistol under his clothing the first day and nobody searched him. Together he and a few other young Jewish workers stole ten guns over the course of a month, and in February 1943 they escaped to the forest.

They tried to create a paramilitary force but encountered opposition from locals, who informed on them to the Germans, leaving the Jewish would-be fighters constantly on the move and hiding within the forest. They needed people to help them with food and information, but had no success with the local Poles and the situation was dire.

Finally they met up with a group of Lithuanian partisans, people who’d escaped from the Soviet Union during the Russian retreat and were organizing a resistance movement. Yitzhak was a Lithuanian citizen so he was accepted into the group, although with reluctance because he was Jewish. He later said in an interview with Harry J. Cargas, “There were many problems for a Jew to be with the Soviet partisans. First of all, there were anti-Semitic feelings.  Then, a Jew would only be accepted in the ranks of the Soviet partisans if he had his own arms.  (Any non-Jew, whether a local peasant or one who had escaped from a prisoner-of-war camp, would be accepted without arms.)  Also, there was the image of the Jew as a bad fighter or a coward.  So you fought to prove yourself, to say, “Anything you can do I can do–if not better at least as well.”  So in the beginning we had to struggle for our places.  But after a few months I was able to prove myself–my courage–and was allowed to take part in mining many trains, in ambushes and other activities.”

More and more Jews joined the unit and by 1943 they had gained more power and influence within the partisan movement. Despite being one of the youngest, Yitzhak had status because he was the one who brought the first arms into the ghetto and he became a leader of the Jewish partisans. During his two years in the forest, he took part in blowing up sixteen German echelons. Yitzhak later said, “I knew the Jewish world in Eastern Europe that was alive and well and destroyed in the Holocaust. I saw with my own eyes thousands of Jews being led to the firing pits. I survived, and fate allowed me to join the partisans, the fighters against the murderers of our people, and in their ranks to blow up German trains.”

After the war, Yitzhak went to Israel illegally, on a small boat. He immediately became active in the underground movement to resist the British occupiers. When Israel became a sovereign nation in 1948, Yitzhak became an officer in the Israeli Defense Forces, retiring with the rank of brigadier general.

When he first arrived in Israel, Yitzhak tried to put the horror of the Holocaust out of his mind but soon chose a different path – to dedicate his life to making sure the Jews of Europe were not forgotten. He enrolled in Tel Aviv University and earned a doctorate in history. Yitzhak became a very well-respected historian specializing in the Holocaust in the Soviet Union. He wrote many books and articles on the subject. In 1972 he became director of Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem, and served in that role for 21 years. Under his leadership multiple monuments to victims were created, including the Children’s Memorial.

Yitzhak later said, “I came to Yad Vashem as a historian, as a teacher. I have this obligation to the people who were less lucky than myself.  In order to survive, in addition to everything you did, you needed some luck. If you are religious you can say you needed God’s help.  What I am doing at Yad Vashem is my obligation to those who did not survive.  Fate enabled me to live, and I must do something to commemorate the war, to write about it, to make it more understandable to people.  I think there are many lessons from the Holocaust, for us as Jews, for human beings in general–there is a whole universal meaning.  If, in some way, I succeed in doing something in this direction – to promote more awareness, more knowledge, the lessons that should be learned – this is for me a great satisfaction.”

Yitzhak Arad died on May 6, 2021 at age 94. He was preceded in death by his wife Michal, and is survived by three children and numerous grandchildren and great grandchildren. May his memory always be a blessing.

For fighting Nazis and making sure the six million Jewish martyrs are not forgotten, we honor Yitzhak Arad as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[cjsmalley]

Anakin the Special Crechemaster:

A/N: Idea for Anakin's job and Aronos belongs to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/evilminji/762538518775037952?source=share

When the twins turned five, the Skywalkers-Mansons were moved into the Temple as Anakin took on a new job for the Jedi and the twins were inducted into the creche as day students.

The Jedi had gained custody of an already extremely powerful two-year-old named Aronos Egav, a human variant young girl. She was a prodigy in the Force but much too powerful for an ordinary Crechemaster, who had other younglings in their charge as well. And Aronos was much too young for Padawanship.

Yoda, in a fit of wisdom and madness, had asked Anakin to foster her. Anakin was also extremely powerful, another prodigy, and was likely able to withstand such a young, unfocused but powerful presence while also teaching such concepts as boundaries and individualism.

All Jedi younglings had a phase where they acted like a hivemind creature, having to learn such ideas as being themselves and not part of a collective, that it was rude and wrong to invade another’s mind without permission when for them it was as easy as breathing.

Here, the twins actually had an advantage being twins raised together. They were both Luke and Leia and Luke-and-Leia. They were so connected to each other that they looped back to being individuals as well. They knew how to shield from each other instinctively and that translated well to shielding from everyone else.

Aronos, being a singleton and powerful besides, latched onto anyone she could mentally. Unfortunately, the sheer weight of her presence meant that whoever she latched onto could be subsumed to her will. And it was because of this a wandering Jedi found her nearly dead as her people thought her a witch bewitching them to her whims.

The Jedi had spirited her back to the main Temple and Anakin was contacted. A deal was made. As the small family, which included Captain Rex and two droids, was quickly outgrowing the Senatorial apartment afforded to Padme as a Nabooian Senator, if Anakin agreed to take on Aronos then the family would be given a suite of rooms in the Temple itself.

Anakin and Padme agreed to meet with Aronos.

She was thin, waifish. Dark of skin and with stormy eyes. Her hair was also dark, curly and thick. The smallest set of youngling robes for her age group still swallowed her.

Anakin approached her carefully, bringing to bear all his shields but the outermost ones, crouching down, “Hello, Aronos. I’m Anakin.”

Aronos blinked at him, silent and all too knowing, clearly a tad lost in the Force.

Anakin sighed and gently, carefully took her too small hands. Like his teachers had done for him, he became a life-preserver and carefully wound her back to the Here and Now and Material World.

She gasped and threw herself at him, hugging his neck.

He curled around her, repeating, “Hello, Aronos. I’m Anakin.”

She made a muffled noise, likely not Basic, likely something in her native tongue before croaking, voice rusty from disuse, “Aronos. I…Aronos.”

Anakin nodded, lifting her into his arms as he stood up and looked to Padme.

Padme nodded back.

There was a whirlwind of activity from that point; Padme took charge, setting up appointments with Mind Healers and Speech Therapists and all sorts of experts. Anakin, Aronos on his hip, read through the child’s case file, being given a hard-copy and talked with the Crechemasters and his own Lineage members.

Within a tenday, after Luke and Leia were introduced to their new sibling and told that Mommy and Daddy were helping her be a Jedi, a plan of action was started.

In another Aronos was slowly introduced to the rest of the family.

Aronos would not be the only all-too-powerful youngling the Skywalker-Mansons would foster over the years, she was merely the first.

Wished Away 9

Tylers meet Phantoms:

“Christ, Mum,” Rose said as she took in how Jackie, Pete, and Tony were dressed, “we’re just meetin’—”

“Royalty!” Jackie squeaked. They were all done up like they were meeting the Queen at Buckingham Palace itself!

“Honestly, Mum, they don’t care,” Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing her mother’s wrist and tugging her through the console room and to the wardrobe room, “I told ya ta dress casually. Let’s just hope the Ol’ Girl has clothes fer ya.”

It took about an hour to get everyone redressed, in things much more casual but still nice, before Rose led them back to the console room.

Jackie was clearly anxious, “Are ya—”

“’m sure, Mum. Danny an’ Sam don’t do formal unless they have ta. Unless you’re an annoying subject or someone threatenin’ war, ya don’t even have ta call ‘em by their titles. They’re just Danny an’ Sam ta family.”

“Lookie what I found,” Jenny bounded from the innards of the TARDIS, holding a tiny bike helmet.

She went to her toddler uncle and put it on him, making sure it fit right, “Landings in the Realms are worse than normal ones. The TARDIS does Her best but the Realms give her…nausea? A headache? She just doesn’t do good.”

“Oh, goody,” Jackie said lowly, hugging a strut for dear life already.

“Let me protect Anthony,” Bad Wolf came out, holding out her arms; without hesitation, Pete handed his son over.

Bad Wolf settled Tony in her arms, against her chest and shoulder, and then spread her feet and crouched slightly, clearly bracing for impact; she stayed steady even as the TARDIS began Her flight.

Everyone else was thrown about the console room, the Doctor and Jenny barely holding on to work the console, but Bad Wolf and Tony did not move an inch.

The landing was rough, just as Jenny said it would be, throwing even the Time Lords to the grated floor before the TARDIS stopped quaking.

Jenny recovered first and stood up, rubbing her shoulder, to peek out the doors, “We’re in the Palace. Uncle Danny and Aunt Sam are waiting…”

Slowly, everyone picked themselves up and Rose reemerged, straightening with some popping from her knees.

Jenny led the procession out, racing to hug a man and a woman, “Uncle Danny, Aunt Sam! How’re you?”

Danny and Sam chuckled and hugged her as one, “Good, doing good. You?”

“Perfect!”

She let go of them to drag Jackie, who was hesitant, forward, “This’s my Gran, Jackie. Mum’s side, duh. Completely human. He’s my step-granddad, Pete, and Mum’s holding my uncle, Tony.”

“Yer Majesties,” Jackie tried to curtsy even though she was in trousers, “an honor ta—”

“Oh, enough,” Sam chuckled, “didn’t they tell you? We don’t do formalities with family.”

“Family?” Jackie’s eyes were wide, “I know Rose said—but—”

“We count Clockwork as family,” Danny explained, “and he’s claimed the Doctor as family. The Doctor and Jenny. Rose’s basically married in by this point. Common-law, you understand. That makes her family our family. Welcome to the Palace, your home in the Infinite Realms.”

“My god,” Pete muttered, somewhat disbelieving.

“Not a god, not yet anyways,” Danny winked.

“Where’s Dani?” Jenny burst out, “Is she still in school?”

Sam grinned, “With Anakin, in the nursery. We let her stay home today.”

“Oh, Gran! Can I introduce Tony to Anakin? Please!” Jenny nearly begged.

“Anakin’s our youngest,” Danny explained kindly, “around Tony’s age, actually. We also have a nanny looking after them, Nanny Clara. He’d be perfectly safe.”

“Well…” Jackie looked to her husband, who nodded, “if you’re sure.”

Jenny cheered and took Tony from Rose, dashing off with him deeper into the Palace.

“Jenny knows the Palace as well as anyone,” Sam assured, “and if she gets lost, she can flag down a servant for help. She’s heading directly for the nursery. It’s the most defensible part of the Palace.

Danny stood up, helping Sam, “C’mon, we can talk over food; stay close, Tylers. Doctor?”

“Rose and I can bring up the rear,” the Doctor agreed, taking Rose’s hand as they began walking.

The Palace was a gothic masterpiece, in a very literal sense, though even Sam had wearied of all the gloom and had sought artists and artwork to fill the halls, soft, plush carpets and tapestries to keep the warmth, glassworks to fill the once barred windows. Statues and busts dotted the hallways, some classical, some avant garde

Masters had given their masterpieces, their magnum opuses; they were paid handsomely of course, in either coin or material.

Oils, watercolors, acrylics, textiles, glass, all created for Her Majesty the Ghost Queen. For His Majesty the Ghost King.

It wasn’t yet a riot of color, nor would it ever be, but it was more alive.

Jackie gasped and the group stopped, turning as one to see what had captured her attention.

“When they said the family was huge…”

Ah, it was the most recent family portrait; all the children were gathered around Danny and Sam, all in formal wear.

“We…sometimes people sell the souls of children to me,” Danny started, causing her and Pete to whip around to him in horror, “I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? But anyways, we adopt the kids. Only Dani—Danielle—isn’t adopted.”

He pointed out each child and gave their backstory.

“Good Lord, you were young!” Pete said at Damian’s story.

“Old enough to be king,” Danny shrugged helplessly, “it…it wasn’t easy, we had help, so much help, and we made mistakes…”

“All parents do,” Jackie told him softly.

“So we’ve been told,” Sam smiled just as softly, “and we’ve learned and made new ones with each kid.”

Danny coughed and continued to point out kids and tell stories, until all had been covered and then they moved on.

As they neared the dining room, Danielle and Jenny joined them with each holding a toddler.

“Oh my,” Jackie said, taking in the Anakin Skywalker; she knew who he grew up to be, or would have if he had not been adopted.

“We’re hungry, Dad,” Danielle said.

Danny waved them into the dining room where the smaller table was already set for a meal; there were two chairs with booster seats and Jenny and Danielle put Tony and Anakin in them before sitting beside them and helping them get food.

The group chatted over the meal, Jackie and Pete slowly relaxing at how easy going the Royals were, and generally had good cheer.

After the meal was done, Jenny asked, “Do we put their photo up on the family wall now? I know you’ve got me, Dad, and Mum…”

Danny chuckled, “We can, if they’re okay with it.”

“Family wall?” Pete questioned.

“We keep walls of pictures of the extended family,” Sam explained easily, “you know, like Rose, the Doctor, and Jenny. Harry’s and Neville’s parents. Damian’s paternal birth-family. The Royal Portrait is just the immediate royal family. The walls are for everyone and everything else.”

Danny and Sam led the group out of the dining room and down another hallway; the walls were plastered with photographs. Some were professional, most were candid and amateur.

A common camera sat on a small round table; a high-end camera but nothing too expensive or professional.

Danny picked it up, saying, “If Jackie, Pete, and Tony don’t mind—”

Jackie decided it would be a family photograph and dragged the Doctor in; Rose and Jenny came without complaint.

Danny took a set of pictures.

After that was done, it was decided it was time for the Tylers to leave, taking pity on the still disgruntled TARDIS.

They were, however, invited to the next family gathering.

[bonanzafly]

though i am a byler fan through and through, i do see the mileven vision in season one of the show. will hadn't even been introduced yet, and i've gotta admit, they were cute. my personal belief is that someone can't fall in love in that short amount of time, and that neither mike nor el were mature enough to have actually be ready for anything romantic. particularly el who didn't even know what a friend was until just a few days prior to mike asking her to the snow ball. i also think that mike may have just been trying to fill a hole that will left with his disappearance, which explains his attachment to el. despite these being my personal views, none of that is really canon, and mileven was intended to be a main ship in the first season. I can appreciate it's cuteness! i feel like we should also remember that we hadn't even truly met will in the first season, and his relationship with mike didn't seem much different than with the other boys in my opinion. lucas cared just as much if not more about finding will in the beginning, especially when mike was distracted with el. lucas is also described as being mike's best friend, and dustin claims it's obvious that lucas and mike are closer than the other boys.

i see lots of bylers claim that byler is going to be endgame because their relationship has been obvious and clear from the beginning, but that’s just not true. season one only has two or three scenes depicting the pair together, and their relationship is not a focus at all. the focus of where we see will is his friendship with all the boys as a part of the group. the only special scene we see with them is the iconic scene where will tells mike the truth of the roll being a seven, which i think is good evidence for byler due to will’s compulsion to be honest with him, but it’s so small it can be written off as insignificant. we start to really see evidence and setup for byler in season two, which is the season i think mileven kinda fell off in (just in my own opinion!!). i think it’s just because mike has will back and is no longer in need of someone to cling to while will is gone.

now let me be clear, i am a full believer of byler and would absolutely love it if byler was endgame, but i just want to break the illusion that us bylers have begun to build about mike and will having a clear and obvious romantic connection from the get go. mileven was the original ship in the show, and mike was set up to be with el. that doesn’t necessarily mean they are going to be endgame! i think there is a decent possibility for either of the ships to become endgame, or for the show to end with mike and el being single. i would personally be disappointed if the show ended with mileven endgame as i don’t think that their relationship is healthy, and i don’t think they’re right for each other, but i want to be ready for any possibility. no matter what bylers think, there are still a great deal of people that love mileven and want it to be endgame, and they have certainly been set up as a ship since the beginning.

[luvzxr]

Little Pougie

Chapter 5

previous, next chapters.

So I'm going to go ahead and repost because I kinda fucked up my last part of the story and I don't want people to miss it and have all the chapters messed up for them because that's just not fun. HOWEVER, I will post chapter 6 today as well just to catch up.

If you'd like to read ahead you may. My wattpad will be linked here from now on!

Also, when I started this story on wattpad I did make a spotify playlist as well which is public so it will be linked as well if you are the type of person to listen to music while you read!

Summery; In which fem!reader is the little sister to John B Routledge. Sweet, gentle and innocent. The complete opposite to JJ Maybank but he finds himself falling for her and he can't stop himself doing so.

Pairing; Fem!reader x JJ Maybank

Word Count; 3,290

Warnings; Throughout this series there are talks of abuse, drug and alcohol use, trauma, talks of self doubt and wanting to be unalived. Possible smut in the future as well so read at your own risk!

05. Teach Me

(Y/n) was kinda in the mood for death right about now.

Actually no, she didn't necessarily mind the situation she found herself in but she would much rather be at home. She wanted to be curled up next to their busted up AC, book in hand and pure joy with the silence of being the only one home for a few hours.

She didn't want to be here because it was too hot to be here. Sweating, grossing with the slight uncomfortable feeling of sand between each of her toes. Her brother and his friends would consider this a dream come true. (Y/n), however, did not.

It wasn't like (Y/n) hated being out and about to bask in the sun but when it was in the high 90's with little to no wind to cool off, she certainly had a word that came close to hate.

"Yknow, you'd cool off in the water (Y/n/n)," John B hinted, finger extending lazily towards the crashing waves in front of them while he took a seat next to her, "trust me. You'll thank me later,"

They were at the beach. One of the popular surf spots around their town.

The boy surprisingly didn't have to convince her very long to come with, (Y/n) just openly decided to for once to not put up a fight and go out. However, she suddenly wished she had put up a fight because she was highly regretting her decisions now.

"Shut up JB," (Y/n) grumbled, a small eye roll in the process, "you didn't tell me it was suppose to be almost 100,"

"Best day to go surfing!"

(Y/n) wanted to reach over and deck her own brother in the face but that would be mean and she was trying to have a good day with everyone. No need to start with physically assaulting her own sibling. "I hate you,"

"No you don't,"

"Pretty sure I do,"

"You'll get over it," John B snickered, shoulder nudging her own in a playful manner.

(Y/n)'s head shook, suppressing a smile because if her brother saw he'd know he had at least manage to make her smile and she didn't want him to know that.

"You should really just come to hang out with everyone," John B suggested, standing to his feet.

(Y/n) wasn't the type to be very talkative regardless of who it was and she kind of wanted to decline his offer but being a complete and utter introvert to the people John B called family just seemed rude.

Of course she's talked to all of them and even considered herself close with Sarah and Kie but that doesn't take away from the fact that she most of the time preferred to be alone or with her brother and JJ because she felt the most comfortable with the two.

She took a few more seconds to decide before utterly coming to a conclusion. "Okay, I'll come over."

"Great!" John B grinned, making his way towards the group closer towards the water.

(Y/n) pushed herself up using her palms that laid out in the gentle sand, standing to her feet before cautiously following behind her older sibling.

The rest of the Pouges were huddled around one another, staring out towards the crashing waves while passing around a lit blunt and beers in hand.

Sarah actually tried to be close Sophie and it wasn't just because she was dating her older brother. Sarah knew that (Y/n) seemed to have the urge to meet people and make friends but it just seemed like she struggled a bit to do so. Her social anxiety was pretty rough on her at times.

Sarah just wanted to try to help (Y/n) get into the habit of feeling confident in herself and her actions and (Y/n) appreciated the blonde girl more than she was willing to let on.

Watching John B find something to urn for other than the past was a big moment even if Sarah didn't see that quite yet.

(Y/n) could and it was a big deal to her.

(Y/n) remembered a time where Kiara and Sarah couldn't even be left in a room together because everyone thought one of em might end up dead if it happened which was funny to look back on now because they were so close. 

The little scheme that John B and the two other boys pulled works back then and now the two girls seemed to be inseparable.

 "(Y/n)!"

"Hey (Y/n/n)!"

"What's up (Y/n/n)!"

Sarah, Kie and Pope all managed to sync together, attention now on the younger girl who revealed herself behind John B. It wasn't too often she joined in on their shenanigans much less join on her own accord most times but regardless, they tried to include her and make her feel welcomed.

It wasn't that (Y/n) didn't like his friends because if she was honest, they felt like her own flesh and blood too— even if they weren't— No, she just found herself not being able to speak half the time or when she did, all she ended up doing was stuttering and stumbling over her own words just as she does her own feet and it was embarrassing enough when it came to being a genuine klutz.

So most times she tried to keep the clumsiness to a minimum because the less there was, the less moments she had to cringe about remembering how it could of all went so much more smoother if she hadn't done this or that.

"Hi guys," (Y/n)'s hand raised up gently to wave with a small, cheeky smile.

She was hesitant to join the circle because it just usually wasn't her thing but John B was quick to react when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her in.

"C'mon Pougie."

Once the girl adjusted to her standing position she took notice that rugged blonde was no where in sight which was odd because there is no way in hell that man would miss out on the excuse to sit around in a circle with his closest friends and smoke some weed or drink a beer.

She had expected him to be the one who had even lit the blunt or even instantly getting everyone into the spirit for this, in fact, was a beach day and most of the time that meant nothing was off limits.

"Where's JJ?" (Y/n) questioned, glancing around one last time to make sure her own eyes weren't playing tricks on her.

Pope's head jerked a bit out towards the water, "out there."

Her eyes scanned the shimmering crystal water until they landed on the dirty blonde. He sat afloat on his old foam surfboard that currently was only idle. He was waiting— but it seemed that he previously already was engulfed by the water because he was already drenched from head to toe.

His body synced so well with the movement of the waves and the way they jerked and pulled around him. He made it look so easy to just sit and float upon water that was just waiting to pour right over top of him and take him right off that board.

However, that just wasn't JJ. That wouldn't happen.

(Y/n) couldn't even imagine herself out there even though the girl practically lived off the water and watched her brother over the years surf she just could never get the hang of it.

John B did try to teach her how. He went through all the basics, he showed her the stances she needed to take and even the precautions when the whole thing went south but she just never got the hang of it. He was too nervous to even let her out on the water because he was terrified something might go wrong.

He had every right to be nervous too because even on land (Y/n) had a hard time keeping her balance on the board, even in sand. Her form often made him worrisome because all it took was one inexperienced surfer and one wave that could take her out and drag her under.

He was too scared to take that chance with her.

He felt bad but eventually he tried to find ways to cancel plans to teach her because his anxiety was just too damn high. He truly felt like a parent who tried to teach their kid how to ride a bike for the first time.

Only this one required more caution and he couldn't be with her on that board if something went wrong.

"What's he doing?" Her eyes never left the man out on the water. She kept track of him even when the waves seemed to cover him from afar.

"He's waiting for the perfect wave," John B spoke, his eyes also trained on the male out on the water. His arm still strung around (Y/n)'s shoulder and his other wrapped around Sarah's waist, holding her close.

(Y/n) recalled that wording before, back when John B was trying to teach her how to surf. Perfect waves often meant the water was smooth, almost glassy and the waves weren't folding in different directions. In Sophie's mind it was hard to tell the difference but then again, she didn't get much of a chance to learn that far ahead.

As her eyes trained on JJ they also began to glance out further where they locked onto movement.

A large wave was approaching. And fast.

"Wait.. like that one?" She pointed out, navigating for her brother of what she saw but he'd already seen it.

His head bobbed slightly, "Yup. That's the one."

It was pretty easy for John B to notice the perfect waves because he'd been surfing for as long as he could remember. It was like second nature for him to just know what the right ones were and when to abort if they were too dangerous to take on.

Most of the time though, JJ took them on anyway and John B often wondered how the man himself wasn't dead yet.

(Y/n) watched intently from the shore, eyes glued on the Maybank boy as his body seemed almost relaxed and slowly laid across the board stomach down. His arms began to paddle himself towards the oncoming monster of a wave and Sophie could feel her own heart drop at the sight.

She knew how reckless the boy was and how he often took risks he probably shouldn't being taking in the first place. She hated the fact he'd do it too but everyone else seemed to always have faith he'd come back alive. Even though most had to use that as a mask to hide their own worries and fears for the boy because JJ hated the fact his friends would show worry for him.

JJ seen worry or fear as pity and he couldn't stand it. Seeing that emotion on their face only seemed to irritate him because they had better things to worry about or fear than losing him.

At least that's how he felt.

(Y/n) is the only one out of everyone that the boy ever truly let show that emotion towards him. Not because she was John B's little sister because that excuse expired a long time ago. Where she began to grow up and realize that not everything was rainbows and unicorns and that eventually— when you least expect it— things turn to shit and you are challenged on if you can survive what's thrown at you or you drown trying.

No, that most definitely wasn't it. (Y/n) was just the person who cared for people and their welling being. She liked to be helpful and caring where she could and even if she couldn't, she still found the perfect little ways of being there for the ones who needed her the most.

She was like a piece of gold but she was way more valuable than the real thing and worth more than anyone could ever offer to her.

JJ valued her, even if he didn't show it all that much but he'd slowly became her protector more than her own brother was suppose to be. And he had to admit that he use to hate it.

He hated the idea of it. He use to hate the fact that he made that promise to John B years ago and wished he'd never spoke those two sacred words to him because then maybe he wouldn't have to be looked at like he was some knight in shining armor. That's not who JJ was, he wasn't some rescue pup for some girl who he use to find aggravating and how he wished he could just clamp his palm over her mouth and she'd magically shut up.

But things change and so do people.

So as (Y/n) watched his board inch closer and closer towards the waves she could feel her heart beat almost as fast and all she could do is watch and pray that the stupid blonde wouldn't get dragged under and never come back up.

Her eyes followed his every movement. The way his body jumped up from his laying position as he was almost face to face with the waves. She watched how his body twisted and turned all while keeping his balance, how he gliding across the water with ease and instead of being worried anymore she found herself mesmerized.

(Y/n) took into account how he'd done this his entire life and how he mastered every movement and stance throughout the years up until this point. JJ was just a natural when it came to surfing and he knew he was damned good at it too because when he came off that water and was looking back at the group while he took his seat back on the board, there was nothing on his face but a shit eating smirk.

He really was the best surfer that John B knew and also would never admit to JJ's face because he had enough ego as it is.

"Let's go JayJ!"

"Yeah JJ!"

The whooping and hollering could be heard all throughout the beach from the small group calling out to their friend who was making his way off the water. His entire being glistening as he walked up towards the shore where everyone was.

John B finally let go of his two favorite girls, walking over to slap hands with JJ and pull him in for a short but sweet chest hug. All while a smile was spread across both of their faces. JJ's full of confidence.

"That was fucking amazing JJ," John B beamed, his excited tone could be heard from miles if it hadn't been already. He may never admit to JJ himself that he was an extraordinary surfer but he'd pay respect where it was due. And this was one of those times that it certainly was.

The blonde couldn't hide his ego even if he tried the hardest to do so, it just would be no use. He was pretty surprised himself because deep down he even had doubts.

Of course, he would never show it but he honestly felt like that wave would of knocked his ass right off that board and he'd come up from the water a tad bit embarrassed. However that just couldn't happen to JJ, he wouldn't allow it till the day he dies.

Which is ironic considering the boy often face plants when they were in a haste to get somewhere. Just a small quirk of his.

"That was really good JJ," her voice was heavenly and gentle which caught his attention almost immediately.

"Oh, Pougie came to watch me? I'm flattered," he teased, laying his board down in the sand and beginning to make his way over towards Sophie. His hand place atop her head to ruffle up her hair a bit.

She gently swatted at his hand and gave a well deserved roll of her eyes, "shut up. I'm serious Jay. That was really good."

"Listen to her man, she doesn't even compliment my surfing," John B chimes in, a small but playful pout was across his lips. Sometimes her own brother made her want to slap him just for being her own flesh and blood.

(Y/n) shook her head, already fed up with her own sibling at this current time but tilted her head up towards JJ again, "can you reach me?"

His eyebrows furrowed and his glance back to John B made the nerves in (Y/n)'s stomach turn because she already knew how they'd react to the question but she wanted to try again.

"I don't know Princess.. That'd be up to your brother on if he'd let me or not," his unsure tone stood firm, making it known that it wasn't up to him but up to John B. He knew how John B felt about (Y/n) and surfing and even though it truly broke the man's heart because they grew up on the water, he felt it was safer that she'd stay clear of the sport all together.

"John B, I'm not a kid anymore. I wanna learn and I'm tired of being babied," she sighed and pouted a tad which was hard not to see a child in (Y/n) when she'd do things like that.

John B contemplated a moment, trying to decide between his gut and the fact his own sister had a point of always being babied but it was just because he cared. His lips pursed into a frown the longer he took to answer her.

"You promise me you listen to him? What he says, goes. Okay?" He cracked.

He could feel his own heart rip in two because part of him felt he needed to start giving her opportunities because eventually she'd act like he had as a teen, even though he still was one himself. She'd grow too curious and eventually do things behind his back which he knew he wouldn't be able to handle. He didn't want (Y/n) growing into that.

The other part however, was the unknowing fear he felt deep inside. The type of fear that made your stomach twist and turn even at the thoughts or images of what could happen. He'd felt like the parent ever since (Y/n) was born and he always had the parental intent because somehow— deep down, he knew she would be the only family he had left.

(Y/n) nodded in agreement and trying to also hold back a smile with a little dance of victory but eventually that façade cracked and a little smile shown across her plush lips.

"Pinky promise me Pougie,"

Pinky promises was something the siblings had done to show the seriousness of their matters. To them, it showed trust and understanding but often times never came out unless it was something that needed to be taken more serious than other situations.

And to John B, this was as serious as serious came. He needed to know that his baby sister would be okay and leave learning without a scratch on her. That he wouldn't have to worry like a sick parent about her when it came to learning from his own best friend.

His pinky extended out, lingering and waiting for her much smaller one to wrap around and interlock.

"Pinky promise." She spoke, her pinky interlocking with his and with that he pulled her into a tight hug. His chin laid on the top of her head with his arms wrapped tight around her.

"Then he can teach you."

After the heart felt moment between the two, John B let go of (Y/n) and shifted himself towards JJ, "take care of her man. I need you to,"

"Don't worry bro. Pougie will be safe with me. As long as I'm around, nothing will happen to that girl."

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Sleeps Ten, My Ass (1/2)

Summary: It's become tradition for Emma Swan to spend the holidays with her brother, their cousins, and their families. This Christmas was no different. The group booked a four night stay at a cozy mountain cabin to celebrate. The listing said it sleeps ten, but upon arrival they discover a small issue. The listing was wrong and now Emma and Killian Jones, the only two single people within their group, have to spend the next four nights sharing a bed. Fortunately... they've shared a bed before.

A/N: @eastwesthomeisbest it is I, your CS Secret Santa! Thank you for being so patient and understanding! I'm sorry I couldn't post this sooner, but between the normal busyness of the holidays and my entire family coming down with Covid, finding time to write was a struggle. I hope you find this worth the wait. It was lovely hearing about your traditions and I hope you had a fantastic holiday!

Thanks to @kmomof4 for looking this over for me and to the @cssecretsanta2020 for once again hosting a fantastic event. Side note, this fic also completes my Only One Bed: Holiday Edition CS Winter Bingo square!

Rated eventual E / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One

She was late. Super late. Incredibly late. Late enough that she was certain her brother had already called the cops to report her missing. Late enough that it was already pitch black on the back mountain road, forcing her to drive at a creeping speed so she didn’t careen off the side of a cliff, which was making her even more late.

In her defense, they should all have expected that she’d be late. She was always late. Every dinner, every holiday get together, every vacation, every celebration, Emma Swan was always notoriously late.

Not because she didn’t want to spend time with her family. Far from. She just… wasn’t always in control over her own schedule. Bail bonds and bounty hunting wasn’t exactly a 9 to 5 gig, and when a mark finally crawled out of whatever hole in which he (it was more often than not a he) had hid himself away through some dumbass attempt to avoid the consequences of his own dumbass actions, well… many times it meant a change in her plans.

Was it annoying? Yes.

Did she make sure to take out that frustration on the perp? Also, yes.

Was it even worse for the offender when he made her late for the Christmas get-together her cousin Elsa had planned for them all - a four night stay at a picturesque mountain cabin big enough to sleep three married couples and two singles with amenities that would keep them cozy and content over the holiday? Oh, yes.

Big. Fat. Yes.

To go with the big fat payout she needed in order to pay her portion of said holiday getaway.

Rounding another winding corner, the soft glow of the illuminated cabin stirred a strange mix of sensations in her chest; a swirl of relief at nearly being there and panic over what was awaiting her inside. Parking her bug next to the vehicles that signalled she was indeed the last to arrive, Emma fortified herself for a moment before exiting the vehicle, grabbing her bag, and marching up to the cabin as though she were about to face a firing squad.

David, her brother, and Liam, Elsa’s husband, would likely scold her with their hands firmly planted on their hips or their arms crossed tightly over their chests. The rebukes would be drowned out by David’s wife, Mary Margaret, and Elsa’ sister, Anna, who would both rush at Emma and force her into claustrophobic hugs while they expressed their worry and relief, offering Emma a blanket, a place by the fire, a plate of food, a cup of tea, all without taking a breath between them as Anna’s husband, Kristoff, tried to tell the women to let Emma breathe and get settled.

The only one who would not be making a fuss would likely already have a drink ready for her, a knowing smirk teasing his lips as he tried to stifle an eye roll at the group’s overreaction.

Killian Jones. Liam’s brother and the only other single member of their group.

Hand on the doorknob, Emma took a deep breath and opened the door to the expected chaos. And chaos there was, but… none of it seemed to be about her and her tardiness.

Elsa and David were in the kitchen. One of their phones, clearly on speaker, was held between them as they argued with whoever was on the other end of the line. Liam and Kristoff were seated at the dining table with a laptop open, the elder Jones frantically typing and clicking as Kristoff scrolled on his phone with a furrowed brow.

“There’s nothing up here that could be used as an extra one,” Anna called out from the top of the stairs. “Mary Margaret and I have looked through all the closets and checked all the furniture.”

None of them had noticed her presence yet, and she was about to say something when heavy boot falls sounded from the porch behind her.

“Ah, Swan. You arrived in one piece then?” Killian said cheekily with an arm full of firewood.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, setting her bag down so she could help with the load he was carrying. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries,” he assured her, making his way to the fireplace and stacking their logs beside the hearth. “You missed the initial excitement, but you’ve made it in time to witness the spiral everyone has since descended into.” Emma glanced around the cabin at the said spiral, wondering what had set everyone off as Killian added a couple of logs to the fire, then grabbed the poker so he could stoke it. “I told them I’d make do on the couch, or even a pallet on the floor, but--”

“Sleeps ten, my ass!” Elsa shouted as she angrily hung up the call. “They swapped out the couch and forgot to update the listing!”

“What?” Emma said, but no one other than Killian seemed to have heard her, or even realized she was there.

“That’s ridiculous!” Liam bellowed. “What do they plan to do about it?”

“Can they bring an air mattress or cot?” Kristoff asked, still scrolling through his phone. “Because none of the local stores seem to have one, and even if they did, they’d be closed by the time we got back to town.”

Killian stepped away from the fire he’d coaxed back to life and into the metaphorical one building at the kitchen island where the rest of their group - save for Emma - had gathered.

“I already told you, the couch will be fine.”

“Don’t be silly, Killian,” Anna replied. “Have you seen that couch? It’s far too narrow and your feet are gonna dangle off the end.”

“Then the floor will suit me--”

“For the amount of money we spent renting this place, you are not sleeping on the floor,” Elsa declared. “I cannot believe this! How could they make a mistake like that?”

“What did the owner say?” Mary Margaret asked, setting out a platter of food she’d removed from the fridge and encouraging everyone to eat something… as though snacking would somehow fix the issue. An issue Emma still wasn’t sure was the cause of everyone’s upset.

“He won’t do anything,” Elsa snapped. “He said they had to replace the couch, which had been a sleeper, and apparently forgot to update the listing, but didn’t see the problem since we only have eight people, not ten, and there are four king size beds.”

“Didn’t you explain that there weren’t four couples, though?”

“Oh, she did,” David interjected. “But the man didn’t seem to care about anything other than getting back to his tropical Christmas vacation.”

“So what do we do?” Anna asked. “Where is Killian gonna sleep?”

“He and I can just share the bed.”

Seven heads collectively snapped in her direction, a mixture of shock and surprise being directed her way as her family, for the first time, realized she was there and then computed her words.

Words she would later blame on the fact that although no one seemed bothered by the fact she was late, she still felt the need to make up for it and therefore was compelled to offer a solution to the problem, even if said solution meant sharing a bed with a man she absolutely did not have feelings for and no one would convince her otherwise, not even her own treacherous heart, and thereby torturing herself for the next several days.

“Are you sure, love?” Killian asked, his eyes scrutinizing her, looking for any hint that she might be regretting the offer and wished to back out. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you weren’t completely comfortable with.”

“Are you planning to make it uncomfortable for her?” David asked in his overly protective, brotherly tone. “Because I’m warning you--”

“Warning him?” Liam braced his hands against the top of the island and leaned over it, staring David down as he asked, “Are you insinuating my brother is some sort of cad who would take advantage of--”

“We all know Killian’s reputation.”

“Okay,” Emma interjected before things could escalate further. “I think you’re all forgetting that I have a reputation, too. Of being able to take care of myself. Besides, I trust Killian. We’re both adults. There’s no reason for either of us to sleep on a couch or the floor when there is a perfectly good bed, big enough for us to share. So…” She marched back over to where she’d dropped her bag and collected it as she continued on, “If you don’t mind. I’ve had a long day and all I want right now is a shower and some sleep.” Directing her gaze to Killian she asked, “Where’s your stuff?”

“It’s uh…” he began, scratching behind his ear as he furtively cast a glance towards David. “It’s on the landing.”

“Great,” she said, turning towards the stairs. “Grab it on your way up so you can settle in while I shower.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret called out. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat or--”

“I’m fine,” Emma answered back halfway up the stairs. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” Looking over her shoulder, she saw Killian hesitate at the bottom step. “Are you coming?”

“Aye,” he answered, following after her two steps at a time and grabbing his duffle before slipping into the room behind her.

Tossing his bag onto the bed, he glanced around the room and inquired one last time, “You’re certain you’re okay with this, Swan?”

“Yes, Jones,” Emma replied in an exasperated tone she hoped masked the nerves currently coursing through her. After gathering up her toiletry items, she straightened and faced him, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Unless… You are uncomfortable with it and would rather--”

“No, no,” he insisted, his shoulders relaxing and his usual cocky demeanor coming forward. “It’s not that,” he said in a cheeky and slightly taunting tone.

“What is it then?” Emma asked, trying hard to not be taken in by his charm as he swaggered towards her.

“Well, I seem to remember you saying something about it being a one time thing the last time we shared a bed,” he crooned, twisting a section of her hair around his finger. “Seems you’ll have to eat those words now.”

Emma wet her lips and tried to squash the delighted feeling surging through her at the way his eyes dropped to follow the motion. “Bad form bringing up our… what did you call it?” she asked in a mocking tone as she cocked her head to one side. “Our dalliance?” He winced at her terrible attempt to mimic his accent and they both chortled as she reminded him, “I thought we agreed to never speak of that night again.”

“You’re right, Swan. Bad form indeed,” he conceded in a soft timbre. “My apologies, love.”

He backed away and retreated to the other side of the room where he made himself busy unpacking his duffle. “Go ahead and shower, Swan,” he said. “I’ll hop in after you.”

“Thanks,” she threw out over her shoulder as she shut herself in the bathroom, suddenly very eager to have a bit of separation from him. From him and the memory of that night. The night they had shared a bed - and a whole lot more - with one another after copious amounts of alcohol and hours on a dance floor somewhere in the Caribbean during the cruise they’d all taken together earlier that year to celebrate Liam and Elsa’s wedding.

A memory that stubbornly refused to be cast aside, making for a very long shower - a fitful, highly inappropriate shower - especially considering the man she’d been fixated on was in the next room, waiting on her to finish so he could get naked and wet and…

Dear God, Emma. Get a grip!

Emerging from the bathroom, adorned in her pajamas with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Emma hoped the red in her cheeks would be chalked up to the heat of the shower and not because her fantasies had gotten away from her.

“All yours,” she said, pulling her hair dryer out of her bag and plugging it into the wall at the makeshift vanity.

She combed through the wet strands as Killian hovered at the doorway to the bathroom. Pausing her actions, she stared up at him expectantly, trying not to remember what he looked like shirtless.

“About before,” he said, his voice deep with an edge of concern. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by bringing up that night, I just…” He left out a heavy breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I was just trying to bring a bit of levity to an otherwise tense situa--”

“Killian,” she said, waving him off. “It’s fine. Really. You didn’t upset me by bringing it up.” Shrugging, she tried to give off a sense of nonchalance about the whole thing. “It happened. We’ve both moved on from it. No big deal.”

“Right,” he said with a bit of a drawl. “Well… I’ll try not to take too long, so as to not keep you up.” Glancing towards the bed, he said, “I hope it’s okay that I took that side. I didn’t know if you had one you preferred.”

Emma turned to see which side he’d taken. Not that it mattered.

“Honestly,” she answered, “I don’t really have one. It’s not like I share my bed often enough with anyone to develop a preference.”

“Aye. Same,” he replied with that adorable lopsided smile of his.

Emma’s heart fluttered for several seconds after he disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t often share his bed? Really? Like David had said earlier, Killian had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man. It was one of the reasons she’d pulled back after their night together; she’d hated being just another notch on his bedpost.

How many notches had he added since her, she wondered.

She had plenty of time to contemplate that question. It wasn’t until well after she’d dried her hair, set her alarm, and settled under the covers that Killian emerged from the bathroom. The last drowsy thought Emma had was whether he’d taken advantage of the memory of them together to help let off some steam whilst he was in the shower like she had. She didn’t get a chance to dwell on the thought, though. The tiring day had caught up to her and sleep took over the moment she felt the bed dip beside her.

~/~

“Morning, Emma! Sleep well?”

Anna’s voice was far too perky for the current early morning hour, causing Emma to grimace as she shuffled past the red headed woman on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry,” Anna whispered, tiptoeing behind her. “Coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

“Please,” Emma grumbled, slumping down onto one of the barstools at the island. “A fresh pot? How early did you get up?”

“Mary Margaret and I got up with the guys,” she said, pouring Emma a cup, then placing it and a tray of fixings on the counter top in front of her. “We wanted to make sure they got a good meal and some coffee before they headed out.”

Emma nodded her understanding, adding enough sugar to her cup that it would have earned her a disgusted look from Killian had he been there and not out traipsing through the woods with an axe. It was an annual tradition at this point. For the past five years - ever since the Jones brothers had entered their lives through Liam and Elsa’s courtship - the guys went out on Christmas Eve morning and cut down a tree for them to decorate. While they were out finding the perfect specimen, Mary Margaret would lead - or in Emma’s case, berate - the girls in making the decorations. The guys would join in once they got back and set up the tree, and the day would be spent stringing popcorn or dried oranges or cranberries for garland as well as attempting to avoid tiny cuts from the origami-esque construction of paper or cardboard ornaments.

There were also snacks and cocktails, the occasional break from crafting to watch a Christmas movie or play a game. Of course, every year, Emma and Killian would insist they watch Die Hard, which Mary Margaret would dismiss as not being a Christmas movie and an argument would ensue - mostly because it gave both Emma and Killian a perverse sense of pleasure to rile up Mary Margaret. Not that they didn’t love the movie or wholeheartedly believe that it was, in fact, a Christmas movie.

“Oh, Emma! You’re up!” Mary Margaret set down a stack of boxes on the island, the contents of which held various crafting supplies no doubt. “Did you get some breakfast?”

Emma shook her head and waved off the woman’s attempt to feed her. “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll get something after I’m sufficiently caffeinated.”

“Well drink up,” Mary Margaret ordered as she began to retreat back into the room she and David were using. “We need to get going on these decorations.”

A moment later she returned with several sacks and with Anna’s help, began organizing the supplies. Emma took that as her cue to find another place to enjoy her coffee.

Glancing out the French doors that led to the back deck she caught sight of a platinum blonde braid. Emma grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders before joining Elsa in the peace and quiet of the mountain morning.

“Hey,” she said, pulling Elsa’s attention away from the view. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please do,” Elsa replied, making room on the bench. “Do you want me to turn on the heater?”

It shouldn’t have surprised Emma that her cousin hadn’t already started the propane heater. The cold had never seemed to bother her like it did Emma.

“No, I’ve got it.” Emma cranked up the heat then sat down, snuggling into the blanket she’d brought out with her.

“Sleep okay?” Elsa asked. “Any problems with the room?”

“No,” Emma answered, taking a sip of her coffee before adding, “The room’s great. Very comfortable.”

“Good,” Elsa said, turning her attention back towards the snowy mountain view. “And sharing with Killian? That, uh… Did that go okay?”

Emma rolled her eyes and hid her knowing smirk behind her mug. “It was fine,” she replied.

“I mean, I’m sure Killian was a gentleman, I just hate that the two of you have to endure this awkwardness when I did my best to--”

“Elsa,” Emma interrupted. “It isn’t your fault, and we will make do. It’s fine. Really.”

The icy blonde’s shoulders relaxed and a puff of exhaled air lingered at her lips for a moment before she said, “Good. I’m glad.” With a furtive glance in Emma’s direction she muttered, “Let’s just hope David thinks it's all fine.”

“I’m a big girl,” Emma reminded her cousin. “David will get over it.”

“I don’t know,” Elsa replied in a sing-song tone. “He was looking pretty hostile this morning when Killian sauntered down the stairs with a whistle on his lips. I’m pretty sure Liam made sure to be the one who took the axe when they left.”

The two women shared a chuckle, both of them knowing full well there was no danger of the men resorting to violence, even if they did bluster a bit.

“I’m sure Killian is reveling in the opportunity to needle David, but I trust Liam to make sure cooler heads prevail.”

“And his needling wouldn’t have any elements of truth in it, right?” Elsa inquired, not so subtly.

Emma sighed exasperatedly. “No,” she stated adamantly. “Nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen.”

She shifted uncomfortably under Elsa’s scrutiny, her piercing blue eyes cutting through her assertions as she hummed a dubious sound.

“If you say so.”

Emma was about to double down on her words, but was cut off by Anna’s sudden appearance.

“Everything is ready! Come make decorations with us!”

Emma and Elsa shared a resigned look then followed Anna back into the cabin, after shutting off the heater, of course. The ladies then spent the next hour or so making handmade decorations whilst also prepping food items for the upcoming meals.

When the guys returned, Emma stayed out of the way. She’d learned from years past to just let David, Liam, Mary Margaret, and Elsa duke it out on the best way to set up the tree. While the four of them conferenced in the living room, she joined Anna in the kitchen, who was busy making everyone a hot cocoa.

“Need a hand?”

“Yes, please!”

The two women filled and garnished mugs of hot cocoa while every so often peeking outside to watch Kristoff and Killian clean up the tree. Once it was suitable for indoors - and they’d gotten the final word of where to set it up - the men brought it inside and secured it in the stand. Everyone stood back to admire the magnificent find as Emma and Anna handed out the beverages.

“Jones,” Emma said, offering him a hot cup as she came to stand beside him.

“Thank you, love,” he replied, slightly out of breath. A half-smile pulled at his lips and crinkled at the corner of his eyes when he noticed she’d adorned his in the same manner as hers - with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. It was how she’d always taken her cocoa and slowly but surely she was converting the rest of their group to do the same.

“It’s a great looking tree,” she commented, sipping her hot chocolate nonchalantly so he wouldn’t read too much into her compliment.

“Aye,” he said, taking another long look at the fruit of his and the other men’s labor. A fruit that was quickly filling the living room with a pungent pine scent that tickled Emma’s sinuses. “And what of your efforts?” he asked, turning his attention onto her. “Care to show me what you lasses have been working on and how I might assist?”

Emma rolled her eyes and led him to the dining table where he prompted her to give him a demonstration of the crafting. Soon, the others joined them and the day went on just as Emma knew it would: completing the decorations, stringing lights and garlands, decorating the tree, gorging themselves on a big meal, partaking in snacks, then some drinks, then some more drinks, and arguing over then watching several Christmas themed movies and shows. Unfortunately, no Die Hard.

“You know, Swan,” Killian whispered in her ear as everyone began to disperse from the living room to turn in for the night. “We have a TV with streaming services in our room…”

The feel of his breath against the shell of her ear, as well as the way he said ‘our room’ sent a thrill up her spine.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice.

Was it fortunate?

“Your point?” she said, her voice a little too breathy, but maybe he’d think it was because they’d just climbed the steep steps to the second floor.

“My point,” he continued, following her into their - THE - room, “is once we’ve showered and readied ourselves, we can watch Die Hard in bed and celebrate the season properly.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jones,” she replied, even as her heart skipped a few beats at the reminder they’d both be taking turns getting naked and wet with only a flimsy door that did not lock between them.

Ever the gentleman, Killian let her go first. While he took his turn, she busied herself with getting ready for bed, queuing up the movie, and adding an extra blanket to the stack of covers. In no time, they were settled on their respective sides of the bed, enjoying watching John McClane run around Nakatomi Plaza barefoot whilst being a ‘fly in the ointment’ to Hans Gruber.

They both barely remained conscious, but somehow got to the credits before crashing. The constant recitation of dialogue probably helped.

At some point in the night, a rustling sound in the corner of the room stirred Emma. Instinctively, she reached over to feel for Killian, only to find his side of the bed empty.

“Killian?” she croaked out, his name heavy on her tongue from sleep. “What are you--”

“The heat went out,” he told her, making her aware of her own shivering and the frigid air of the room. “Elsa is having kittens over it,” he went on to explain. “Giving the owner a right earful as we speak.”

A low hum and soft glow began to fill the room. Killian stood and visibly shook himself before heading back to bed.

“What’s that?” Emma asked, shifting in bed and moving closer to the middle.

“Space heater,” Killian answered, still shivering from the cold. “The owner relented and gave us the code to the storage closet. There were a few of these in there.”

Emma hummed in response, her mind weighing whether to bring up the idea of--

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if we… that is,” he hedged, clearing his throat. “Until the heater manages to raise the temperature, would you be okay if we…”

“Sure,” she said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as she scooted closer to him.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his chest already plastered against her back and his face buried in the crook of her neck.

Emma moaned in relief, the heat of his body already warming her and staying the chills that had made her tense. In an effort to find a comfortable position for her legs - without entangling them with his - she rocked her hips back into his and felt…

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbled in an embarrassed tone as he pulled away. “Apologies, Swan. I didn’t intend--”

“Killian,” she laughed, rolling over to face him. “It’s fine. It happens. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I just don’t want you to think I have ulterior motives for suggesting--”

“I don’t,” she assured him. “I know guys can’t always control… that.”

“Well, I am usually much more in control of such things, I assure you.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said in an appeasing tone, earning her a side-eyed glare. “Seriously, though,” she continued, trying to coax him back to her. “Your morning wood doesn’t offend me, so will you please come back here.”

He relented after some not so gentle tugging, and a moment later they were once again entwined in the other’s arms.

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, nestling a bit further into his chest. “How are you always so warm? I feel like I’m always cold.”

As Emma drifted off to sleep she was certain she heard him say, “I know, love. But I’ll always be here for you when you need to keep warm.”

Part Two - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

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[uncle-fruity]

I think part of the issue is that when I say that men have issues that also need to be talked about, I am talking about the full system of oppression and the role the patriarchy plays within that system of oppression, and how those things impact men & boys for better or worse.

When I say that men & boys need a place within feminism to focus on their issues from a feminist perspective, I am saying so because understanding the full picture is vital to defeating the Patriarchy, not because I think men need to be centered in every conversation. Even if we went to the extreme point of view that men aren't suffering in any way from our current system, we would need to listen to the experiences of men & boys and include their needs when we work to reform the structure of our society. Any failure to consider half the population while building a safer, fairer, more compassionate society is not just a minor fuck up, but rather a massive oversight that *will* lead to the failure of that goal.

The reason I am so adamant about not dehumanizing *any* group of people for *any* reason *ever* is because that becomes a very dangerous tool for the actual oppressors who cannot let us form unified communities against them. The more we know about each other, the more we care about each other, the more we see each other as humans -- the more the oppressors struggle to keep us fighting amongst ourselves and not fighting them. This was one of the major motivators behind the assassination of Fred Hampton, who did incredible work in bringing gay liberation and civil rights groups together, and made each of those movements stronger for it. One reason the internet is such an effective tool for radicalization is that it already has a layer of dehumanization built in, in that it's easy to forget you're speaking to another real human, especially when emotions are running high. So it is critical that we are vigilant about our own ability to dehumanize people (especially on the internet), our personal biases that can provide targets for that dehumanizing, and then work against those tendencies even when they only manifest in small ways (for example, as a joke).

This is not a pissing contest to me. I'm not concerned with being The Most Oppressed Ever, and I am not interested in diluting or misrepresenting the pain and systemic issues of any other group of people. I want everyone to have their say, to speak for themselves and to be believed that they are experts about their own experiences & lives. If anything, I believe in radical inclusion, and only draw the line at bad faith, hateful rhetoric meant to further the exclusion and abuse of other people. And even then, I think people who are hateful and hurting and trying to blame it on other people still need a place to talk through those emotions -- just, in a different, more targeted & personalized conversation. The broader social justice movement is not the appropriate place to publicly work through hate & anger & bigotry on a personal level.

All in all, we are ALL part of this system whether you like it or not. Everyone who exists is impacted in one way or another by the systems we have in place. And if we want to be serious about working against abusive systems, we need to start by listening and speaking in good faith, and by rejecting abusive patterns within our communities.

[admirationandromantics]

Friend's Best Friend

Happy new years everyone!! Can't wait to kick it off with some more writing!

Another request, finished it quick because this is literally my favourite blogger on Tumblr (yes, I'm glazing). Chris again people! We love him, and here, he's a bit more awkward and cute than in my other ones. Kinda a love at first sight thing, so hope you like it <3

Word count: 1,7k (unedited)

psssttt hiii!! i hope you have a lovely new year and i hope to see more of your content!! 🫶🫶😇😇 Not necessarily a request but if you'd like to write it feel free.. this is simply a thought i had can be nsfw or sfw tbh! Chris and reader meeting for the first time and Chris just being like head over heels cannot quit staring at reader- im thinking Ash or Jess's best friend who he's never met before and Josh pokes fun at him to get your number but before he can even protest reader comes over and is like super straightforward like "Hi i think you're attractive i want your number." and he's just like FUMBLING FOR HIS LIIIIFE. -@dahliascophin

“I promise you, they’re all nice and kind” 

“You say that about everyone” I tell Ash as we walk out of the bus. The night hung low, dark clouds collecting as we walked. The only light coming from the street lamps as we make our way to the gettogether. Ashley had the idea of inviting me to one. Apparently, the one time I met Josh, I had made quite the impression, and both of them wanted me to come to at least one hang out. The group sounded alright when they described it, though I was still unsure about how they functioned. Every individual was so vastly different, I couldn’t quite grasp it. 

“Will I have anything in common with someone?” I ask, a grim feeling in my stomach. What if they were all douchebags, or preppy, or just plain mean? 

“Hey, you have me, Josh. I think you’ll love both Sam, Chris, Beth and Matt”

“Okay, you know I trust you, but your matching skills are not the best” 

“Oh shut up, they’re gonna love you. You’re basically a more extroverted and smiling version of me, but I’m prettier and kinder” 

“Wow, not boosting my ego at all?” 

“Nah, you don’t need it, we already know what’ll happen if you think too highly of yourself” 

“Damn, but what if I’m kinder and prettier than you?” 

“Then that’s something I’ll never admit” 

I give her a nudge, earning a laugh and a small hit back. We were finally approaching the house, outdoor lighting and a beautiful yard. 

“Are they rich or something?” 

“Yep, the Washingtons, can you imagine?” 

“Not at all” 

We don’t bother knocking, and she opens the door, holding her arm out for me to walk inside. I oblige, letting myself into the grand building. If the outside didn’t seem big, the inside did. Expensive paintings and decor in the hallway, contrasted by the large amount of jackets that hung on the wall. 

“Looks like everybody’s here already” 

We take off our coats and outerwear, hanging it on the racks before making our way to the living room. Laughter and talk fill our ears as we arrive, the room full of people. Everyone’s heads turn as Ashley announces our presence to them. 

“Hey guys, this is my friend I was talking about!” I give a small wave, putting on my best smile as I look over the room. I see Josh, who walks over and hugs me. 

“You made it, fantastic!” 

“You have a beautiful home, Josh” 

“Oh stop being so polite, come meet everyone” 

We walk over to the others, everyone with welcoming smiles and expressions. I’m introduced to every single one, Jess being extra hyper and hugging me while I only give the others a handshake. 

A certain blonde catches my eye, and Josh takes his place beside him as he introduces us. He says his name is Chris, his eyes wandering over me as I lean over to grab his hand. It’s rough, his grip hard and firm. The action in itself earns a slight pink blush on my part, but I just pray he doesn’t see it. After all, we haven’t said more than hi. 

“Chris and I met back in third grade, a completely boring story, but have been inseparable ever since” Josh explains, giving the guy a hard clap on the back. I smile, taking a seat beside Ashley while listening. 

“Boring, you? I can’t imagine that” 

“You know what, you’re totally right!” Josh exclaims, starting to explain in-depth how he and Chris got to know each other. The whole time, Chris is looking at me, watching my reactions and studying my features. I give him a small smile, signaling that I see him. His gaze shifts away immediately, looking back at Josh who’s leaned over on his knees. 

“What a coincidence” I add when he’s finished and he gives a hum in reply. Ashley sighs, hand going around my back to turn me to the others. 

“Finally, we’ve heard that story a million times” 

“Hey, I’ve only heard it once” 

“Lucky” 

I shift to talk to Jessica and Emily, both of them energetic and fashion-oriented. They’re both nice, though I sense some tension when Emily’s boyfriend arrives and sits in between the two. He leans forward, joining the conversation. 

“So, how do you know Ash?” I think back. I feel like I’ve always known her, even though we’ve lived far from each other. 

“Well, we met in kindergarten I think, and during a playdate, our moms became friends, so we just built it from there” I easily explain, looking around. I guess it was as easy as that, and we were lucky we found each other so early. Chris is looking at me, eyes narrowed and mouth slightly open. Josh nudges his arm, making him look at the guy with a sour expression. They’re on the other side of the room, and I can’t hear what they’re saying. The only thing I can make out is Josh laughing and continuously teasing him with small hits and huge theatrical movements. 

“So, you a big party-girl?” Jessica asks, and I turn my attention back to her. 

“Well, I don’t mind a good party” She lets out a small shriek, hands coming to grab both of mine. 

“I’m hosting next week, and Ashley has already said no, but you can come AND you can convince her to go with you!” 

“Ash, you’re free next week?” 

“No, I’ve got studies” 

“Oh, come on” 

I try to make her, while Jessica’s watching intently. In the end, she obliges, telling me that she’ll only come if I do too. After all, I also have a lot of homework to be dealt with. 

The party goes on, and I eventually get to talking with both Matt and Sam a bit. I’m in a conversation with Sam about mountain climbing as Chris makes an appearance beside her, joining the talk. 

“Oh, hey Chris, we were just talking about that time I forced you up on the mountain, you know. With the rope and falling and all of that” Sam explains, and arm going to his shoulder. 

“Wait what, you’re telling her about that? I was a good climber, I did everything right” 

“Well, except for when you fell down and whined about-”

“So, you’re friends with Ashley, right?” he interrupts her, and I see her lips tighten. I giggle a little, the situation funny. 

“Too early to hear about your embarrassing stuff, huh Chris?” 

Josh jumps up behind him, clinging to his shoulders for support. The sudden weight surprises him, and I hold my hands out automatically, in case they both fall. Chris is strong, and he just sighs as Josh jumps off him again, his arm leaning on the blonde’s shoulder. 

“Oh trust me, this guy’s got A LOT of embarrassing stuff we can talk about” 

“Dude…” 

“Calm down, Cochie, I’m not gonna say anything. At least not yet” Josh laughs, taking Sam’s arm and dragging her with him. After they leave, he whispers something in her ear, causing them both to look back to us. I ignore them. 

“To answer your question, yes, been friends with Ash for as long as I can remember” 

“That’s a long time” he nods, eyes finding mine again. He looks muscular, big. After all, he just carried Josh after having to endure a surprise-attack from him. His eyes are big and blue, the kind which one can drown in. Gosh, he’s absolutely beautiful. Just my type. 

“So, tell me Chris, what are your hobbies?” 

“Well, um…” he stumbles over his words, and I can’t help but just keep giving encouraging smiles. “I mean, I play video games with Josh sometimes, and do coding and such…”

“Wow, really? I tried coding once, and it was difficult, gave up right away” 

“It’s easy when you get the hang of it” 

“I believe you, and what games do you play? I know Josh likes pvp shooting stuff a lot, but you?” 

He stutters again, and I place my hand on his arms, causing a light pink shade to cover his cheeks. He rearranges his glasses, arms then going behind his neck. 

“You know, the usual” he mutters, laughing a little. He quickly composes himself, taking a breath and starting to talk again. 

“So, I was wondering if you were interested in going to-”

“OMG! And please, I think this necklace would look gorgeous on you!” Jessica shrieks, coming up behind me. She shoves her phone in front of me, a picture of a golden necklace with a small trinket at the center. 

“Yeah, that’s beautiful” 

“Come on, Emily was just researching a top to wear with it” she adds, taking my arm and pulling me with her. I give a small smile and wave to Chris, seeing Josh going up to him again. 

“So close dude! You just need to-” is all I hear before being dragged out of earshot. 

Sadly, I don’t get to talk to Chris before having to catch the last bus. Ashley and I say our goodbyes, both walking to the hallway to get our coats. She leans over, whispering to me. 

“You know, I saw that blush when you were talking to Chris” 

“I’m not surprised, you’re always looking at me” I tease her, but she just shakes her head. 

“Seriously, just go do it now, he’s not going to be at Jess’s party, he’s busy that weekend” 

“Wait, really, he’s not coming?” 

She hums, hand pushing on my back. 

“Bus leaves soon, we don’t have all night” 

I take a deep breath, mastering some courage before hurrying over to the living room again. On my way, I take out a pen and an old receipt from my pocket, writing my number in big letters. Everyone turns their heads, looking at me when I arrive, but I walk over to Chris, handing him the note. 

“Hey, here’s my number. Let me know if you want to go out for coffee sometime” I offer, smiling down at him. His hand is open, but not moving, so I place the paper there, tapping his fingers around it. His mouth is open, eyes surprised and shocked. I laugh a little, standing up again and looking at everyone. 

“Yeah, I definitely will, thank you” he exclaims, cheeks red as he keeps staring at me. 

“Great, can’t wait” I smile, waving goodbye to everyone. I walk back to Ash, and as I turn the corner, I hear Josh and some other cooing. 

“Dude, you did it! Or she did, but either way it was done!!”

[poorrichardjr]

An open letter to Congress

(I know only a small handful of people will ever read this, but I think more than a few Americans feel this way)

America has been a constitutional democratic republic for almost 250 years now, the age at which most such experiments fail. Part of the reason we have lasted this long has been because of the belief that our constitution would steer us in the right direction. One of the founding elements held within was the belief that no branch of government should have too much power. Checks and balances were put in place to keep tyranny or progressivism in check.

I have heard all my life that Republicans were the people who "loved" the constitution and the country the most. However, right now, all I see are a group of wealthy individuals lining up to kowtow to a man they have proclaimed the new messiah. They seem more than happy with installing a king and forgetting that their job is to represent the people and protect the constitution's checks and balances. More than a few congressmen are decrying longstanding practice of vetting executive appointees and the Senate's role of advise and consent.

These people are being as hypocritical as they can be. They would never let a democratic president pick whomever they wished despite not having qualifications for a position. No man should be in a position of power if they have no experience or knowledge of the duties of that job. I don't care how smart or how much they seem to love the new president. An unqualified applicant is still unqualified and therefore unfit for the role at which they aspire. You don't hire a welder to be a brain surgeon even if he is a great guy or smart as a tack. The person lacks a fundamental understanding of the task at hand. In the same vein you do not let a fox guard the henhouse. Sure, the fox is cute and playful, but if you want any chickens at all, you don't put someone in charge who is likely to violate the trust you put in them.

This is where Congress becomes involved. We already know that far too many congressmen are going to violate their oaths to the constitution and just do whatever the president tells them to. They are not taking their duties seriously. These people do not care about the country or the constitution. They are only there to get head pats and go on television to defend anything they are told to do. These people are simply loyal henchmen who have given up their own choices simply because they are afraid that the man in power is going to say something bad about them.

The rest of you, and I hope that is a majority, though that looks like an over estimation at times, need to hold fast to the principals of the constitution. We do not elect kings. A president, no matter how much you like them, isn't entitled to appoint any unqualified individual he wants to help him run things. Let me just point out a few of the biggest problems I see in the people he has so far chosen to help run things.

Tulsi Gabbard has been credibly accused of being too close to Vladimir Putin and Victor Orban. If you wouldn't trust Hunter Biden to run a foreign office because you believed he had ties that were too close to China and Ukraine, you cannot let someone like Gabbard into the position for which she has been nominated. Will she really be working for the American people or will she let slip important national security information to our global enemies because she just likes them?

Pete Hegseth has never been a high ranking member of the military and has serious problems of self control. His drinking problems and womanizing are just warning signs that the man doesn't have the experience or character to tell the people with the most powerful weapons in the world what to do on a daily basis.

Robert Kennedy Jr is supposed to lead a government office where science is relied on heavily, but he doesn't believe in many facts based on scientifically proven evidence. Linda McMahon has no educational experience, though she is going to be in charge of the department of education. I could go on and on about how almost every single pick for the cabinet is either unqualified or has massive conflicts of interest where their judgement in running that office would make a rational man question their every decision. And I am not even going to start with the DOGE run by Elon and Vivek simply because they cannot be vetted or affirmed by Congress, though their suggestions should be suspected almost immediately.

Almost none of these people should be in the positions they have been nominated for. Their only qualifications are that they are wealthy and are willing to do what Donald Trump wants. Those are not true qualifications, and you would not hire someone to run your own businesses if they were this unqualified.

So, the American people look to you to do your job. Do what is best for the country. Not your party. Not you personally. And not anything the president asks simply because he is president. You have a duty to uphold, and we are all waiting to see whether you will take those responsibilities seriously or whether or not you are going to be the cowards and cravens we all believe you to be. The people of this nation who worked so hard to help create and defend it are watching and judging your next moves. Will you be a Clay or Webster or will you be a McCarthy?

[arcticmist0324]

One thing that is difficult about writing historical fiction is when you’ve set your story up in the same time frame as major historical events, which you KNOW would be on your characters’ radar yet they don’t impact the plot. What is too much? What is too little?

[beloveds-embrace]

dukedom!AU but they realize she’s quickly become a type of ‘peoples princess’ outside the duchy

The timeline for this one is before reader tells john her request! I got this ask before part two dropped and already had some of it written. Hope you enjoy, anon! <3

Dukedome au masterlist

I can imagine them realizing it not from seeing it, but from hearing it, maybe during a gala hosted by John and uou. The evening is alive with music and laughter, the grand ballroom brimming with nobles and dignitaries. Yet the chatter revolve around one figure: you.

“She’s truly remarkable, isn’t she?” one elderly countess says, her voice carrying across the marble floors and gleaming ceilings. “Always so graceful, so kind. I am quite glad she is Duchess Price, now.”

John stands near the refreshments table with Simon, and overhears the conversation. His hand tightens slightly around his glass, though his face betrays nothing. Nothing new to be talked about, it was natural. And yet-

“Graceful?” a younger lady chimes in, voice calm and polite. “She’s more than that. Did you hear she personally visited the orphanage last week? Brought food and clothing, spoke to every child. And not for show- she refused to let any journalists near. That’s a true duchess.”

Simon’s brows furrows slightly, his jaw tightening. He exchanges a glance with John, the unspoken thought between them clear: she hadn’t told either of them about that visit. It wasn’t because John didn’t trust you, or that you need his permission; he just wanted to be aware of where you go and which guards you’ll take. For your own safety.

“She’s so approachable too,” a lord adds, gesturing with his wine glass. John knows this lord, he always ends up drinking too much and being too handsy. Why would you need to speak to him? “I spoke to her briefly earlier- she didn’t just listen, she cared. You can see it in her eyes. It’s no wonder the people adore her.”

Adore is putting it way too lightly.

From the other side of the room, Kyle watches as a small group of maids gossip near the staircase. He wasn’t one for eavesdropping, but their excitement is hard to ignore.

“I heard she gave her own jewelry to the head maid’s daughter to help her pay for her dowry.” One of them whispers, clutching her tray.

“That’s not all,” another group are speaking, talking about her as well. “The market vendors say she always pays more than is needed, even when they insist she doesn’t do. Such a lovely woman.”

“Wish the other nobles were like her,” the first maid says with a wistful sigh. “She’s the only one who treats us like people.”

Kyle’s lips press into a thin line as he adjusts his gloves. He prides himself on protecting you, but hearing how far your kindness extends fills him with a quiet sense of urgency. What if someone takes advantage of you and your tender heart?

It’s not just in the main hall that these words are said; down in the kitchens, Johnny is busy ensuring there’s enough food with the rest of the chefs. But still, he can hear two others talking while they work, trying not to sound too snappy or angry while he listens in on them.

As the night continues, the men find themselves more and more aware of how often your name arises in conversation. They hear nobles discussing your fashion choices (Simon secretly preens), others whispering about your visits to the poorer parts of town and the funds that have been allocated into revitalizing the areas, and even rival duchesses grudgingly admitting that you’ve set quite the high standard.

“I heard she stopped Lord Clinton from evicting his tenants,” one man says near the dance floor, though not quite close enough to be drawn into the dancing bodies. He is within John and Simon’s earshots.

“Not only that,” someone else “whispers”. “She made sure they had food and shelter through the winter. commoners love her, and she truly embodies what it means to be a noble. A true people’s princess, I say.”

John’s gaze flickers toward you, standing across the room and laughing softly with a group of nobles. You’re glowing tonight, the light catching in your hair and your smile as warm as ever, adorned in a beautiful dress.

“They don’t deserve her,” Kyle mutters, sidling up to him while holding a plate of finger foods.

John doesn’t respond, but his grip on his glass tightens again. It’s a wonder the glass hasn’t broken et.

Simon’s voice is quiet when he speaks. “The people see her as theirs.” He pauses, his gaze hardening. “But she’s ours first.”

“I cannot blame them.” John sighs. “She is the perfect duchess. But she is also my duchess, and they seem to have forgotten that.”

John means his words, and he knows his men agree with him. The world may love you, but they know the truth: no one else can have you- not the people, not the nobles, no one but them.

The ballroom continues to buzz with conversation, and John focuses back on the two men near the edge of the dance floor.

“She’s wasted on a duchy,” one of them says, swirling his wine with a smirk, more than just a little drunk. “With her charm, she could outshine the Queen herself.”

“Not just charm,” the other adds in, just as drunk. “But Influence.”

Simon stiffens, his fingers flexing at his sides. “Influence” isn’t something he takes lightly when it comes to you. It’s a dangerous thing in the wrong hands- or with the wrong admirers.

“Careful,” John mutters to him. “They’re complimenting her, not threatening her.”

Simon’s glare softens ever so slightly. “Yet.”

Johnny slowly makes his way towards a hidden corner of the ballroom, gnawing on his lips as he listens to the whispers of you.

Did you see the way she stopped to speak with the gardeners?” one of them asks. “She even complimented the hedges I trimmed last week!”

Johnny’s grin fades, his fingers drumming against his thigh. He enjoys seeing people appreciate you, but this feels different. They speak of you with reverence, as if you’re some untouchable figure. But Johnny knows better. You’re no untouchable goddess- you’re his. Theirs. That’s what matters most.

It’s when you step onto the dance floor that the tension truly rises. A duke- one who’s been eyeing you all evening- approaches you with a bow, extending his hand for a dance. You hesitate, glancing toward John out of instinct. He doesn’t move, but his eyes darken, his jaw clenched as he watches you take the duke’s hand.

The music swells and you move across the floor, laughter bubbles from your lips at something your dance partner says. The men see it for what it is: polite, nothing more. But it doesn’t stop the knot of irritation tightening even further.

“She’s a vision,” someone murmurs nearby, unaware they’re being overheard.

“Who wouldn’t fall for her?” another replies.

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication.

Kyle’s gaze sharpens. Johnny’s grin vanishes completely. Simon’s fists clench at his sides. And John, ever composed, finishes his wine in one long swallow, his eyes never leaving you.

He can’t allow this to go on for any longer.

The dance ends, and as you return to the edge of the ballroom, you’re immediately surrounded by more admirers- ladies complimenting your gown, lords vying for your attention. Or would have been, if John hadn’t started making his way towards you, presence larger than life.

“Your Grace,” he says smoothly, and extends his hand to you, his expression unreadable. “Dance with me.”

The request- or rather, the command- is met with stunned silence. The nobles exchange glances, but a single glance from John keeps them all silent.

You blink up at him, momentarily caught off guard, before placing your hand in his. “Of course.” you murmur softly.

John’s grip is firm but gentle as he leads you to the dance floor, his other hand resting lightly at your waist. The orchestra begins a soft waltz, and he pulls you into the first step, his movements confident and assured.

Around you, the crowd watches, whispers starting anew, though you barely notice. All you can focus on is the intensity in John’s eyes as he looks down at you.

“You’ve been busy tonight.” he says after a moment, his voice low enough that only you can hear. It sends a shiver up your spine- his voice always so nice to hear.

“It’s my role,” you reply, offering him a small smile. “Everyone has been so kind.”

He hums, his eyes flicking briefly to the onlookers before returning to you. “Too kind, perhaps.”

You raise an eyebrow at his tone but say nothing, letting him guide you across the floor. His hand tightens slightly at your waist, and he pulls you even more closer.

“You’ve done well tonight,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now. “Better than I expected, if I’m honest. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. You always seem to surprise me, my dear.”

Your cheeks warm at the unexpected praise, and you smile up at him. “Thank you, John. That means a great deal.”

He leans in just slightly, his breath ghosting over your ear. “The way they look at you,” he murmurs, his voice dropping even lower. “They can’t take their eyes off you. And I don’t blame them.”

You glance up at him, startled, but his expression is unreadable once again. He continues to lead you effortlessly through the dance, his movements precise.

“But,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours, “they’ll have to remember who you belong to.”

Your heart skips at his words, and for a moment, you forget where you are, the world narrowing to just the two of you. His eyes soften, his grip steady as he twirls you into the final steps of the dance.

As the music fades, he leans in again, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re exquisite tonight, wife. Don’t let them forget it.”

With that, he leads you off the dance floor, his hand never leaving yours. The crowd parts for the both of you, their gazes following you both as John guides you back to the edge of the room, where the others wait.

You’re still breathless, his words replaying in your mind as he steps aside, positioning himself at your shoulder. Whatever protests the nobles might’ve had about your absence dissolve under his watchful glare.

And though John doesn’t say another word for the rest of the evening, his presence alone is enough to ensure no one dares to crowd you again, and no one comes between you and them. Simon and Kyle keep you busy, chatting happily with them, and Johnny joins later when the guests begin to trickle out and no one would question why a chef is there.

People’s princess you maybe, you are still theirs. John simply had to show and remind everyone of that fact.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Cregan’s wife gets taken by Silas the Grim and horrible things happens to her. Cregan’s men finds her during the battle or after and bring her back to their Lord. She is traumatized and her dress is ripped in places that makes Cregan sick and rage. Back to winterfell, she gets nightmares and cregan gives her a wolf pup so she feels safe

Please read the warnings carefully. This one might not be for you. 

Warnings: mention of non-con/sa, ptsd, kidnapping,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You didn’t know nightmares could happen while you were awake. The worst part was, unlike regular nightmares, you couldn’t wake up to get away from the horrors in your mind. You were trapped in a waking terror, unable to find refuge even in the daylight.

Yours started the day Cregan and a bunch of his men got caught in an ambush by Sylas the Grim’s men on the way to Queensgate. It wasn’t your first time traveling north of Winterfell, you knew to stay close to the group and never stray as it was easy to get lost when the snow was affecting the visibility. But you ended up getting captured by the wildlings and taken to their chieftain. 

The wildling who brought you to Sylas was very proud of himself. You were the wife of the Warden of the North, the only one who his loyalty to was stronger than his one to the Wall. Your capture opened so many opportunities for Sylas, and he planned to use you as a pawn in his game.

Chained inside a small tent, you tried to think of a way of getting out. You couldn’t just wait for Cregan to come and save you from your captor. You were the Lady of Winterfell, you needed to be resourceful and strong. 

Two men were standing outside your tent, guarding — and ignoring you. They were relaying their service at night and bringing you scraps of food, just enough to keep you alive. Because you would serve their chieftain nothing if you were dead. 

Although the food was disgusting, it wasn’t the worst part of being held captive. It was Sylas. The wildling chief would come into your tent and question you about Cregan’s strategies. Loyal to your husband and your people, you didn’t give any information away. You would never betray your people. 

One night, you were asleep in the corner of your tent, your body curled on itself to keep warm, when you heard Sylas come in and undo his breeches. He was drunk and horny. 

His sick intentions immediately clicked and you tried to get away from him. The tent was small, so he quickly got hold of you. You clawed and kicked at him as his filthy hands snuck under your dress and uncovered your intimacy. You screamed, which earned you a slap in the face and Sylas’s tighter grip on your hips. 

⁂

Two long moons went by. By that time, your body was so weak and frail that you didn't even hear the battle raging outside your tent. Your mind, clouded by malnutrition and the relentless abuse, struggled to make sense of anything beyond the constant pain and exhaustion.

Your eyes opened when you felt someone’s hands on you, shaking you awake. Assuming it was Sylas coming to empty his balls, you closed your eyes and let him take you. You didn’t have energy to fight him anymore. But the voice that filled the tent didn't sound like a wildling. 

‘’Go and tell Lord Stark we found her.’’ 

The man who had spoken stayed by your side, keeping watch until his Lord arrived. He must have been far because darkness was beginning to fall when Cregan stormed into the tent, his face and clothes had blood and dirt from the battle.

‘’Where is she?’’ his voice boomed, a mixture of anger and desperation. 

The sight of his wife trembling in the corner nearly made his heart stop. You looked fragile and thin, your skin was as white as the snow, and your dress was torn in several places. Your hair was matted and there were stains of fluids on your dress. 

Cregan felt sick. If Sylas had not been already dead, he would kill him again. 

The Northman quickly knelt by your side and wrapped his fur cloak around you, covering your body as much as possible. He whispered your name, but you only blinked. ‘’I came as fast as I could. I'm here now, you're safe.’’ He gently raised your chin to look at your face, and his jaw clenched tighter at the sight of her bruised and weakened state. 

⁂

The journey to Winterfell was a complete blur to you. You didn’t remember anything of the ten days spent sitting in the carriage, bundled in furs. Cregan personally took responsibility to escort the carriage, walking right in front of it and making sure no one would try to capture his wife again. 

Once you walked through the gates of Winterfell, a maester was summoned to tend to you. You would need a bath and new clothes too, but that could wait. While the maester was getting gathering his things, Cregan reached for the button of your coat to help you out of it, but you began screaming and thrashing in the cot as if he was trying to harm you — to rape you. 

Cregan quickly stepped back and held his hands up so you could see them. ‘’I will not touch you if it is what you wish. That’s alright.’’ His voice was calm and soft, and his eyes held your gaze. ‘’But the master needs to see your wounds and tend to them.’’

You shook your head. ‘’Don’t touch me. Please, not again.’’ 

Tears filled your eyes and Cregan nodded. ‘’Fetch the servants and have them draw a warm bath for Lady Stark. And a warm meal brought to our chambers. The best meat we have.’’ 

The maester frowned at his lord’s instructions. ‘’My Lord, it would be preferable if I could—’’ he began to protest, but Cregan shut him up. 

He will not have a man touch his traumatized wife against her will. Not after what you had endured when held captive. 

‘’Another day,’’ he said firmly. ‘’Lady Stark needs a bath and a warm meal, and rest.’’ 

⁂

The days that followed were difficult and required a lot of accommodations. Starting with a change in the personnel who were allowed in your chambers. You had made it clear that you didn't want men around you, so Cregan requested that only women came to your chambers. To bring your meals, to help you bathe or dress. 

The only man who was allowed near you was your husband. In fact, you didn't want Cregan to leave you — ever. He was always close. Especially at night, when the nightmares of the horrors you went through invaded your dreams. 

A blood chilling scream filled your chambers, startling Cregan awake. 

Every night since your return had been like this. The maester suggested you take a drought to help you sleep, but it didn’t work. Since you were in a deeper sleep, it made it more difficult to stir you from your nightmare.

‘’Shh, I’m here. We’re in Winterfell. You are safe,’’ he whispered to you, pulling your trembling body against him as tears rolled down your cheeks. 

Cregan felt helpless. There was nothing he could do or say that would take the pain away. He couldn't magically make the memories and images go away. All he could be was a chest for you to cry into. 

He prayed in the Godswood and asked counsel from women who he knew had gone through difficult things, hoping to find guidance from their own experiences. Unfortunately, years later, some still had not overcome their trauma. 

Cregan sat in his study while you were taking some fresh air with Lady Lysa, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed. He knew your fear was rooted in your assault. You weren’t scared to be alone, you were scared that a man would use his size and strength against you — again. 

When Winter comes, he’ll have to go to the Wall…and leave you. What will you do when he’s not there to make you feel safe? You didn’t allow any other men near you. He had to come up with something to ease your fears and make you feel safe in his absence. 

⁂

‘’Where is my husband?’’ you asked the servant who brought you your morning meal. He was gone when you woke, and only left a vague note on the table. 

The small girl cleared her throat before replying. ‘’Lord Stark had to absent himself for the day, my Lady. He is to return before nightfall.’’

You nodded. ‘’I wish to be notified when he passes the gates.’’ 

‘’Very well, My Lady.’’ She bowed and exited your chambers. 

As the servant had said, Cregan returned before nightfall. Snow dusted the top of his head and the pelt of his cloak when you greeted him in the great hall. 

When he saw you standing by the entrance, a warm smile spread over his face. “Good evening, my love,” he said, his voice was gentle as he placed one leather gloved hand under your chin to pull you closer and press a soft kiss against your forehead. "I have something to show you. Come with me."

You were not dressed apropriately to go outside, but Cregan had already take your hand to lead you out of the great hall and towards the courtyard. The sky was getting dark and fresh snow fell steadily, leaving a blanket of white across the ground. You felt a chill thorugh the sleeved of your dress. Hopefully you won't stay out long. 

Cregan turned a corner towards the kennels, leaving you confused. He opened the door and asked you to close your eyes. 

''Cregan, what-''

''Just close your eyes.''

You did as directed, and to make sure they were properly closed, the northman placed his hand over your eyes from behind. "No peeking," he whispered into your ear.

He closed the door and led you deeper into the kennels, careful with every step, making sure not to make you trip or stumble. Once you were where he wanted you, he removed his hand but didn't tell you to open your eyes yet.  

You heard shuffling and rustling, then...a small cry. 

‘’Open your eyes.’’

With the command, you opened your eyes. Lying in the crook of Cregan's arm, was a small gray and white pup. It sniffed the fabric of his cloak, its small tongue licking at the thick wool. You reached to pet it, and immediately felt its cold, wet nose brush against your hands, causing you to giggle. Cregan smiled, watching the two of you get acquainted. 

''It's a direwolf,'' he stated, his voice echoing in the quietness of the kennels. ''Like the sigil of our house. He'll grow large and strong. He'll be able to protect you when I'm not around.'' 

The little pup looked up at you, its beady eyes staring into yours. You didn’t know what to say, deeply touched by his gift to you.

—

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[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Fantasy Villain

Imagine you’ve been transported to a DnD-Fantasy-like world. Quests, adventurers, and mystical beasts are everything you could dream of. You’ve already established your little troupe; becoming an important cornerstone of the group. Whatever your class, you’re excelling at they really rely on which is why things go badly when you meet him—-the recurring villain of this world.

“Oh my–oh my Zoth.”

“What? Do I horrify the little hero!?”

“No, you’re–”

“Worse than you imagined?”

“No, you’re–”

“(Y/n) stop freezing up!”

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met!”

The group is horrified as they plan a tactical retreat, finding it easier to thwart the Fantasy Villain’s attacks which are suddenly less frequent.  The group just assumes you’ve been enchanted because since you’ve locked eyes with him you’ve been unable to stand on your feet. Wide-eyed and breathing heavy you just can’t stop the heat climbing over your face and ears as you replay the moment you met over and over. 

“You realize he’s a part of the ugliest most horrible race known to all of Azarothan.”

“If that’s ugly then I’m dead!”

“M-maybe he did enchant them?”

Meanwhile, the Villain’s returned to home base, shedding his armor and dismissing his entourage. Sat on his throne he replays the words you’ve said to him…over and over….and over again. His ears are turning a deep blue and he can’t help the involuntary reaction of the volcano attached to his castle bubbling with excitement.

“They-they think I’m beautiful?!”

He’s reeling with an overflow of energy and unknown vigor when he recalls your awestruck face as you fell to your knees clutching your enchanted tool. He can’t stop the thought of you in that same position but in a different setting. Cursing his lacking imagination he concocts his usual magic to spy on the troupe with his crystal ball but this time he’s focused solely on you. 

“Surely they’ll brag about the enchantment they left on me…..and maybe talk about their own infatuation again.”

It strokes a different kind of pride when he hears you deny being cursed. The feelings are mutual. He’s over the moon all four of them. You have to understand the Fantasy Villain has never been told something so flattering. 

“From another world….figures. This world could never make such…a perfect soul.”

Since their upbringing, they’ve been met with nothing but scorn and hatred. Vowing to rule and change the world that did that to him. If others did express interest it was because he had power or was literally about to kill them. Your reaction, your unadulterated feelings for him, the tug at his soul is the only sign he needs before his objective changes. 

“I wanted to rule the world so I could change the world for me. But now I’m going to change the world so I can rule with them.”

He means it. The troops are given new orders, the deadly nightmarish beasts are given new tasks, and he’s already concocting a million different plans to attain you. He watches the crystal ball relentlessly trying to hear and see as much as he can to learn more about you. He realizes very quickly that he really hates those adventurers of yours.

“C’mon (Y/n)! Just because you’re attracted to the enemy doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to destroy the world!”

“Yeah (Y/n), you’ve got to get your head in the game. We need you!”

“I–your right…sorry guys…I just don’t think I’ve ever seen someone who fits my preferences so perfectly.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“But one look in his galaxy-like eyes and it felt like I did.”

He really hates them. Listening to them talk you out of your feelings for him. Before you arrived they were minor pests. Simply a small roadblock that he would eventually crush to shatter the hopes of the people when they needed them most. Now they were just obstacles in the way of his goal–you.

“Sire those adventurers you told us to keep an eye on are on the move. Should I give the order to attack?”

“No…summon the siren I’d like to take a different approach.”

He gets incredibly crafty, despite only meeting you once he can tell you aren’t heartless like he. He’s certain should you find him to be responsible for the death of anyone you’ve met you’d reject his love. So he’ll make it his plan to slowly break your little troupe, such spunky and erratic individuals may be just the only tool he needs.

“My orders, My Ruler?”

“Join their group. Do what you like with whoever you wish. 

“?”

“Bring discord how you see fit.”

“Yes, My Ruler!”

His plan is perfect and the group isn’t nearly suspicious enough to reject his double agent. Who’s presence triggers the cracks that this group had always had. When the group splits apart needing to cool off you’re left alone, a perfect chance for a moment with you. 

“Hello, little hero.”

“Whoa, what are you doing here? My troupe’s not too far! A-a-a-nd I–I’m willing to fight this time!”

“That’s a shame because I came to speak to you.”

“Really! Ahem, I mean about what?”

“About those words, you said to me….I wonder did you know what they’ve ignited.”

Taking advantage of your easily lowered guard, he speaks the truth. Coming in close enough to feel the heat escaping from your armor, he’ll share the tale of his past. Which as he predicted makes you so sympathetic and just as willing to sing his praises as the moment you met. 

“But you’re not ugly or horrid like they all say.”

“No?”

“I think you’re beyond handsome. One of the most ethereal beings I’ve ever met.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know so… I’m just sorry no one else has told you that.”

“I’m happy it was you.”

When you let him dive in for a kiss, naturally you accept it. Returning his vigor in kind if not with sympathy or just your attraction, you miss how he places a magical mark on your neck. Or how he casually enchants your armor to protect you better. Or how he influences the flora and fauna of the forest to curve in the direction you came from essentially blocking the path back to your camp. When he reluctantly releases you he further promises he’s never letting you leave his grasp. Promising to one day have you on the throne beside him.

“I must return and so must you. Your friends will worry.”

“Oh…you’re right.”

“Don’t sound so sad, we’ll meet again.”

“Not just in my dreams.”

“Not just in your dreams.”

He leaves not only giddy with love but with a new plan in mind. He prepared to be faced with a struggle, to have to fight for your affection as the enemy you’d be fighting. But he wasn’t prepared for your heart to be swayed so easily. Licking your remnants on his lips, he knows that you can be deceived, and conveniently so can the rest of the world.

Fantasy Villain devises that if the history of his race’s banishment and exile were portrayed in a certain light. You could defect to his side without guilt and if some of the more stubborn adventurers were to also agree that’d make things so much easier. Pretending to be persuaded to sign some peace treaty after being gifted enough land to rule over with you beside him didn’t sound too bad.

Even if that didn’t work the Fantasy Villain has decided you will rule beside him whether he has to trick, drug, or force you to be his. Though he adores the honest love in your eyes when he looks at you and he’s going to do whatever he needs to have it. 

[cherrychilli]

18+ Perv! Steve Harrington x Perv! reader, F reader, friends to lovers, scent kink, reader being a bit of a creep but Steve's into it because duh, masturbation (f) sexual acts in public, mentions of and allusions to oral sex (f)

WC: 5K

A/N: I was going to split this into two parts but fuck it. Two for one special. Still feeling rusty when it comes to writing so go easy on me, yeah? Also, this one's kind of gross at times. Just a little bit. Nothing extreme but just letting you know incase you're someone who gets squeamish easily. Enjoy!

The hair? sure. Everyone liked his hair.

People usually fell into two camps when it came to Steve Harrington's signature do; either they envied it or they hoped to be one of the lucky ones who got to run their fingers through it.

You used to daydream about the latter when you only knew him from afar but now that he no longer ran with a particular kind of crowd, now that he's just Steve and no longer the King, you managed to get close enough to find out that he smelled nice too.

Really nice.

So, figuring out that he used women's shampoo shouldn't have been the revelation that it was because it made so much sense, his tresses never scented with a wintry pine or spicy cedarwood like most scent profiles marketed to men.

You had your friends to thank for your stumbling upon that discovery, the group of them arriving at your home to bully you out of your PJ's and into a pair of jeans and shoes, uprooting you from your room on a Saturday afternoon for an outing to the fancy part of the mall.

While they searched for new make-up, you wandered a section of the store by yourself, uncapping the pretty bottles in the hair care aisle whenever the sales assistants' attention wandered elsewhere, squeezing each one carefully to sample the array of scents. You did this idly and with no real plans to purchase anything, just something to pass the time while your friends crowded another display a few aisles away, chattering blissfully and swatching lipsticks.

Picking up a fifth shampoo from the lineup of bottles, you brought the uncapped rim up to your face, lightly skimming your cupids bow with it as you gently inhaled. While fun, you'd spent most of your time at the mall feeling a little bored, a small part of you still desiring to go back home where you could lounge and laze in peace. That was until you began to recognize the scent of the newest shampoo you had clutched in your hand, the familiarity of it triggering a whirlpool of memories.

In seconds, your mind plunged back to the night of Jack Sullivan's graduation party. The first time Steve Harrington had spoken to you – really spoken to you since he’d parted ways with Carol and Tommy, seeming much more approachable than he had in the past.

The two of you had ended up sharing the patio swing outside where the air wasn't as thick with smoke and the smell of spilled booze. Making conversation, he offered you a beer he'd originally intended to give Robin before she'd slipped away into one of the guest bathrooms with your best friend Sally. You both knew why, sharing a look of understanding but never mentioning the obvious out loud out of loyalty to your friends.

Then there was the only day it rained in July, remembering the way your fingers brushed against his as you handed him your umbrella. You'd discovered him taking refuge under the awning of the diner you worked at that morning, face twisted all worrisome as he looked up from his wristwatch to the downpour in front of him, forced into walking to work that day due to his car still being in the shop. The only light that shone that day was the gleaming smile he gave you when he thanked you for your kindness.

And then there was the time when you had your head down while scanning a tape at Family Video, bumping face first into Steve's chest when you rounded the corner, his name tag catching on your bottom lip. It was the tiniest sliver of a cut, barely noticeable or painful but oh, how he fussed over you like you were made of porcelain. He’d gone so far as to sit you down on his chair behind the counter as if you might collapse from blood loss at any moment, whizzing into the break room and back with a fist full of napkins to dab the miniscule wound that had already stopped bleeding.

All of those memories and more linked by one scent. This scent.

With your pupils dilating like a cat prepared to pounce, you flipped the bottle over to read the contents.

White frangipani blossoms, toasted coconut, bergamot waters, sea salt breeze and sunkissed musk.

Steve Harrington in a bottle. And the quickest 16 dollars you've ever spent.

And with that purchase came the self-imposed reminder to exercise caution. Upon leaving the mall with your friends, your mood much chipper than when you'd arrived, you made sure to hardly ever use the shampoo when you bathed, afraid that if Steve smelled it on you later, somehow, he'd be able to put the pieces together and know why you'd bought it, even as wildly unlikely as that seemed.

So instead, you huffed the bottle in private on most days, only using it when you knew you'd be spending the day at home. On those eagerly awaited days you luxuriated in the scent as you applied the shampoo in your shower, mind and fingers wandering, working your peaked nipples and your firm clit up to the thought of Steve joining you in your shower and fucking you dumb – tits pressed up against the cold, wet tiles, ass bouncing on his hips as he stretched you open and used you well.

But now that you'd discovered this new kind of hunger you had to make sure to keep it well fed and when the shampoo didn't feel like enough anymore, you set out to purchase his cologne.

The scent was one you had memorized from all of your trips to the video store, hanging around the counter while Steve talked to you about which movie you ought to rent next. You could smell it on his neck whenever he leaned in close on his elbows, face inches away from yours, wishing he'd close the distance and meet your lips with his.

Another trip to the mall had you scouring the men's section like a wolf tracking the scent of injured prey, sampling bottle after bottle of cologne until you found it.

Aromatic sage, dark tonka bean and rich sandalwood. Priced at a cool $39.50 which you gladly forked over because to you, it was all money well spent.

The cologne became part of your nightly routine after that, dabbing drops of the heady scent on your body when you went to bed, the smell making your arousal climb before lulling you to sleep an orgasm later, evoking dreams of Steve throughout the night that made you wake up to your panties all damp and sticking to your core by morning.

You were content that way, the shampoo and the cologne enough to satiate your fixation on the way Steve smelled all while managing to maintain your friendship with him without things becoming weird.

What ended up shattering that peace however was running into him a few weeks later coming out of the Y, just done with a game of basketball as he spotted you passing by and happily waved you down.

He smiled at you just as brightly as he had all those months ago in July, this time dressed in his gym clothes; a pair of green shorts that showed off the thickness of his toned, hairy thighs and a grey t-shirt, the sleeves filled out well by his tanned biceps and its collar darkened by sweat.

Up close, you could smell the exertion on him and that was what became your undoing.

It took every iota of self-control not to rush him to the ground and pin him beneath you, feeling more and more like a caged animal the longer the conversation went on and you were forced to compose yourself.

It was the kind of scent you wanted to sink into, more so than the cologne or the shampoo because this was Steve completely unadulterated – that earthy musk, that rugged, almost spicy all-natural scent that you wouldn't be able to find on any shelf.

Barely managing to hold it together until parting ways with him, you knew you wouldn't be able to rest without it, mind already working to devise a plan.

~

"Risve- what?"

You chuckled as the word died on Steve's tongue, knowing he'd trip up on the pronunciation. Reaching for a pen and a scrap of paper sitting on the counter, you wrote the word down for him. "Risvegli. It's Italian", you explain, handing it to him as you do your best to repress the shiver that runs through you when his slender fingers graze yours, trying hard to quieten your mind after all the ways you’ve imagined those very fingers touching you in your most sensitive places.

"It's kind of an obscure flick but I like that sort of stuff. D'you think you could have a look and see if you've got a copy in the back?", you try not to bat your lashes too much when you ask, not wanting to overplay the sweetness to the point that it comes off as insincere or worse, suspicious.

Steve looks down to study the paper, cheeks dusted a pretty pink, you can’t help but notice. The ends of his hair are still damp from his shower at the Y, just as you expected now that you knew which days he spent there before clocking in for work.

"For you? Definitely", he looked back up and smiled at you in that way that made your heart somersault. "Be right back". He leaves you alone at the counter and you make sure to wait for him to disappear out of sight into the back, stamping down a flash of guilt for having sent him off to search for a movie that didn't exist to buy you time.

You'd planned it all last night, stepping away from the counter before heading towards the employee break room, able to sneak in without fear of running into Robin because you knew she'd be spending the day with Sally on her day off from working at the diner.

Steve’s duffle bag is in plain view as you shut the door to the little room behind you quietly, resting on a chair that'd been pulled out from the table where you imagined he probably shared his lunch breaks with Robin.

Striding up to it, you find the zipper and tentatively, you pull it open to reveal the contents. What you're looking for is balled up at the very top, picking up the sweat damp t-shirt with clammy, trembling fingers. You're really crossing a line this time and you know it, your teeth close to piercing the soft skin of your bottom lip as you bite down on it but you can't deny that there's just something so exhilarating about the whole thing too. The lying, the sneaking around, the risk – it's all a little too much and your mind grows foggy with it, dulling your once sharp intuition and giving way to a moment of weakness that has you abandoning caution now that you're alone.

Waiting to do indulge your urges until you're safe at home feels impossible now that you've got your hands on it, eagerly pressing your nose into the damp t-shirt, eyes nearly rolling back as you filled your lungs with the smell of him. It must have been the pheromones, it had to be, awakening that primal kind of desire in you that had you parting your lips and pressing the tip of your tongue to one of the sweat stains, sucking on the sour, salty musk that had soaked into the cotton.

What you're doing is so dirty, damn near repulsive and knowing that just fuels you even more as you begin to salivate. You're too wrapped up in the earthy scent of him, too lost in the taste to notice when the door handle jiggles behind you, too drunk on the sick thought of what Steve’s used boxers must smell like if you were to pull those out of his duffle next when all of a sudden, it's too late.

The door to the break room swings open and in walks Steve, the world screeching to a sickening standstill when his eyes fall on you.

Your own eyes bulging, you watch in mute horror as he takes in the sight before him, the scrap of paper you'd handed him earlier slipping from between his thumb and forefinger, fluttering to the floor like the wings of a dying butterfly.

It's impossible to know what he's thinking. Is it disgust? if so, he hid it well. Bewilderment? You weren't sure. Ice crackles over your bones as the two of you stare for a few seconds longer, Steve's expression still unreadable.

The whole thing's all the more uncomfortable because of the way he continues to watch you like you’re something to be studied, looking contemplative as you trembled in place, wishing for the ground to break open beneath your feet and swallow you away into a never-ending crevasse.

But as the seconds tick by and the ground stays perfectly intact you're left to seek your own respite.

Despite what feels like the blood retreating from your veins, your body shifts into auto pilot as you wordlessly place the rumpled t-shirt back in Steve's duffel and do the only thing you can do in a fucked up situation like this – walk away. Even as he tries to call after you, you ignore his shouts, continuing on a path towards and out the exit, mortified.

You don't go back to Family Video after that. In fact, you avoid that entire street for a whole week.

The days following being caught out by Steve were some of the worst you've had to endure. Shame made a home in your body, making you ache with a belly full of thorns and your thoughts growing increasingly heavy and abrasive as they flood your throbbing head.

For those seven days you carried around the dread of knowing that Steve had discovered that secret side of you, the feeling worsening at the thought of him telling others what he had seen and rendering you some kind of town pariah – even though a tiny, hopeful whisper inside your raucous head told you that he probably hadn't said anything, at least not yet since Sally hadn't even seemed to have gotten word of the incident from Robin.

But that's all it was. A tiny, fleeting whisper that did nothing to calm you.

At home, you buried yourself in your blankets, letting your anxieties exhaust you to sleep and at work you moved as if you were fighting your way through thick slurry – slow and dragging your body from table to table, unsmiling as you took patrons' meal orders and served them their food.

You continued like that all throughout your shift, waiting for the moment you could peel your polyester uniform off in favour of your own clothes and drive yourself home. With only 30 minutes left before closing, your shoulders which had been pulled tight all day with tension began to sag, a momentary wash of relief coursing through you. That was until you smelled it – smelled him.

Whipping around, your stomach plummets when your eyes fall on Steve walking through the door – and to make things worse, he’s carrying that duffle on his shoulder.

He's yet to have spotted you, taking a seat at one of the empty booths though you notice the way his eyes are scanning the diner, searching.

It's obvious that you’re the one he’s looking for as worry courses down your spine like a lightning strike. Was he going to confront you? right here? in front of all these people? Normally you wouldn’t peg Steve as someone who’d do something so cruel but after what he’d caught you doing, a little public humiliation doesn’t seem all that undeserved, you had to admit.

So, carefully you retreat into the breakroom without drawing his attention, pulling a perplexed Sally along with you once you'd caught hold of her by her elbow.

Once safely inside, you all but blubber in her face, begging her to wait on Steve's table, even promising her all your tips for the next week in exchange.

Seeing the distress contorting your face must have made her feel sorry for you because she pulls you in for a quick, tight hug, running her hand up and down your back in an attempt to calm you. You'd only given her little snippets of what had happened at the video store, making sure to alter a few details for the sake of concealing how far you’d actually gone that day. To her, the gist of it was that you'd embarrassed yourself horribly and that was all she really needed to know, springing into action as the compassionate best friend to the rescue.

"I've got it, okay? just breathe", she'd repeated soothingly into your hair, giving you a quick squeeze and her best reassuring smile before you reluctantly unwind your hands from around her, allowing her to step out of the break room ahead of you.

Outside again, thirty minutes drag on like hours while you purposely stick to the part of the diner that's furthest away from Steve's table. You don't dare look at him but you do sneak a glance when Sally walks by with his order, a single black coffee and nothing else which he sips leisurely while you tremble.

If his plan was to confront you then what the hell was he waiting for? There was nothing stopping him from walking up to you while sweat collects between your shoulder blades as you clear the tables of customers who’ve settled their bill and since left. Nothing to prevent him from stepping up to the counter while you nervously rubbed the surface of it free of crumbs and stains to demand an explanation for your bizarre behavior last week. Nothing to stop him from simply walking up to you at any moment and ask to know what the fuck your deal was.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he finishes his coffee and casually waves down Sally for the bill while smiling politely. Somehow that causes you even more unease.

In that moment you lose sight of Steve when you’re called over to serve the only other table of customers left, a family of five keen to fit in one last round of milkshakes before they call an end to their meal.

You see to their order despite your shaking limbs, returning with a tray crowded with the cold, sweet drinks, setting each one down carefully in front of the smiling children and their parents before you head back behind the counter with your tray clutched close to your chest. The whole thing must have taken you ten minutes and when you sneak one more look in Steve’s direction you find his booth empty this time.

Eyes frantically searching the diner, you manage to catch a final glimpse of him walking out the front door, bell chiming above him as he departs, leaving the diner and you with even more questions than you had when he'd first arrived.  

Had Steve changed his mind? Had he just wanted to make you sweat for the hell of it? Taken pleasure in watching you try to keep it together in his presence while you traipsed around the diner all too carefully like a petrified newborn deer?

Why had he shown up at all today if he wasn’t going to...do anything?

You get your answer fifteen minutes later when wearily, you trudge into the staff room at the end of your shift, pulling open your locker and all but fainting at the sight of what’s been placed inside beside your belongings.

Neatly folded inside is Steve's grey t-shirt, the same one you'd tried unsuccessfully to "borrow" last week The scent of him is instantly recognizable as you inhale shakily, fingers reaching out to touch the slightly damp cotton to confirm to yourself that you weren’t in fact hallucinating the whole thing.

When your pulse starts to settle and the static crackling in your ears starts to cease you notice a little scrap of folded paper placed inside too. Picking it up and pulling it open, it's with a deep, dreamy sigh that your chest blooms with sunny warmth as you read the note, a smile gracing your lips for the first time in a week.

Three months later...

The only good thing about working the graveyard shift at the diner was that Steve always insisted on coming in an hour before you clocked out so he could drive you home.

Occupying one of the booths inside the sleepy diner, he'd keep himself busy with his phone while you worked, perking up whenever you came by to freshen up his coffee or sneak him a piece of pie he hadn't ordered with all his favorite fixings.

It was during those moments that he liked to have a little fun with you, quickly surveying the room to make sure no customers or staff were looking over in your direction before he'd slip his fingers under your skirt and pinch your ass. Sometimes you'd see it coming and other times he'd catch you off guard, cruel delight curling his lips into a smirk whenever you had to stifle your surprised squeals.

And that's as far as he usually took, patiently waiting until he could get you in his car for more but today felt different.

With no new customers coming in in the last two hours, Sally had taken to the break room to work in a nap while the kitchen staff had stepped out back to smoke and deal cards to pass the time. That left just you working the front with Steve as the diner's only patron.

Having no one else around meant you could flirt freely with him now, making sure to look over your shoulder every now and then just incase to make sure you didn't get caught.

You spent that time alone together with his boot gently tapping against your shoe under the table, reaching out and fiddling with his fingers because you always liked to be touching him while you happily teased each other as the minutes passed by.

Somewhere in the middle of your playful banter you noticed Steve's cup was now empty, picking yourself up from the booth to bring over more coffee. As you leaned over the edge of the table to pour, you anticipated the glide of his fingers on your thigh, inching up your skirt to situate them between your legs.

"You're going to get me fired one of these days", you chide him, still holding on to the pot of coffee once you'd finished refilling his cup.

"Good – then I can have you all to myself", he teased back, index finger drawing patterns on your inner thigh, just a few inches below the lacy trim of your panties.

"Steve", you attempt to scold but there's barely any heat there for him to take it seriously, fingers daring to trail higher.

Meeting his heavy gaze, you watch him search your eyes for a moment, the soft smirk that had been tugging at the corner of his lips slowly fading away as something more serious clouds his expression when he leans forward to whisper to you.

"No one's around, baby. Please? Can I?"

It takes you a second before you know exactly what he's asking for without needing him to specify, heat rising up from the depths of your chest and gathering in your cheeks.

He's got that look in his eyes too and you know that this is what it must have looked like the day he caught you with your face buried in his sweaty t-shirt. That feverish glint of potent want making his iris' gleam.

"Steve, it's too risky", you try to reason quietly despite the way your thighs are already parting for him, allowing him to skim the pads of his fingers over the seat of your panties, teasing your waiting folds through the thin later of fabric.

"Never stopped you before", he's quick to reply with wink, making you grow warmer at the reminder.

He's got you beat there.

"I promise I'll be quick", he pleads again softly and it's almost comical how quickly you buckle under the weight of his needy gaze.

"Shit, okay", you concede as you step closer to the edge of the booth and he pulls himself closer too, hand moving higher to cup your ass under your skirt.

You sigh contently when Steve leans forward and presses his nose against the front of your uniform, right over the juncture between your legs. You're careful to keep your grip tight on the handle of the coffee pot you're still carrying when he takes in a deep breath, inhaling your scent right through your clothes.

Steve liked to joke that you brought out this side of him, the one that made the both of you realize how alike you really were.

It started with the way he liked to linger between your legs after he'd finished eating you out. Your ruined panties spilled out of his back pocket, never to be returned to you as he took his time pressing sweet kisses against your swollen folds and spent clit with his sticky lips, clearly pleased with himself as you fought to catch your breath from the orgasm that'd rippled through you.

And as things progressed, he wasn't secretive about wanting to fuck you so hard and often that the smell of you would linger in the air long after you were done. Or how he liked to nestle his nose in the curls on your mound once he'd finished laving at your pussy – the moreish combination of sweat, saliva and your natural musk making his twitching cock stiffen all over again as he rut into the mattress for a second time, painting his sticky boxers with another generous load.

Other times he'd get on his knees for you, pulling you close by your hips so he could place his face against your clothed cunt and mumble dreamy praises about how good your pussy smelled. And you always loved it when he got like that, even now as your free hand strokes lazily through his caramel hair, letting him do this to you in the middle of your place of work, your coworkers unaware but not far away enough that they couldn't walk in at any moment and find the two of you like this.

"Stevie", you whined softly as you tried to get his attention, a reluctant reminder that the two of you should probably stop before it's too late.

"Jus' a little more, please? need it to tide me over before I can get you alone". His eyes are all glazed over when he looks up at you, tentatively slipping his other hand up the front of your thigh to hitch up the hem of your skirt ever so slightly, his gaze all pleading as he waits for your permission.

With the way he's managed to work you up, your panties more that a little tacky from his attention and your belly tightening with warmth, how could you possibly refuse when you needed this just as badly as he did?

"Fuck. Yes, okay – just be careful", you urge gently because 'be quick' doesn't seem likely anymore.

A look of pure bliss breaks out on his reddening face. "Christ. Thank you, baby", Steve groans appreciatively, pushing your skirt up to expose your panties before burying his face against your clothed mound. He can feel the outline of your cunt perfectly when he's this close – so soft and plump, his mounting greed has him battling the urge to pull the soaked cotton down to your knees and start sucking the tangy slick from your pretty, swollen pussy lips before pressing deeper to lick at your tight hole and all it has to offer.

Restraining himself, he lets out a muffled moan against your core that has your clit swelling and throbbing, your eyes slipping shut while you give yourself to him. It's almost soothing the way he savors you so shamelessly, head partially ducked underneath your rucked up skirt, fingers gently squeezing your ass with his blunt nails making light indents in your skin.

You let him breathe you in for a while longer until you begin to feel a little floaty and more than a little needy from it all, expecting Steve to pull away soon because how much longer could you get away with doing this in public? Stopping him isn't what you want, not really but you knew better than to push your luck by now.

But instead of him reluctantly withdrawing away from you, what you feel next is the wet drag of his tongue along your messy panties, warm, firm and sudden.

Although definitely not unwelcome, under the circumstances, the feeling of it startles you and you can't help but cry out with a yelp, arm jerking backwards as a splash of coffee makes its way onto the checkered diner floor.

Hearts hammering, the both of you rip apart from each other then, Steve with his wide eyes and ruffled hair as he plasters himself to his seat while you very nearly lose what's left of your balance when your shoes skid over the wet mess of spilled coffee. You manage to catch yourself though when you grab the edge of his table with your free hand, finally placing the damn coffee pot down to hurriedly pull your skirt back into place.

Silence overtakes the room as the both of you peer wordlessly in the direction of the kitchen and breakroom, waiting to see if you'd accidentally drawn the attention of any nearby diner staff.

Seconds turn into a minute and when no one comes through either of the doors you allow yourself to sigh out in relief, turning back to Steve.

"Shit. I'm sorry I couldn't help it – had to taste you, honey. You just – fuck, you just smell so fucking good. I needed a little more", he tries to explain when your eyes connect, his cheeks sheened with a thin layer of perspiration and flushed a deep pink.

You were foolish to think you could let him do all of that and endure waiting until the end of your shift to take things further in his car. Leaving him with his lips parted and his jaw slack, you stride away to the diner's entrance to quickly flip the 'open' sign over to read 'closed', rushing back to tug Steve up and out of his seat urgently, grinning when you catch sight of the stiff bulge straining in his jeans.

"Supply closet. Now. Need you to put that mouth of yours to good use."

[kailoweenie]

Hyun-Ju/player 120 x Trans! Reader

A/N: can be read both as Transfem/woman reader or Transmasc/man reader. The reader is implied to have a physical appearance that points out they're not cis (e.g facial structures, hair, voice, etc but not specified!)

This is also very self indulgence because.....I'm a trans guy who really likes her so....T4T duo fr fr

Also the fact that there's barely any GIFs of her is crazy, I took this gif from an edit of her by @/slutcountry on TikTok LOL

You were here for a similar reason as she was. Whether it's to begin/continue HRT or start physically transitioning with surgery or even simply just needing the money to move to someplace more accepting

The first time you saw her was during the face scan at the very beginning of round 1. You just couldn't help but notice player 120 amongst the other players.

Your eyes widened as you realized that she could've been trans. Maybe it was a wild assumption at the moment but if you were right....then there was another player in the game who was just like you.

The first time you properly talked was during round 2 of the games.

With the other players reacting to you negatively for simply being or looking trans. You had no choice but to muster up the courage to approach the girl that you had been shyly keeping an eye on.

"hey..." You trailed off, voice quiet as you gently- yet slightly awkwardly- rest a hand on her arm. You glanced at the people around you before taking a breath, finally speaking up "can i...is it...okay if I joined you...?".

When she first turned to look at you, you almost stumbled a bit in surprise.

Unlike some other players, there didn't seem to be any fear or judgement in her eyes....she simply smiled and nodded, her voice deep and soothing "of course. We needed one more in our group either way". You gave back a small smile, nodding in acknowledgement to the other 3 players you were teamed up with.

You end up deciding to play the 4th game, the one with the spinning top. You of course stayed quiet when the others needed focus while also calming and cheering the others on if they end up panicking.

When it was your turn, there was still quite some time left. Though as you failed the first time, panic slowly started to creep in.

That is, until you feel a warm hand resting on your shoulder. Looking to the right, you listened intently as player 120 calmed you down. Taking a deep breath like she told you to do, you managed to get it to spin the next try.

The smile on your face was bright as everyone cheered in excitement but the only thing you could focus on was how proud she seemed to look as you succeed.

By the end of the game, you went back to the bed quarters. All 5 of you buzzing with gratefulness that you survived another round.

You sat next to player 120, too shy to sit too close yet still wanting to be close to her presence.

It was the old woman who spoke up first, curious about the both of you considering you both were...a bit obvious you weren't cis.

It was her who spoke up first, talking about her experience and how she wanted the money to move away. You sat there silently as you listened, almost every part of the things she said...you could unfortunately relate to. The need to go somewhere more... accepting.

"...I know how you feel" you suddenly spoke up, all four of them seemed to turn to you. Your confidence faltering a bit at the attention yet you kept going, your gaze flickering to player 120's face.

"The...desperation. The need to go somewhere that might be more accepting to people like me...to people like us." You sighed, idly playing with the hem of the jacket's sleeves "I'm in the same boat. I'm not exactly...." You trailed off, waving your hand up and down your body, hoping they'd take the hint.

Her gaze softened at your words, a small smile on her lips at the confession. The others didn't seem to mind either. You knew it was probably a...bad idea getting attached yet you can't help but care deeply for the other four already.

•It was player 007 who spoke up after a few seconds of silence. Deciding to introduce himself and his mom. That's when you learned each other's names. And that's when you learned her name.

"Cho Hyun-ju...you uh- you have a nice name" you muttered, loud enough for her to hear. The compliment seemed to surprise her a bit, clear in her face that she wasn't expecting it. You expected her not to say anything back yet when she did, your heart was practically buzzing in happiness

"...you have a nice name too." She paused, giving you a small smile "it's nice to meet you".

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART THREE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of violence, blood, injury, 141 are still mean pirates, very brief mentions of death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The words of Captain Price weighed heavily on your mind. With little distractions to guide you away from them, they were all you were left with. They replayed on a consistent loop, like a broken record player. It was taunting, the way your own mind betrayed you after pleading with it not to think of the cold dose of reality the Captain had given you. It denied your requests for soothing calm and gifted you with roaring waves of chaos.

The Captain had been right. Every last word was coated in nothing but bitter truth, and you hated it.

Your village was nothing but unkind to you, and you knew it. You tried to defend them, tried to reason with why they could have been so cruel to you, but with only yourself and the sounds of the sea to fill the abyss in your head, your defense was bound to crumble.

It wasn’t your fault you were different, at least compared to the traditionalists you grew with. Being born in a secluded hamlet separated from the bustling mainland meant the people were just as isolated. Hermits, they were. They sought simplicity through actions shown by the book. Marriage, children, with women to remain in their place at home. It was a dream to some, and a nightmare to you.

You wanted more. There was a vast world out there for you to mark your claim on, yet your own people disregarded your desires. They turned on you, taunting you as the village outcast, one that many continued to torment well into adulthood. You were one against many, and you only had yourself in the long run.

You worked hard for what you had. Despite the consistent abuse your people had given you, you sought out adventure like a moth to a flame. It called out to you. Learning of medicines and practices to become more of the miniscule woman everybody saw you as was your safe haven. You wanted to explore the world and take your practices to a place where you’d be accepted as one’s own.

Then those pirates had taken that away from you. Not only had they stolen your dreams, but they had stolen your home, people, and passion. Everything was lost at the drop of a hat.

Being a medic for a scroungy group of thieving pirates was not in your cards. Before, you hadn’t even known pirates were existent. They were a simple folk tale, something to  share on quiet nights when the village had grown bored. Never did you think you would come across one, let alone four who had taken it upon themselves to make you their problem.

You feared that you would never achieve your dreams of being a proper medic. Of never escaping to the mainland where you could begin a tranquil life consisting of you and your studies. Now, it seemed that you would never experience peace or independence. Your dreams were embezzled, lost in the foamy waves that lapped against the side of the ship.

The grieving of your loss didn’t stop, even during Soap and Gaz’s visits. They kept it minimal, presumably under the Captain’s orders, or because they simply didn’t like you enough to further interaction. Not that you wanted them to, anyway, though it would’ve made the aching loneliness a bit more bearable.

They noticed, of course. The way your eyes began to sink in, casting a grim shadow across your face, or the way you no longer bared your teeth at them when they approached. Pirates like them didn’t care for people like you. You were a pawn in whatever game they were playing, and you didn’t know the rules.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above you rattled you awake. The cot was fairly useless in providing you comfort, but you had succumbed to your eventual exhaustion over the course of your capture that you had grown used to it.

Unlike normal days, where their steps were more quiet and calculated, this time sounded like a frenzy. Uncoordinated, merging together in loud pitter patter. It was unsettling, lighting an icy chill in your bones. Even in the seclusion of the brig, the air felt thick with tension, as if the pirate’s suspense had crept through the crack under the door and spread throughout the ship.

The floorboards creaked menacingly from above. Your ears pricked at every stomp, every slam of the soles of their thick boots against the old wood. It was as if death was stalking you from the shadows, creeping in, jeering at you. You were in the dark, unaware.

You wondered if other pirates had invaded the ship. Perhaps this was your end. You’d be found by enemies and treated much more unkindly in the hands of men who only saw you as a mere woman and not the potential to be a medic.

Though your pirates were just as cruel, they hadn’t harmed you. They hurt your people, but salvaged you to make use of your knowledge. They weren’t as terrible as what may have lurked the waters. Maybe it was simply the fear talking, but if what you thought was true, then you prayed to whatever god was listening that you remain in the safe hands that had yet to pose a threat to you.

Your prayers were answered by the harsh sound of the door opening. It wrenched open, slamming up against the wall with a crack. Dim light poured through, down to your cell, illuminating a faint glow enough for you to see.

Atop the stairs, a large figure lurked, blocking out the light. It cocooned around him, casting an eerie shadow and successfully masking away his face.

Fear shot through your veins, burning like a raging fire, lighting you up from the inside. It threatened to combust, inching you towards a scorching agony. It clouded your mind, fogging over the logic and replacing it with racing thoughts of choking terror. You thought of death, torture, being swept away from this brig, only to be placed in a more torturous one with strangers out to harm you. To be used for pleasure and entertainment by a group of savage pirates unbeknownst to you.

“Get up,” a voice barked at you. It was rough and throaty, exuding pure authority. It was also familiar.

The sound of metal clanking on metal filled your eyes and once you had pieced together your mind enough, you realized it was the key unlocking your cell. The door opened, the figure stepping into your cell and closer to you, where you lay on the cot. It loomed over you, shielding you away from escape.

“Get up,” he ordered again. A hand reached out to you, cold, rough fingers wrapping around your bicep and lugging you off of the cot and on to your feet. There was no time for arguments. You recognized Ghost’s stony mask, and you knew fighting him would prove fruitless.

“What’s going on?” you asked, legs straining to keep up with his pace as he tugged you up the rickety stairs.

“Captain’s hurt,” Ghost gruffed, only the narrow of his eyes peeking through the eye holes of the skull mask, giving you a glimpse of his disgruntlement. “Need a medic. That’s you, birdie.”

Your heart sank to your stomach for numerous reasons.

For one, the smallest part of you worried for the Captain. No matter his actions thus far, he was hurt and required medical attention, enough of it that Ghost had prompted you out of your cell after residing there for the past month.

Then there was the fact that they were asking you for help. Sure, you technically were a medic. One in practice, but you knew the basics of medicines. However, the problem arose that you didn’t know much beyond that. If the Captain truly was injured to an extent beyond your skill, you feared they’d throw you over the ship and into the murky waters once they deemed you useless.

The misty air hit you the moment you stepped out of the brig and on to the upper deck. It was chilly despite it being summer, with the ocean breeze curling into your dingy hair and across your cheeks. The feeling was nothing short of relieving, to breathe in fresh air that filled your lungs, clearing them of the musty tang of brig air.

It was still midnight, but the moon was bright enough to have your eyes squinting, adjusting. Even the feel of it on your skin was like sweet kisses after a period of solitude.

That wasn’t what was important, though. Ghost had your arm in a chokehold, and he was urgently dragging you across the deck and towards the front of the ship. None of the other men were found, but you’d quickly find them when Ghost yanked open a door leading to the Captain’s quarters.

Inside, Captain Price was propped up lazily against the side of a large table, covered in maps and quills. A small pot of ink had been tipped over and spilled, tainting the papers with splotchy black. Drips of his blood had swirled into the mix, and the sight of it made you sick.

Price’s hand was smothering a gnarly gash on his side, fingers seeping over with crimson blood. Soap stood beside him with Gaz, the two of them seemingly anticipating your arrival. The moment they locked eyes with you, they stood up straight, expressions impatient.

“Took ye long enough, Ghost,” Soap boasted snarkily. Ghost huffed from beside you, pushing you by your arm and sending you towards Price.

“Fix him up,” Ghost commanded, stern. You blinked at him before switching to look at the Captain.

Price was a bit paled, skin clammy with sweat despite the chill in the air. He seemed more annoyed than pained, face pulled taut with a frown deepened beneath his beard. His eyes bore into yours threateningly.

“I don’t—“ you stared, stumbling over your words. “I don’t know how to stitch, I told you, I’m not a professional—“

“Surely you’ve had practice once or twice, haven’t you?” Price reckoned, cocking his head at you.

“Only on injured animals,” you defended. “I don’t know how to stitch on people.”

Price clicked his tongue, a hint of agitation gesred behind it. “Can’t be much different. Allow me to be your experiment, dove. You want to be a professional? Figure it out.”

You stared at him, bewildered. You knew there was no room for argument, nor was there any time. He was bleeding into the palm of his hand, wound sliced open from what you assumed was a sharp blade. You didn’t have the chance to think about how he possibly could’ve been injured in that way.

“Well? Go on, dove, it ain’t goin’ to heal itself,” Soap urged in annoyance, giving a light shove to your shoulder. Not enough to move you from your position, but enough to snap you into order.

“I need my supplies,” you explained. “Surely, you kept them.”

“Tch. Not stupid, dove,” Price snipped. With his free hand, he clumsily fumbled for one of the drawers of the table he leaned upon. Yanking it open, it was sent to the floor with a crash, sending its contents scattering.

The action was savvy and if you weren’t in a frenzied rush, you would’ve had the mind to be irritated. However, you remembered your place, as well as the people you were being forced to serve. It wouldn’t be wise to bark back at them for throwing around your work so carelessly.

You were quick to drop to the floor and begin retrieving what was necessary. Supplies were scarce, seeing as you weren’t fortunate enough to grow up on the mainland where demand was much more accessible.

Making a mental note to ask for them to collect more items for you, that is if this was really going to be your life, you clattered the items on the table Price rested on, making quick work of tugging stitching thread through the tiny needle.

The job would be sloppy, especially with the way your hands shook. You knew good and well that if anything were to happen to these pirate’s Captain, you’d be first one off the ship, sent to God knows where.

All eyes were on you. It was unnerving.

Soap remained next to Gaz, both watching you like a hawk. Their eyes studied every movement of your fingers as they worked through the threads, preparing to stitch up Price as requested.

Ghost stood near the door leading to the deck, arms crossed and eyes piercing into you like a warning threat. And really, you knew that’s what it was.

Price was awfully calm for a man who’d been stabbed, and you briefly wondered if this was something pirates were used to. Harming others was one thing. Gaining injury themselves was another.

Lucky for you, the Captain wasn’t wearing any fabrics. He must’ve taken his shirt off when he returned to his quarters, which made things easier for you.

“Remove your hand,” you said, before adding on, “please.”

Price huffed out what could’ve been mistaken as a laugh, though you highly doubted it. He carefully pulled his hand away from his wound, slippery with blood. The sight was quite gruesome, though you were sure it was just the blood making it so.

Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself in front of the Captain. You dug deep in your memory of the times you’d operated on helpless animals you’d found in the outskirts of your village.

Animals were easier. They were more pliant and obedient. Some were squirmy, though being much smaller than you gave you advantage over them.

Price, though, was significantly bigger. And human. He was far from any animal you aided.

With his arm out of the way, you had a showcase of numerous scars scattering his torso. They were white, indicating they were much older, but some were still risen with pink tissue that revealed being more recent.

You had your hands full. Truly.

“I’m going to begin now,” you told Price.

“Don’t need to narrate the whole operation to me, medic. Just do it.”

Price’s tone was sarcastic and a tad bit mean. If he was aiming to offend you, he was doing a poor job. You’d taken ridicule all your life.

Brushing it off, you used nimble hands to make the first insertion of the needle, threading through the first stitch. Price showed no discomfort, though the eyes of the others didn’t help your unease. You felt like a lab rat and they were the ones operating on you.

The stitching became easier the more it went on. He needed quite a few, though the practice was appreciated. Your hands became more steady and your heart was no longer in your throat.

The room was at a standstill up until the very moment you tightened the stitches, tying them off and pulling yourself away from Price. Your work was far from perfect, but it was doable.

“Finished, are you?” Price hummed. You nodded in confirmation. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You bit your tongue to hold back mockery until the taste of metallic flooded your tastebuds.

“I’ve only worked on animals. It appears you are no different than one,” you bit back calmly, shiftingyour attention to organizing the supplies Price had so carelessly tossed to the floor.

Soap let out an obnoxious snort, while Price only cocked his head in faint amusement.

“You might want to watch your tongue there, dove. Ghost has taken out many,” Price informed.

That was enough to send shivers down your spine because you knew he was being truthful.

A quick glance to Ghost showed no indication of lies, so you quickly averted your eyes, opting to avoid him. You didn’t want to imagine the horrors Ghost had caused from his hands alone. He was a force not to be reckoned with, and you’d happily stay far, far away.

“I still need to apply an herbal balm and wrap it.” You changed the topic in hopes of forgetting your slip of tongue. You rather liked keeping it in your mouth.

“Very well,” Price sighed. With a gesture of his head, he signaled the other three men out of his quarters, leaving you alone in the room with him.

It was eerily quiet between the two of you while you worked a calming balm into the tender skin around his wound, careful not to touch the fresh stitches. The herbs were a mixed paste you had created back in your village from the supplies Mary had gifted you, and they proved futile now in a sensitive time.

You wished she were here to take you away from this nightmare fueled ship. Though, you couldn’t deny it any longer — you knew she was dead, just like the rest of the village. There was nothing you could do about it.

This was your life. This was your journey. Your opinion on the matter wasn’t valid.

“Quite the snippy one, aren’t you?” The Captain’s voice broke the tense silence, though it did nothing to calm you. “I heard from a little bird that some fortnights ago, you threw your porridge on to Gaz.”

Your shoulders pulled taut in a mix of embarrassment and shame. It was as if you were a child being scolded.

“I did,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do not feel bad?” Price questioned.

“No.”

“Hm.” A smile tilted on his face, lazy just as the other ones, as if he had no energy to display the true nature of a smile. “I will hand it to you, dove, he can be quite a brat sometimes. Perhaps he deserved it.”

You glanced up from his injury to look into his eyes. Your eyebrows tugged together in confusion.

You were fully expecting outrage, or perhaps the Captain to reprimand you for taking your anger out on his crew. Instead, he seemed almost like a jokester.

That couldn’t be. He was cruel and heartless, just as the others were. It didn’t matter how much Soap jested with you, or Gaz no longer glared at you. They were still pirates.

“I am all finished up here,” you explained, clearing your throat and taking a step back. “May I return to my cell?”

The cell was the last place you wanted to be in, but it was the only haven you’d found on the ship. You certainly didn’t want to stick around the other pirates for longer than necessary.

“Nonsense,” Price mused. “You have proven to have enough skill as a medic. You’re useful and resourceful. You won’t be able to work well in that dingy cell.”

You felt a pit of nervousness fill the void in your stomach. It did somersaults, making your mouth water with the need to be sick.

This was what you wanted, right? To be accepted into the crew so that you may plot your escape down the road when the time proved right. So why did it feel strange to be praised by the very man who had slaughtered your village?

“I will be staying in the upper decks, then?” you assumed, and he chuckled.

“We don’t quite have a cot set up yet, dove. We weren’t exactly expectin’ you to last, yet here you are.” He sounded almost prideful saying that, and you weren’t sure whether to feel comforted. “You’ll join me in my quarters for now. It only makes sense while I’m healin’ up, hm?”

That pit in your stomach turned into a canyon. To share a bed with the Captain of a malicious pirate crew, watching over him as his nurse? Perhaps this was your way out, or the start of your downfall.

Either way, you either ended up dead, imprisoned, or homeless on the mainland. Homeless, but free. You’d be an idiot not to play into the game.

You could do nothing but bow your head in silent agreement, unable to decide your fate once again. You were at the hands of the Captain and his crew, and those hands may be bloodied and mean if you said otherwise. hands may be bloodied and painful if you said otherwise.

[yeagersss]

Sukuna x quiet!Reader - College AU - Part 1/?

Note: completely self-indulgent because I'm studying abroad rn and am a very quiet person :')

Basically he approaches you for a final grade project. He usually pairs with Gojo, Geto and Nanami but in this elective, you can only work in a group of 2. So with Gojo pairing up with Geto ("Sorry man ╰(●▿●)╯") and Nanami not taking the elective, he's left finding a partner on his own.

Technically he can ask anyone and anyone will be willing to work together with the Sukuna Ryomen, but he takes his studies seriously. He has a merit scholarship. So he needs someone equally serious about this.

Because really who wouldn't want to be paired up with the campus heartthrob? The sexy, tattooed bad boy who's leading the basketball team. Men want to be his friends. Women want to be in his bed... So he needs to be picky.

So he spots you. Sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, typing away on your laptop while listening intendly to the professor's words.

He's seen you around the campus. Walking around with large headphones on, or sitting under a tree and tapping away on your iPad. You're usually alone.

He's never seen you in any of his matches nor parties. But he's seen you plenty of times in the library, scribbling on your tablet. It's like your lost in your own little world and that's when it clicks to him that you don't care who he is... So you're fucking perfect for this project.

So he approaches you after class. Just before you can slip on your headphones and walk away, you hear a gruff "hey". You turn around and look at him in surprise. "um... hello." You say softly.

He looks at you. Unsure of what to think of you. You're like an anomaly to him with how quiet and reserved you seem. "you got a partner for the project?" he asks.

You shake your head. You didn't know anyone in this class and the one girl you were acquainted with was working with her friend so you were just going to ask the professor to pair you up with someone randomly (and pray they weren't a free rider).

"well I need a partner and you look like you actually take this shit seriously so you want to pair up?" Sukuna asks. You eye him carefully. You know who Sukuna is, so you're a bit suspicious why this man would approach you of all people when he can have anyone else.

But considering you had no other options and you knew Sukuna was an exceptional student who is serious about his studies (you had way too much experience with free riders and despise it) you can't say no and agreed. It's just a project. You can tell he doesn't seem to have any interest in you besides working together to get a good grade.

Sukuna nods, pulling out his phone and giving you his number. "Let's meet up tomorrow to discuss the topic, yeah?" He asks to which you again nod, saving his number and shooting a quick text to him so he can have your number too.

And while all of this was happening, your shoulders were tense with how you can feel people's eyes on you. Some were frowning, some were glaring and some were looking in surprise.

You place your headphones on and with a quick "bye" you were out of the classroom and away from the scrutinising looks.

Sukuna walks over to Gojo and Geto who joke about him being desperate enough to get together with the "quiet girl who doesn't even talk".

He rolls his eyes and looks down at the text you had send him earlier, a small "hi y/n here". He saves your number and pockets his phone as the three of them start walking to basketball practice.