#i told anny from the start

[zhoufeis]

so if you ever think i'm going to livewatch a cdrama again, you're wrong. i'm sick of losing my favorite characters, i'm so SICK of it.

i lost yuemi. i lost wan jie. i lost mu yu. i lost pian ran. i lost yu shisan. i lost zhuo lanjiang.

i'm done, sincerely, done. it is always the same.

[peach-pot]

aro week day 3! y’all have any characters that you wish you could tell about aromanticism?

[annimator]

I’m thinking about that one uquiz about what emotion you create from

I got discontent as a result, and I’m not sure how to feel about the fact that I understand more & more why I got it as the days go by

[aria0fgold]

Everything is so wrong with my tumblr I am grgrrjrjugskgvhgvjbm. Oh my god. What is happening??? The links are broken?? Is it just me? Why is everything breaking????? There's always, ALWAYS an extra https:?//hrefli? smth smth or wtv at the beginning of the url and im like, gurl pls, why is that there, why must you torment me with the extra step of checking the url, deleting that thing, just for the page to load properly. Why is the dash looping, i just saw a post where the user at the reblog was blank, what is going on bro?????

[lunarcry]

if i dont get a main story update in april i'll cry <-guy who actually doesnt expect an update

[goddamnitmahtin]

A Smooth Criminal

(A dc x dp prompt)

Danny moved to Gotham after high school. Went to college. Got a degree. Found out the thing he got a degree for wasn’t able to hire him because his vitals looked half dead and he couldn’t just tell them he was in-fact half dead. Danny was never going to be an astronaut. Not only that, he had massive college debt. Well fuck.

So Danny started doing odd jobs until he found a more stable income at a psychic reading service of all places. Obviously Danny couldn’t see the future. So he only took clients that wanted to talk to dead people. Which was something he could do, given he had an object that might have had some ectoplasm on it or one of the ghosts that typically hung out in the shop knew where to find the person the client was looking for. Being that this is Gotham, not many people that die here actually cross over into the Ghost Zone. Danny was going to have to look into that at some point. But for now, it meant he had only ever once had to tell a client he couldn’t help.

Now Danny before coming to Gotham, hated psychics on principle. Most were lying and telling their clients utter bullshit. But his current boss seemed to be different. Her name was Lilith and she was very much legit when it came to precognition. She often would tell him ahead of time if a client was going to be difficult and who to watch out for on certain days. On more than one occasion, one of her warnings saved him from a mugging or kidnapping.

So, Danny learned to like his life as a medium and used the money from his job to pay his rent and pay off his college debt. Lilith paid him well and the shop had enough customers to back it up. His hours were based on appointment most of the time so he had more free time to do other things if he didn’t have many appointments for the day.

The only time that the hours went to an 8 hour shift were when one of them left to go on vacation or visit family. Thats where Lilith was this week. Out of town visiting family. Because of this, the shop’s services were limited to Danny’s medium appointments. The shop almost never had walk ins since it was so busy. The only time it ever really happened was when Lilith was gone. And most of the time it was someone wanting to buy a crystal from the window display. Nothing Danny couldn’t handle.

Except that was until Red Hood walked in, oozing with toxic ecto and a shattered mess of a core, tossed a set of pearls at him and told him to get reading.

Danny tried to help, he did. The pearls were covered in ecto and seemed to be from a tragic event but there was no ghost attached to them. Whoever they belonged to had passed on to the Ghost Zone or wasn’t dead. Danny said as much and asked Red Hood if he knew his core shattered. Danny then offered to help repair it. Red Hood did not like that. Danny got punched in the face. And he did not get paid.

*that night on call with Sam and Tucker*

Danny: And then he punched me in the face! Can you believe that?!

Sam: Given that he is a crime lord? Yeah I can.

Tucker: ….

Danny: Tucker I don’t like your suspicious silence.

Tucker: *starts giggling mischievously*

Sam: Tucker what are you doing?

Danny: Tuck-

Tucker: So what you’re saying is that- you’ve been hit by, you’ve been STRUCK by- a smooth criminal. *starts playing Smooth Criminal by Micheal Jackson except the name Annie has been edited to the name Danny*

Danny: I hate you so much

Sam: *laughing hysterically*

Tucker: *singing* Danny are you okay? Are you okay Danny?

Danny: *looks into the metaphorical camera like Jim from the office*

…

Red Hood: *nearly falls off the fire escape he was using to spy when the guy from the psychic shop looks right at him*

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

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

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi��guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (part 3/5)

(part 1) (part 2)

Summary: You've been adopted before. That's why you know better than to hope for another chance, especially a second chance with the Bahrs

-----

It’s not that you don’t want to be adopted. You just know that you’re not going to be. You’re the oldest in the orphanage, barely three years away from aging out. People don’t adopt kids your age, especially not obstinate, mean ones like you.

Besides, you’re a Hero. As soon as you master your power, you’ll be compelled to leave and fight evil anyway. That’s why it doesn’t matter if the Bahrs want you or not. You’re not somebody that’s supposed to have a family.

You barely remember the first time you were adopted. That was back when the Director of the orphanage was mean and biting. You have a vague memory of gold exchanging hands and leaving in the middle of the night. Your new parents barely looked at you and didn’t call you by your name at all.

You don’t remember a lot of that time. You were five and it was a struggle to go from living with a dozen kids to no one at all. Your new family gave you your own room in their small house and told you not to get underfoot.

The first time you ran away from their house, you didn’t get far. The baker in town brought you back to them and warned them about how kids your age are always slipping out when not paid enough attention.

“If you do it again,” the person who paid for you said, “you’re going straight back to the orphanage.”

And you do.

--------.

The day of the picnic, every kid wakes up early without being told.

You watch as Hera fusses over all the younger ones, straightening new shirts and brushing dust off knees. Josiah is reading one of the newest books Mrs. Bahr – Marie – brought, biting the skin on the side of his thumb. You snag Hera as she races to find Annie some ribbon for her hair.

“Hold up, let me brush your hair first,” you say.

Hera frantically pats the braids she slept in. “I forgot about my hair!” She turns large, watery eyes on you. “Islaaaa!”

You snort and help her unwind each braid. She decides to leave it down, charmed by the waves the braids left in her hair. Your hands don’t shake as you work even though your heart is racing. Today is the day of the picnic.

Today might be the day the Bahrs pick one of you to adopt. The younger kids don’t know that, the information carefully hidden from them, but Hera knows. Director Sarah knows. You know.

It’s been a long time since you felt this sort of anxiety. The second time you were adopted was just before the Winter and it wasn’t bad at first. The couple who adopted you ran an inn in town. It was exciting to have your own room and your new mother wanted you to call her Mom right away. Six-years-old and you were so excited just to be able to call someone your parent. This time you were going to listen. You weren’t going to run away or complain if their house felt too big and too lonely. This time you were going to get it right.

You didn’t think about what they wanted from you in exchange.

It wasn’t until the second week when they found out you weren’t really much use for anything that things started getting bad.

You breathe in through your nose and proclaim Hera’s hair finished. She thanks you and races off to find Annie, determined to put the ribbon she picked in the younger girl’s hair.

The Bahrs aren’t like the innkeepers. Whoever they adopt won’t be expected to know how to read or do math or how to take care of horses. If they are required to then Marie and Ivan will teach them first. Both have spent enough time at the orphanage for you to believe that. Isn’t it Marie who’s teaching all of you your letters? Wasn’t it Ivan who taught you how to better put up a fence?

Whoever they choose will be fine, you think. It’s both a relief and a sting. Whoever they choose will be fine. It’s just probably not going to be you. Not when Annie is so sweet and social and Hera is so strong and kind. Not when Josiah works so hard to soak up everything they have to teach him.

“Is everyone ready?” Director Sarah asks. She’s standing by the door. Her clothes are nicer than usual too, a dress made of a light blue fabric you’ve never seen before. Her hair is carefully combed back into an updo and fastened with a tie Hera made for her last winter. She runs a critical eye over all of you. “You all look very nice. Josiah, tie your shoes, please. Annie, leave the slate in your room, what you do if you lost it? Honestly…”

You let Director Sarah fuss over the kids, slipping out the door ahead of everyone. You don’t own a dress, but the button-down shirt is new and starched. Director Sarah helped you embroider bluebells on the collar and sleeves, and you think it turned out well.

You may not be getting adopted today, but you’re excited to see the Bahr family’s estate. The sun is warm overhead, the sky an endless blue. The summer is mild this year, perfect for a party. Isn’t that what Mr. Bahr – Ivan – told you to think of it as? A party. No strings attached.

A wagon comes up the lane. The Bahr family’s home is too far for the younger kids to walk to, past the town and closer to the Lord’s manor. They said they’d send a wagon for all of you, but something still clenches in your chest when you actually see it. Wagons are an expense the orphanage can’t justify, but, apparently, the Bahrs can.

The driver smiles kindly when he pulls up next to you. “Everyone ready to go?”

Before you can answer, the kids are pouring out the front door, chattering excitedly. You help Director Sarah lift the smaller ones into the seats near the front. The wagon is open topped, so Director Sarah can look over everyone sternly, twisting around in her spot next to the driver.

“No playing during the ride,” she instructs. “Mr. Dallen is very kindly driving us so you must listen to him, alright?”

Mr. Dallen also turns around. “I don’t have too many rules,” he says. He pretends to think, scratching his thick beard.  He grins “Don’t fall out!”

He’s joking, but that’s why you’re stationed at the back of the wagon. From your seat, you’ll be able to stop any roughhousing before “falling out” becomes a real danger. Already you’re eyeing the way Josiah is fidgeting. He’s incredibly calm when he’s reading, but otherwise he’s like a tornado. There’s a reason he’s the one that fell into the well in the first place. Hera sits primly next to him, her hands folded in her lap. You can tell she’s watching him from the corner of her eye. There’s a reason she’s the one who pulled Josiah out of the well.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses away from the orphanage, through the orchard, and along the road cutting through the fields. When you’re going to the forest to hunt, you take the narrower path that winds through the orchard and more directly into the tree line. The wagon is forced to stay on the wider road where the horses won’t sink into any mud and the wagon wheels won’t catch on rocks or dense foliage.

After the fields is the town. The kids wave to every Villager and Blacksmith they see. “Good day!” “Morning!” “We’re going to a picnic!” Hera pulls Annie back from the edge of the wagon before she tips over onto the street.

You slouch in your seat, wishing you were wearing a hat. While the first family who adopted you left town ages ago to live in the Capital, the innkeepers are still around. You don’t look as you pass their business and try not to listen to Josiah carefully sounding out the name of their inn.

When you open your eyes, Director Sarah is looking at you. You okay? She mouths. She wasn’t at the orphanage for your first adoption, but she was there for the innkeepers. You feign going to sleep. Just tired. She pretends to believe you and turns back to continue chatting with Mr. Dallen.

The kids are excited to go through the forest. Many of them are too young to even go into town with Director Sarah, a privilege you earn at ten years old, and they point to every bird, deer and mushroom they see amongst the trees. You let the sound of nature and the kids’ chatter lull you into a sort of meditation. The estate is only thirty minutes away now that you’re out of town.

You’re nearly dropping off to sleep when Director Sarah’s voice changes in pitch. Your sensitive hearing can pick up a thread of concern in her voice. What makes Director Sarah concerned, makes you concerned.

“—demons in the woods,” Sarah is saying very quietly. She glances out of her peripherals towards the back to make sure no kids are listening. If she notices how you’re only pretending to sleep, she doesn’t show any sign of it. “Shouldn’t we ask the kids to be quiet?”

“The Lord’s Knights have been patrolling,” Mr. Dallen says equally quietly. You can see him scan the trees for a moment before he smiles reassuringly at Director Sarah. “We’ll be okay so long as we stick to the road.”

“Alright.”

You keep a closer eye on the surrounding forest.

“There! There it is!”

Annie’s shout drags you attention from a (suspiciously) shadowed gully. The woods have thinned enough that hedges of the Bahrs’ estate can be seen. You’ve only been out this far once, a long, long time ago. You’ve never been past this point.

You’re just as surprised as the rest of the kids when the hedges give way to a castle.

That’s not a manor. You’ve never seen either, but you’re sure of this. Manors are supposed to look like the orphanage or any of the buildings in town, just larger. The Bahrs’ home has towers. The front doors are three times the height of a regular one and you can see that the handles and knockers are made of copper. The stone isn’t white like the castles in picture books, but it’s clean and neatly cut.

“Wow,” Hera breathes.

You agree.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses right up the main driveway, cheerfully explaining that the roses are the flower of the estate, aren’t they beautiful? Even Hera can only manage a faint noise of agreement, eyes wide on the house.

“The party’s around back,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He clicks his tongue and the horses stop just short of the front doors. “I’ll take you there.”

Around back. You expect him to lead you around the side of the castle, past rows of rose bushes and the fountains that are tucked between the hedges. Instead, Mr. Dallen opens the front doors without knocking and directs everyone to follow him.

You’ve never seen anywhere so grand. The kids follow Mr. Dallen in hushed awe, gaping at the marble staircase that bisects the foyer. There are two chandeliers to either side of the grand staircase that each send a spray of rainbow light across the walls. Is the manor a little bare? The walls empty of portraits and artwork? You eye a pair of crossed axes hanging just beyond the shadow of the staircase.

“They’re ordering portraits from the Capital,” Mr. Dallen says, gesturing carelessly to the space where a portrait of the homeowners might hang. Then under his breath, “Unless they hang more swords there instead.”

“Excuse me?” Hera asks.

“Nothing,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He guides them past the staircase and a row of doors to the back of the house. The large doors at the back of the house are already open. Mr. Dallen cups a hand over his mouth and calls, “Ho ho, look here! Look who’s arrived!”

“Surprise!” Ivan shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. He’s standing on the stone patio just outside the house, but he’s not the only one. Mrs. Bahr is next to him, her hands clasped in front of her, beaming. Behind her is a dozen other adults. “It’s a party!”

“Welcome,” Mrs. Bahr says warmly. She’s dressed elegantly in a long, red tunic that’s embroidered with the Lord’s crest. The Lord is here as well, his golden hair and eyes unmistakable even amongst the crowd. “Welcome to our home.”

You’re already at the back of the group, but you hang back further as the younger kids cautiously step out into the sun. Your eyes flick from face to face. You recognize a few of the people. There’s the Baker from town and her wife, there’s the Merchant that comes through every third week, there’s the Villager that donates zucchini—

And there are the innkeepers who, once upon a time, told you to call them your parents. They’re older than you remember, light hair gone silver in the sun, but it’s them. They’re right by the Lord, eagerly waiting near him for the opportunity to talk.

It’s very clear what this is. You watch the kids stream out onto the patio to greet Ivan and Marie. The other adults study the kids like zoo animals, eyes flicking to their clean party outfits to their happy faces. This isn’t a party for the kids. It’s a party for them. They’re showing off to each other. Look at how great they are! They’re helping out the poor orphan kids! You’re very familiar with these sort of events from back when the other Director was in charge. You just didn’t think you’d ever have to be near one again.

You take a step back and are stopped by Director Sarah.

“It’s okay, Isla,” Director Sarah murmurs. You didn’t even notice her falling back to your side. Her hand is gentle on your elbow. “It’s not what you think.”

Not what you think? You watch the Villager who runs the general store ask Josiah about the book he’s reading. The Bahrs are proudly introducing Annie and Hera to the Lord. There is something different about it, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. All you can see is the way the adults are watching the kids. You breathe in through your nose like Ivan taught you. In. Out. “What is it?”

“Fixing my mistake,” Director Sarah says.

That gets your attention. Your eyes dart from the happy scene in front of you to Sarah and back again. With the white umbrellas over the food tables, the streamers strung between garden trellises, and the kids dressed in their best, it looks like a painting. In contract, Sarah’s lips are pursed and the shadows of the house make her appear more tired than she is.

“There’s a parlor,” Mr. Dallen says. You jump when he speaks and he grimaces apologetically. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “If you need to talk.”

Marie is looking over the heads of the kids to where you’re standing, a frown on her face. She mouths your name, concern in her eyes. Your jaw clenches when the Merchant steps in front of her, hiding you from view.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s talk.” You spin on your heel.

Sarah follows you silently. You feel wrong-footed and caged by the entire situation. This was supposed to be a picnic, wasn’t it? No strings attached? Your dress shirt is tight around your neck and you flick open the top button.

“I should have told you,” Sarah says as soon as the door closes. There are two couches in the room adjacent to a large window that overlooks the party. Neither of you sits down. Sarah folds her hands in front of her skirts. “I apologize.”

“What are they doing here?” you ask. You gesture to the window. “The Lord, I understand. He’s the Lord. But the Baker? The Merchant?” You bark a laugh. “They’re not here to adopt anyone.”

“Maybe not,” Sarah says evenly, “but they’re good connections to have.”

“Connections?” You scoff. You remember watching the empty road through that winter nearly seven years ago. “What good are their connections?”

“Annie loves baking,” Sarah says. She doesn’t flinch in the face of your anger. She watches you calmly and doesn’t so much as shift her weight when you start to pace. “The Baker is a good connection for her to have, even if she doesn’t want to adopt. Many of the shopkeepers in town are open to taking on apprentices.”

You falter. You didn’t think about that. Your eyes drift towards the window. You can hear Hera laughing and Josiah complaining good naturedly. You’re nearly 15, just a few years away from aging out. You can’t say you’ve never thought about the future before. “They said they’d be willing to do that?”

“Who knows what the future holds?” Sarah sighs and goes to take a seat on the sofa. She makes a sound low in her throat when she sits. “That wagon ride was not good for my back.”

“I don’t trust them,” you say. You stop pacing to sit opposite her. From this point in the room, you can see the party on the patio. They can also see you. Ivan doesn’t turn away from the dessert table, but you can sense his attention on you. You swallow. “We don’t need anything from them.”

“I agree,” Sarah says.

You blink. “What?”

Sarah laughs. It’s not her usual laugh that she shows the kids, gentle and fond and warm. It’s cold and a little sharp. You’ve only heard it once before when the snow finally melted, chasing the snow spirits away, and the town came to see what had become of the orphanage.

“You and I are a lot alike,” Sarah says. Her eyes drift somewhere distant. “Like you, I remember that Winter. I remember waiting for any sort of response to our pleas. I remember hearing nothing back. The helplessness I felt as our stores dwindled…” Her voice cracks. She shakes herself, swallowing hard. “Well. I don’t need to tell you what their lack of aid cost us.”

It takes you two tries to speak. Director Sarah feels the same way as you. “So why?”

“Why did I agree to the party?”

“Yes.”

“Because I need to forgive, not forget, if I want to fix my mistake,” Sarah says. Her lips thin. “I’m not perfect. Since I’ve been Director of the orphanage, there hasn’t been a single new hire. There have been no volunteers or extracurricular programs for the kids. I’ve kept us hidden.”

“You’ve kept us protected,” you say. Things under Director Sarah have always been better than what they were before. The kids are happier and brighter, and the pantry is always full. No one disappears in the middle of the night or dies under her watch. “We know you have.”

“I’ve tried,” Sarah says. She opens her hands, palms facing the ceiling. “I rebuilt the orphanage to be independent. I thought that if we were completely self-sustaining, we’d be alright. But in doing so I’ve hurt the children. The orphanage is not supposed to be forever. They need connections with people, with the town, for when they grow up.”

“That—” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You fall silent, your anger fizzling out in your chest. She’s right. As much as you want everyone to stay together, you know that can’t happen. What Sarah is saying isn’t wrong, but… “Today is supposed to be for the kids. Not for them to feel better about themselves helping the orphans.”

“The kids are having fun,” Sarah says. There’s a peal of laughter from outside as if to underscore her words. She smiles as she stands. “Kids includes you too, you know. Let me worry about the adults.”

You stand too. You know the conversation is coming to a close and that, soon, you’ll be expected to go out there with Sarah. “Um…”

“Yes?”

You nearly don’t say it. But the way Sarah is waiting for you to speak is so patient that you muster up the courage. “The innkeepers are here. They aren’t…?”

Again, you’re not sure what you’re about to say. There’s a sick fear in your stomach that they’re here to tell the Bahrs all about how awful you were when you with them. Maybe they’re looking for another kid to demand too much of. Maybe they’re here because, in the end, you didn’t mean anything to them and what happened between you and them doesn’t make a difference--

Even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, Sarah must. Her smile darkens. “I’ll take care of the adults,” she repeats. She smooths her hand over your hair when you follow her to the door. “Why don’t you stay in here for a moment? I’ll just have a word with the innkeepers.”

You wait in the parlor while Sarah joins the party. You twist your hands together to keep from picking at the embroidery on your sleeves. You almost want to stop Sarah from talking to the innkeepers. It was so long ago, before the Winter, it shouldn’t matter anymore. You’re being ridiculous to be so worried about them when there are bigger things going on. You—

Hera throws open the door to the parlor. Her braids are a little frizzy already and there’s a flush high on her cheeks. “Isla! We’re playing team tag and you’re the only one fast enough to catch Marie. Come on!”

You don’t have the option to say no. Hera yanks you by the sleeve out onto the patio. The guests are much more dispersed now, pockets of adults around this table or that. They’re not studying the kids now. They’re just watching them as they run to and fro across the lawn, bemused smiles on their faces.

Ivan cheers when he sees you. Like Hera, his face is bright red. “Isla!” he pants. “You’re on my team!”

Marie sprints past, her skirts hiked up to her knee. She runs as if she’s in full armor, strides long and shoulders square. You wonder if she notices no one is chasing her anymore. “It won’t be enough!” she cries.

Josiah is laying on the grass. He chucks his fist in the air. “Go, Marie! Go!” He gasps for breath. “We’re unstoppable.”

“You’re out,” Annie tells him crossly. She’s also laying flat on her back, but seems to be faring better in the breathing department. “You’ve stopped.”

“Shut it—”

You scan the crowd. You don’t see the innkeepers anywhere, not even near where the Lord is sitting. You look over your shoulder back towards the house just in time to see Director Sarah disappearing around the corner. She’s talking to someone just ahead of her. Is she escorting the innkeepers out?

“Isla?” Hera slips her hand in yours. Her eyes are knowing. “You okay?”

You clear your throat, aware of all the eyes on you. You tuck  some hair that’s escaped her braid behind her ear. “Just trying to decide which team I should join.”

Ivan cries out in dismay. “Isla, please!”

Grinning, you join the game.

-----

(part 1) (part 2)

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read the conclusion of Isla's tale before next week, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

Up this week is a continuation of my Cinderella Retelling, Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales

[writers-potion]

Writing Strong Opening Lines

This is the kind of information your first line should provide:

the name of the character (the speicifcity creates and illusion of reality from the get-go)

Notify that something bad is about to happen.

Provide a feeling of motion (it doesn’t neccessarily have to be the character moving)

Talk about a (small) disturbance to the character’s everyday life.

Types of Novel Openings

Action (in medias res)

Jump into the story with no delay - have something interesting happening.

“They threw me off the hay truck about noon."

2. Dialogue

Show conflict between the characters speaking.

“Isn’t it true you ahve a motive to lie?” / “Excuse me?”

3. Raw Emotion

Make readers sympathize with the MC, who is experiencing a strong, universal emotion (like sadness, anger, etc.).

“I do not look. I don’t ask where. I don’t because Annie’s mother died seven months ago. I stand motionless in the line, looking just like everyone else except for the hot tears that have begun to sting my eyes.”

4. Look-back Hook

Suggest that there is a not-to-be-missed story that’s about to be told

“The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years — if it ever did end — beganm, so far as I can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newsppaer gloating down a gutter swollen with rain”

5. Attitude

When using first-person narration, show some attitude and unique voice.

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

6. Prologues - entice the reader to move to chapter 1

Action Prologue: Start off with some big scene, often involving death

Framing a story - give the reader the view of a character about to look back and tell the story.

The teaser - present a scene at the beginning that will happen later on in the book

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee! ☕

Reference: <Write Great Fiction: Plot and Structure (techniques and exercises for craftin a plot that grips readers from start to finish)> by James Scott Bell

[lowkeyerror]

Basically My Boyfriend

Jennifer Check x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Notes: Reuqested, friends to lovers, smut, fingering, cunnulingus, virgin!reader

Summary: It’s a Friday night and Y/n and Needy are spending it bored in Jennifer’s room. When Needy mentions she passed on date night for it, Jennifer and Y/n push her to go. This leaves Jennifer and Y/n alone for the night, and something that started as a joke between the two quickly transforms into something more.

An: First request in forever hope its alright 🫣

Etc. Masterlist | More Jennifer Check

For being a girl as popular as she was, it was assumed that Jennifer Check would have more friends than she would know what to do with. Even despite her bitchy attitude, the attention she garnered from her looks alone was good enough reason to want to be around her. The thing is that Jennifer wasn’t stupid she knew that people would use her to gain social standing. It’s part of the reason that Jennifer didn’t really “do” friends.

The people that were close to her had been close to her for as long as anyone could remember. Needy and Y/n were the only real friends that Jennifer had. She liked it that way.

Jennifer didn’t need to explain herself to the pair, she didn’t need to dumb herself down, and she didn’t have to pretend to be nice. She could just be herself, which was seeming like more of a luxury these days.

“Jen, hello? Earth to Jennifer Check, where’d you go? I think we lost her Annie,” Y/n was waving her hand in front of the brunette’s face, while talking to the blonde at her side.

The three of them were piled into Jennifer’s room, on a Friday night.

Jennifer’s back hit the bed, “I’m so bored, we should’ve went to the bar tonight, I heard Low Shoulder was going to be there.”

“Not a chance. Annie and I would’ve been miserable while we watched you go play groupie to those losers,” Y/n follows suit lying flat on the bed.

“Needy knows how to party, besides she could’ve brought her boy toy.”

Needy rolls her eyes, but lays on the bed too, “You know I don’t like it when you call him that.”

“Precisely why I do it Anita,” Jennifer comments.

Needy lets out a sigh, “You know I canceled a date for this and he was really cool about it.”

Jen and Y/n sit up at the same time and say, “You what?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It’s only 8, you have time. Tell him to come pick you up,” Y/n says looking at the blonde.

“But I already told my mom I was sleeping over,” Needy whines.

Jennifer gives the girl some words of encouragement, “You are going to sleep over… just at Chip’s. Now call your boy toy, first tell him to thank us, and then tell him that you should see a movie tonight.”

Just as the pair instructed Needy calls her boyfriend and he says that he's on his way.

“Are you guys sure you’re ok with me bailing?”

Y/n nods, “Go get laid, Annie. One of us deserves to tonight.”

She shoves your shoulder, “ Shut up you’re starting to sound too much like Jen.”

The dark-haired girl laughed, “Well you didn’t say she was wrong.”

Whatever snarky remark Needy was going to say dies as her phone rings. Chip is outside waiting for her.

“Remember, if he doesn’t give head, he’s better off dead,” Jennifer says as she pushes Needy out of the house.

“Meet us for breakfast tomorrow, the usual spot?” Y/n suggests and Needy nods.

“I’ll see you guys later.”

Jennifer and Y/n wave to her as Chip drives off in the direction of the movie theater.

“And then there were two,” Y/n says.

“You’re such a predictable nerd, I knew you would say that,” now it’s Jennifer rolling her eyes at you.

“Hey, need I remind you that you picked this predictable nerd to be one of your two friends. The other which is almost the same predictable nerd,” Y/n says as they walk back up the stairs.

Jen scoffs, “You’re nothing like Needy. For starters she’s with her boyfriend tonight, while you’re here with me.”

Y/n is quick to counter, “You’re basically my boyfriend anyway.”

“Oh am I?”

Y/n nods as they re-enter Jennifer’s room, “Yup.”

“And what could have possibly led you to this conclusion?”

Y/n jumps into Jen’s bed, “Well it’s Friday night and you have me in your bed.”

“You haven't heard of a hookup?”

Y/n closes her eyes briefly, “You like me too much for it just to be a hookup.”

Jen doesn't respond, instead she lets her eyes roam Y/n's figure. She’d be lying if she said the thought hadn’t crossed her mind once or twice. Y/n was in a way, exactly her type. Maybe a little more dorky than She'd usually go for, but Jen thought Y/n’s loser tendencies were endearing.

So, as she found herself alone with girl on a Friday night, no Needy, and no parents; she thought she'd try something.

Jennifer climbs onto the bed and straddles Y/n’s waist. The weight on her, made the girl open her eyes. She was slightly startled as she looked up at Jennifer.

“Maybe you’re right, definitely wouldn't call you a random hookup,” Jennifer’s face took on a look that Y/n had only seen her give other people.

Particularly boys that Jennifer would spend random nights with.

“What’re you doing ?”

Jennifer flips her head to the side, “We’ve known each other a long time, right Y/n?”

“Right,” the girl beneath her speaks breathlessly

“Have I ever told you how hot I think you are?”

Her hands reach for Y/n’s, guiding then to sit first on her thighs before sliding them up to her hips.

“Jen,” Y/n audibly gulps.

The dark-haired girl, giggles before rolling her hips down on Y/n. The dorky girl’s hands tighten their grip on Jennifer’s waist.

“Fuck Y/n, don't you want me?”

“Jennifer,” Y/n says more firmly this time.

Jennifer rolls her hips again, “You’re really going to make spell it out for you, aren’t you? You know, I like you right dingus, I've wanted you for a while now. You’re a dork, but I want you to be my dork.”

“This can't be real?” Y/n’s confusion peaks through.

“Let me show you how real it is, Y/n,” Jennifer’s look becomes less predatory and more desperate.

Y/n’s face began to heat up, “Jen I haven’t-”

“I can teach you,” she speaks gently, her hand caressing Y/n’s face.

“Promise me this isn’t just a hookup or some fucked up game you’re playing with me,” Y/n’s insecurities poke at her.

Jennifer leans down, so she is mere inches away from the other girl. Her hair falls, tickling Y/n’s face. Her eyes are softer than Y/n had ever seen as their breath mingles together.

“I like you, genuinely; no bullshit. We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want-”

Y/n kisses her in the middle of speaking. It’s delicate and airy. A type of kiss that Jennifer isn’t used too. It takes the wind out of her.

“Be gentle with me Jen,” Y/n whispers against her lips.

She nods, “I’m going to worship you.”

Y/n feels her face heat even more. Jennifer connects their lips again. She holds back on the ferocity, but let’s the passion shining through the kiss. The sound of their lips colliding with each other and their shallow breaths made the room feel ten times hotter.

Y/n’s hand subconsciously left Jennifer’s waist to slink up and under her shirt. The skin there was cooler than she expected. Her touch was light but became even lighter as her hands skimmed over Jennifer’s bra.

Jennifer sits up breaking the kiss causing the girl beneath her to whine. Jen laughs at the sound before pulling her shirt over her head. Y/n’s eyes dilate at the sight of her abdomen. A small smirk tugs at Jennifer’s lips upon seeing Y/n’s reaction.

Her bra comes off next. Y/n’s eyes scale up Jennifer’s figure , lingering at her now exposed chest. As if she’s testing the waters the Y/n sits up. She keeps eye contact with Jennifer as she takes one of the more experienced girl’s nipples in her mouth.

She sucks lightly, closing her eyes as she runs her tongue across the stiff peak. Jen moans at the sensation nearly cradling the girl’s head further into her chest.

“Can I see you baby?” Jennifer says through her teeth, her free hand gripping the waistband of Y/n’s pants.

Y/n doesn’t answer her immediately, needing to give the other nipple the same attention as the first. She then trails hot open mouth kisses from Jennifer’s breast up to her neck stopping to whisper in the girl’s ear.

“Take it off.”

Jennifer doesn’t need to be told twice as she carefully removes Y/n’s shirt and pants as well. She pushes the girl to lay flat against the bed again. This time instead of straddling her waist, Jen stays near the foot of the bed, spreading Y/n’s legs open.

“You’re so wet for me already,” Jennifer sees the dampness through the other girl’s underwear.

She kisses up Y/n’s thighs, tentatively. She keeps eye contact as she gets closer and close to the Y/n’s cunt. Jennifer places some teasing kisses on Y/n’s clothed pussy, causing the girl to squirm.

“Can I-"

“Please,” Y/n begs before Jennifer even finished the sentence.

Her hip lift, encouraging Jennifer to take them off. Jennifer obliges sliding the soaked panties down Y/n’s legs.

“Fuck.”

The sight alone was enough to cause Jennifer to lose her composure. She couldn't take it anymore. She didn't hesitate to dive her face into Y/n’s pussy.

“Holy shit,” Y/n almost sits up as Jennifer’s tongue swirls around her clit.

Jennifer’s tongues moves fluidly through Y/n’s folds. Playfully going back and forth between teasing the entrance and sucking on the clit.

Jennifer vibrates with pleasure as your taste coats her mouth making her dizzy.

“You taste so good baby, can I put a finger in? I promise you’ll like it.”

Sweat covers Y/n’s forehead as she nods, “Fuck me.”

Jennifer slinks up Y/n’s body to connect their lips. Y/n almost cums as she tastes herself on Jennifer’s lips. This kiss is sloppier than the rest they shared but neither girl cared. The feeling was intoxicating.

While they kiss Jennifer slips her middle finger inside of Y/n. The girl mewls into Jennifer’s mouth. The dark-haired girl groans at how tight Y/n is around her finger. She could already feel the walls pulsating trying to pull her finger deeper inside.

“You’re so tight Y/n, have you even fingered yourself? Feels like I’m the first thing in here, fuck. I can’t wait to stretch you out, fill you up with a fat plastic cock. Have you moaning my name.”

“I haven’t Jen, I haven’t had anything but your finger inside of me. Fuck, add another, stretch me. I want to be good for you, Jennifer,” Y/n whines trying to gain for friction.

Jennifer listens to the girl and slowly pushes in another finger, she can feel Y/n twitching around her.

“Be a good girl and cum on my fingers,” Jennifer ‘s thumb begins to rub circles on Y/n’s clit.

Y/n falls over the edge, nails digging into Jennifer’s back as the only thing she could say was Jennifer’s name, over and over again.

Jennifer is carefully to bring Y/n down from her climax, not wishing to overstimulate her now. When she feels enough time has last, she removes her fingers from inside the girl.

She holds Y/n’s tired stare as she sucks the juices off of her fingers.

“Kiss me,” Y/n reaches for Jennifer, pulling her bavk down into a kiss.

“Addicting, isn’t it?” Jennifer pecks your lips again.

“Let me return the favor,” Y/n mumbles.

Jennifer can tell the girl is exhausted from her own orgasm. Though she would love nothing more than to have Y/n please her, she feels like it would be taken advantage of the girl.

Jennifer shakes her head, “Maybe later, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Y/n goes to protest, but Jennifer’s soft gaze on her, stopped any rebuttal.

After a quick shower both girls were back in the bed this time clean. They laid facing each other, their hands interlocked. It was Y/n who ended up pulling Jennifer into her grasp.

“I didn’t know you could be so… sweet,” you tell her truthfully.

Jennifer rolls her eyes, trying to distract Y/n from the blush that was building on her face, “You’re such a dork.”

“I think we already established that already. What we haven’t established is when you’re taking me out?”

Jennifer scoffs, “Why do I have to take you out? You could ask me out you know.”

Y/n shakes her head, “Nope, you’re the boyfriend. So you’ve got to ask me out.”

Jennifer huffs in faux-annoyance, “Fine, I’ll ask you out, but you’re explaining it to Needy.”

Y/n pecks her lips again, “Deal.”

[bhstoriesblog]

"Disgusting!" Ann scoffed at the computer screen. Her boyfriend had left tabs of porn open when he left. All of them lewdly exaggerated figures unlike her own. A pang of insecurity hit her. Closing them one by one she found each to be even more lewd than the last.

The final tab was a swirling pink video. She meant to close it but her hand moved instead to make it full screen. Her eyes locked on it as heat rose in her body. Seconds seemed like hours as she stared at the screen, nipples aching, hips digging into her jeans, lips tingling. She instinctively unbuttoned her pants and jammed her hand into her crotch as she fell to her knees sending her swollen tits bouncing, eyes never leaving the screen. She needed to cum and she needed to bounce as the video drilled into her mind and her fat tits pushed out the small cups of her bra.

*** 3 Hours Later ***

The front door opened as Ann's boyfriend came in.

"Hey I'm back babe," he said almost as a question.

Out of the bedroom bounced the bimbo of his dreams.

"O M G baby Annie totally needs some dick!"

"I take it you saw the video," he said with a smirk.

"Oh it was like, the bestest video evar. It made me feel so bouncy and my titties are sooo huge." From her fat lips, bloated tits, and thick ass she looked designed to be used for pleasure. The tight dress only amplified it with the sheen of wetness leaking between her legs, likely from playing with herself for hours, she looked and smelled desperate for a fuck.

Her boyfriend started to unbuckle his belt and before he could finish she was already on her knees moaning with his dick in her mouth, bobbing and bouncing to let the heaving weight of her chest slam him into the back of her throat. From now on she would be bouncing on or for dick because as the pink video told her.

A Bouncy Bimbo is a Happy Bimbo

[lecsainz]

May I request a Luke Castellan x reader who happens to be Annabeth’s older sister? They like each other, but they pretend they don’t. Thank you!

˒ ⌕ I THINK YOU’LL LIKE

parings: luke castellan x chase!reader

summary: that one where you're annabeth's older sister, and you and luke like each other but don't admit it.

an: YAY, I'M SO EXCITED FOR TODAY'S EPISODE! I think I might have lost my way in the writing 🤦🏼‍♀️. and if there are any grammar mistakes, forgive me 🙃

( last work || go to main masterlist )

You had woken up early that morning, expecting it to be like any other—getting up, getting ready, and heading to the arena to train the younger campers. You enjoyed the routine, especially passing by Hermes' cabin to catch a glimpse of Luke interacting so amiably with his half-siblings, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Determined to head to the training area, you were interrupted by a younger camper who needed help tying the laces of their worn-out sneakers.

"I thought you had this down, Claire," you said to the daughter of Hermes while expertly looping the shoelaces.

"I couldn't figure out what you did at the end," she murmured, glancing around as if expecting someone.

You eyed the younger girl suspiciously and proceeded to show her how to tie the knot. "Well, you just need to—"

"Hey, Y/N." Luke cut in as he jogged towards you.

Standing up, you turned to face Luke and saw him handing out sweets to Claire.

"I can't believe you just did that," you accused, pointing a finger at him.

"I didn't set anything up." He raised his hands, laughing as if surrendering. "I like your braid." Luke approached, tucking away a loose strand of your hair. "Suits you."

Feeling your cheeks warm, you stepped back from the brunette and crossed your arms.

"What do you want, Luke?" You asked curiously, starting to walk as you noticed some kids from your cabin heading in the direction you were supposed to be going.

Luke matched your pace. "Can't a dear friend want to see you?" He asked, and you felt one of your hands brushing against his as you walked side by side. "Actually, I-I..." He was interrupted by Annabeth calling out to you.

You both stopped, and Luke stepped back, scratching his neck as if embarrassed.

"Luke! Y/N!" You watched your sister come towards you. "Come on, Y/N, I've got a new tactic I want you to try with the bow," Annabeth said excitedly, pulling you towards the arena.

"Go on, then!" Luke waved to you. "Mind not hitting any campers with your bow, Y/N/N." He teased.

"You're an idiot, Castellan," you teased back, running off with Annabeth while hearing Luke's laughter.

The journey to the arena was short, but Annabeth wouldn't stop discussing the idea she had for the next capture the flag.

"He likes you," Annabeth halted before the arena entrance and stared at you.

You stopped and laughed at her. "He doesn't."

"He does," she insisted. "And you like him too." She slung her arm around your shoulder, amused because you and Luke were obvious to everyone at camp except yourselves.

"He's just a friend, Annie," you said as you both entered the arena.

The morning passed swiftly, not because you dwelled on what Annabeth had told you earlier or because Luke wanted to talk to you earlier. Soon enough, you found yourself alone in the arena, searching for your broken bow and arrows, supposed to be where you always left them but nowhere to be found today. Determined to fix it, you murmured, "I'm sure I left it here," while scanning through various other campers' bows.

"You left it here," Luke appeared behind you.

"Gods!" You startled, placing a hand on your chest and turned to him, annoyed.

"I didn't know I was that ugly to startle you," Luke said, leaning against a table nearby.

"You're not ugly, Luke," you mumbled softly, looking at him. "Wait what do you have behind you?" You asked, approaching him.

"Nothing," he murmured, turning so you couldn't see what he was hiding.

"Let me see, Luke," you stepped closer, trying to grab whatever he was holding.

Luke stepped back, and you stepped forward, causing both of you to collide and end up almost face to face, except for the height difference.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Luke spoke softly, and you wondered if you heard that correctly.

Summoning courage, you looked at him and locked eyes with his mouth. Luke released what he was holding, brushing a hand on your waist, pulling you closer. He looked at you, waiting for some sign of confirmation, and you stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Luke's hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in. Time seemed to stop as your lips met in a gentle yet fervent kiss, a mix of warmth and electricity passing between you.

When you pulled away, a gentle smile graced Luke's lips, and you were sure you were blushing. You rested your head on his chest, and he placed a kiss on your head. "I have something for you," Luke suddenly spoke and moved away to where he had hidden something. "That's why I wanted to talk to you earlier, but Annie showed up, and..."

"So, you used Claire to delay me?!" You accused, laughing, then stopped when you realized what he was holding.

"Don't blame me; I wanted to surprise you." Luke explained, and you couldn't help but find it endearing that he sought help to surprise you. "I saw it broken yesterday." He extended your bow towards you. "I tried fixing it myself, but I don't have the skills of a Hephaestus kid," he chuckled nervously. "I think you’ll like."

You took your bow from him, amazed at Luke's gesture. "It's perfect, Luke," you ran your hand over the drawings - more like scribbles - that weren't there before. "I love it." Surprising him, you hugged him, and Luke let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank you, truly."

Luke hugged you back, his arms enfolding you with a mixture of surprise and contentment. "Anytime, Y/N." he murmured, his voice soft.

You pulled away, holding the repaired bow with a newfound appreciation. "I can't believe you did this," you said, a smile lighting up your face. "You're more talented than you think, Luke."

He scratched the back of his head, a bashful grin spreading across his features. "Well, I had some inspiration." Luke's eyes met yours, holding a warmth that sent a rush of comfort through you.

"Thank you, Luke," you repeated, feeling genuinely grateful. "I owe you one."

He chuckled softly. "How about you owe me a rematch at capture the flag?"

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "You're on, Castellan."

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin’ Way To Start The Day

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy,

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The morning begins the same way it always does, with your neighbor Mike blasting "I Will Always Love You" in his apartment at exactly 8 am just as he had each day since you met two years ago. It was the only constant in your life, but at least you didn't have to use an alarm clock anymore. The sound of Mike belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs was enough to wake everyone in the whole building, including the people on the eighth floor, five stories above him.

But because Mike bought the super’s probably illegally made cologne and because the super was dating Mike’s mother, something that made you regret supe hearing very much, it never stopped despite the numerous complaints.

Then again it was Annie's favorite thing about sleeping over, she liked to scream the lyrics back at the wall and jump on your bed like a crazy banshee. Honestly you hoped that it would stop after Ben had pretended to be your boyfriend, that Mike would finally figure it out and give up.

Guess not.

You sit up in your bed, stretching your hands over your head while humming the chorus under your breath, but you were more of an ABBA fan. If Mike had decided to serenade you with "Take A Chance On Me" or even Aretha Franklin's "You're All I Need to Get By," you might have looked at him differently.

The memory of the dream of his mullet smothering you in your sleep momentarily passes over your mind, causing a shudder to travel down your spine. Or maybe not.

Your bedroom was similar to your living room, covered in plants. Trailing jasmine and bougainvillea blanketed the wall behind your bed in deep red and white, budding lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle sat in pots along the top of your dresser, and a blush colored rose bush, that never went out of bloom, stood proudly in the corner. The only difference was that there were two large piles of books almost as tall as your ceiling, some old some new, braced beside the rose bush like Roman columns. You kept trying to remember to buy a bookshelf, but each time you thought about going to pick one up, Butcher usually called and asked you to help out. Both piles were covered almost completely in pothos and more hung from the brick walls above your only window, that opened the floor length pale yellow curtains with a flick of your hand.

An annoyed purring sound greets your ears as the honeyed light from the now open window wisps over your covers. Bean, your cat, stalks up from the end of the bed, his yellowed eyes narrowed with annoyance at being woken up so early while his charcoal gray coat turns lighter in the brilliant sunlight. Last night he had been in your bedroom when you got home, which meant that he hadn't been around Ben when he came in.

A good thing, because Bean hated just about everyone except Butcher, which you thought was weird. But whenever Butcher dropped by to talk to you Bean always came over to look for rubs, while hissing at anyone who tried to interrupt them. Hughie was actually afraid of Bean, and because Bean was a cat he immediately picked up on this and purposely would jump on the couch next to Annie so Hughie couldn't sit there, Bean also followed after Hughie to the bathroom and waited outside the door to swipe at his ankles whenever he would come out.

But you didn't love him any less.

He puts his paw on your thigh lightly extending his claws to get your attention.

"Oh are you talking to me now?" You smile, rubbing him behind the ears. "I thought you were angry because I woke you up?"

He purrs and pushes his chunky gray head against your hand, but startles when the song switches to "My Heart Will Go On" which causes Mike's mother to join in to his karaoke session.

I'd move if my apartment wasn't so damn cheap.

"Maybe they should take the show on the road. Huh buddy?"

Bean purrs his response while pushing his head further into your hand.

His mom wasn't that bad of a singer, in fact, you thought that you remembered eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the super when she talked about a career as a cabaret singer a while ago.

"Come on, let's see if Gramps killed any of my plants." You smile down at your cat. "If he did I'm going to turn him into a tree."

Bean purrs in agreement.

You get out of bed, adjusting your shirt back down over your shorts before walking to the door with Bean following behind you. You step out into the cool hallway, with more enthusiasm than usual as you try to escape the butchering of the Titanic's soundtrack and collide into something warm and wet.

It takes you exactly seven seconds to realize that the warm, wet, thing that your face is currently stuck to, is in-fact Ben's chest, his shirtless chest. Why he's standing in the hallway outside your door, soaking wet and wearing a towel you have no idea. All you know is that your face is physically laying against the warm flesh of his pectoral muscles.

"Why are you NAKED?" You scream as you peel yourself off of him and turn your gaze away. Your face felt so warm that it was like you'd been standing in front of a volcano for too long and you were sure that you had blushed to the roots of your hair.

You'd only seen him without his shirt on once, when the door to his bedroom was cracked at the apartment he shared with the rest of the group. But it was from the back and you had been walking by to go to the bathroom, and you hadn't looked…

Well, you may have stopped for a second to admire the powerful muscles on his muscular back and maybe thought about waiting for him to turn around so you could see if the front was as good as the back… but you hadn't.

And he certainly hadn't been soaking wet then, and it made you hate him more now, because no one should look as good as he does soaking wet. You personally knew that you looked like a drowned poodle whenever you stepped out of the shower, but him? Soldier Boy looks like he just finished filming a shampoo commercial.

You could see it in your head, him standing under a crystal blue waterfall with the water splashing against weathered rocks before running through his soft brown hair, curving around his broad shoulders, down his toned stomach straight down to his-

NO. Not gonna go there. You could feel your skin heating in embarrassment, almost as if you thought he could read your mind.

"I'm not naked doll, I mean I could be if you wanted me to." He smirks as he hears your heartbeat begin to pick up and reaches for the end of his towel. The towel that was almost too small to wrap around his waist and left very little to the imagination.

"NO!" You shout holding up a hand to stop him, but again brush the front of his chest.

Fuck, you could zest a lemon on those abs.

"Are you sure?" Ben smiles wider, taking a step forward. He's so close that you can smell your grapefruit mint shampoo on him and feel the humidity and warmth of his body as he stands there. For some reason the fact that he used your shampoo, and smelled like your soap, made you feel warm and tingly. It was almost hypnotic. You hated how much you liked it. "Because you're turning that cute little red color you always do whenever I'm around, and your heartbeat is kinda fast."

"No. I don't." You grit your teeth together. "Why are you standing outside of my door naked?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you to come out." His hand presses against the doorway next to your head. "You know, I already took a shower, but if you wanted I'd be happy to get back in with you."

"No thanks. I don't need a shower and I wouldn't shower with you if it was the last shower on earth and I hadn't bathed in forty years." You purse your lips. "Oh right, that happened to you."

Ben frowns at your mention of his time in Russia. You didn't often tease him about being trapped in a lab, you knew that it was a sore spot for him. Plus you'd seen the footage of exactly what those doctors did to him and it was enough to make you want to book a one way ticket to Russia and personally show them what happened when a tree got shoved up your ass.

You open your mouth to apologize.

"I was going to ask if you have any other clothes here. Mine are still wet from last night." He raises an eyebrow, but the humor is gone from his eyes.

"Oh. Um. I can take a look." You turn and walk into your bedroom, trying not to feel awkward about bringing up the lab.

He was a jerk, but he didn't deserve a reminder of how shitty the last forty years have been.

Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had anything that would fit him. Ben was a lot bigger than you, taller and broader. You usually did wear things that were a little big for you, but you didn't think that Ben would fit in any of them.

Maybe I have something from when my brother was here last time.

Darren often dropped by when he was in the city visiting his friends or had a new "business" venture. The ones that never seemed to last and the friends that always seemed happy to spend the moan you "loaned" him for his "best idea yet" as he always phrased it. But he hadn't been by in at least a year.

"It's really green in here too." You hear Ben say under his breath.

You didn't think that he was going to follow you into your room, you thought he was going to stay in the hallway, but no, he had followed you. And he made the room feel even smaller than it was with his broad shoulders and over six foot stature.

The sunlight from the window glinted off his still wet chest and it made your throat uncomfortably tight. For the love of chocolate pudding, WHY does he look so good all the time?

"You can wait in the hall-"

"Wanted to see your bedroom." He smirks. "Though I think that you wanted to show it to me last night-"

You ignore him and turn back to your chest of drawers while Mike and his mother switch to "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. You wince as they begin.

"Do they always do that?" Ben asks.

"Yep. Since I moved in." You sigh, shuffling through your t-shirts.

"He's really got it bad Sweetheart. Maybe you should throw him a bone. Kinda seems like the poor guy needs to get some ass-"

"If it's any of your business- which it's not- I do not like him that way."

"Well they're a little loud." You feel Ben take a step closer to you. "But I bet you and I could give them a run for their money. We are in your bedroom after all, might as well make the most of it."

"I didn't know that you liked Karaoke. I'll keep that in mind for you 105th birthday party."

"What? No I meant-"

Bean purrs loudly from his position on your bed and you wait for the telltale sound of Ben shooing him away when Bean tries to puncture Ben's impenetrable skin with his claws, but it doesn't come.

You glance over your shoulder. Are you kidding me?

Bean is sitting on your white plush comforter, rubbing up against Ben's hand, purring while Ben scratches him behind the ears.

Traitor.

"Didn't know you had a cat." Ben says continuing to stroke his hand down Bean's spine, who stands up and turns so Ben can have a better angle.

"I didn't peg you for a cat person. Kinda ruins the whole all-American Man image you have going on."

He shrugs. "I like dogs more, but I don't hate cats. Usually they don't like me very much."

"I wonder why that is." You grumble watching Bean lean into Ben's hand again. "His name is Bean."

"Bean? Why?"

"Because when I got him I was trying to grow green beans in the linen closet and he would sit outside the door and screech until I gave him a green bean to play with."

"You were trying to grow green beans in the linen closet?"

"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea, but they like the bathroom more-" You finally find the oversized Led Zeppelin shirt your brother left the last time he crashed at your apartment and a pair of jeans. "A lot of my plants like the bathroom more actually."

"I was going to ask you why the bathroom floor and wall was squishy."

"It's moss. It thrives in humid environments." You hold out the clothes for him.

"Uh-huh." He frowns at the clothes for a minute. "So you're saying you wouldn't want a guy to serenade you like that?" Ben nods his head towards your bedroom wall, just as Mike and his mother begin to belt out the chorus. "Thought girls liked sappy shit."

"I'm not a fan of One Direction."

"Right. You like ABBA more." Ben turns towards your door to go back to the bathroom to change.

Shock momentarily spikes in your chest. "How did you know that?"

He freezes as if you caught him doing something bad, turning slightly towards you. "Um- well, you hum their songs a lot."

"When?" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Whenever you're on stake outs. Sometimes when you're reading those files or waiting for Annie at the apartment." He shrugs. “When you were walking last night you were humming ‘Fernando.’"

He noticed that?

"How long exactly were you following me?"

"Long enough." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to keep me talking because you want me to change in here? Because I would be more than happy to drop this towel and show you what a real man looks like Sweetheart."

"Don't flatter yourself Gramps. If you drop that towel the only thing that'll happen is Bean will think you brought him a green bean to play with." You roll your eyes. "Now get out of my room. I have to change."

Ben begins to say something, but the vines hanging above the door push him out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

That felt good.

After you put on a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of jean overalls and your dark green converse, you make your way out into the living room. Ben is there, lounging on your couch like he owns it. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt you gave him, but you can't help but notice how the clothes are just a little too small for him. The way his muscles pull at the t-shirt, the way the jeans hug his thighs and butt-

He's getting way too comfortable here. You think to yourself to avoid the thought of how good he looks on your couch. How it almost feels natural that he's sitting here in your living room, inhabiting your space.

"So what's for breakfast doll face?" He leans his head back to gaze at you with a mischievous smile that makes a warm tingle travel down the length of your spine.

"Well, I'm going to have oatmeal and you're going to have whatever you want I guess?"

His eyes darken. "Whatever I want?"

"Calm down Gramps I meant that there's cereal in the cabinet." You roll your eyes to avoid thinking about the kiss last night and then thinking about how it felt for your body to be pressed against his in the hallway when you ran into him.  Which inevitably leads back to the waterfall fantasy and-

No. No. Not going to do that. Not with him. He's just good at getting women into bed, he doesn't care about you. You think about how he remembered that you liked ABBA. That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't see me as anything more than a conquest and he probably remembered that because he's changing tactics and trying not to act like a creep.

“You’re not going to pour me a bowl?” His smirk pulls down in an attractive pout.

“I think it’s simple enough for your little brain to do.” You don’t turn around from the kitchen cabinets, grabbing a raspberry from the refrigerator and popping it in your mouth. For some reason you noticed that whatever you grew tasted better than anything you bought at the grocery store. You hoped that it didn’t mean that your powers supercharged whatever you grew and that it was actually radioactive or something. 

Because that’s exactly what I need, to turn bright green. 

“There’s nothing little about me doll.” 

“Can’t you ever have a conversation with someone without it revolving around sex?” You grumble banging around in your cabinets to find your instant oatmeal. 

It was a valid point and you were tired of getting whiplash every time Ben acted caring and then flipping back to horny manchild.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben laughs. He stands from the couch and makes his way into your kitchen.

It was hard not to notice how small each room in your apartment looked with him in it. His head was only a foot below the ceiling, not to mention the kitchen was only composed of six cabinets, a small sink, a microwave shoved into a corner, a stove top, and a refrigerator that only came up to Ben’s shoulders. Your bathroom was worse, sometimes the shower was small even for you and you didn’t know how Ben fit in there. 

He probably had to duck down to stand under the shower head. 

And then as you thought that, the image of Ben standing under a waterfall comes creeping back, making the strawberry plant on top of the fridge, the raspberry vines, and the blackberry vines covering your refridgerator burst into bloom.

Thankfully Ben didn’t notice, because he was rooting through the white top cabinet in the corner for one of the cereal boxes. 

I’d never hear the end of it if he saw that happen. 

You glare at the plants in question, eyes shifting to a deep green as the flowers develop into fresh fruit to cover your slip. 

Ben pulls out a box of Lucky Charms, but frowns at Lucky on the front cover, who is throwing a handful of marshmallow charms into the air around him. 

Guess he's not a fan.

 “If I’d known you were going to sleep on my couch I would have gotten Bran flakes and prunes for you.” You smirk as you pour water over the oats in the bowl before placing it in the microwave to cook. “I know people your age need that kind of thing sometimes. Gets the bowel moving.”

“Make fun of my age all you want.” Ben steps around you to grab the almost empty bottle of milk from your refrigerator. “One day you’ll be happy to find out just how experienced I am.”

“Keep dreaming.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “You’re all I dream about baby.”

You can feel his breath on the side of your neck from how close he is to you, the kitchen seems smaller than it ever has, and he leans forward, sensing your hesitation. One of his hands goes on the kitchen counter to your right, the other places the milk down and then braces on the counter to your left caging you against him. 

“Do any of your lines actually work?” You say, throat tight.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirks wider, green eyes sliding up and down your body. 

 The air in the kitchen electrifies, something passing through the air between the two of you that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His eyes are softer green now, reminding you of the color of fresh leaves on an oak tree in spring, bright, strong, and full of life. His body is pressed gently against yours, the strong muscles of his abdomen laying on your hips, muscular arms making sure that you don't walk away.

You try not to think again about how good he looks in your apartment, how calm and relaxed he seems when he’s away from Butcher and not wearing his uniform. 

Standing here in your apartment, he looked normal, human. Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were, when you could do what you did, when you saw him get hit with a car and shove it away with one hand. 

He was still ridiculously attractive, the kind of attractive that you’d read in romance novels and in classic Roman literature, the kind of beautiful that people wrote poetry about, the kind of ruggedly handsome that made smart girls stupid. 

You were really feeling that last one. Because you were desperately trying to hold on to your dream of being with someone that understood every part of you, but Ben was making it hard.

It wasn’t that the idea of sleeping with him was terrible. It wasn’t. It was far from terrible it was the idea of having sex without feelings that you didn’t like. You didn’t want to sleep with him because you knew that he only saw you as something to be possessed not as an equal or someone he cared about. Soldier Boy only cared about himself, that was apparent.

He’s only interested in you because you haven’t given in. You think to yourself. It's all about the thrill of the chase, nothing else. I'm worth more than that. I'm worth more than one night.

“In fact, I think it’s working on you doll.” Ben leans down towards you so close you can feel his words in the air between your faces, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say no.

That made you pause. Ben didn’t seem to be the type of man who was patient. You’d walked in on him making out with numerous women on the couch back at the apartment he shared with the rest of the team, saw how he took control, saw how he didn’t seem to wait for them to say no or really say anything at all. Not to mention one time when you walked into the shared apartment and could hear Ben with one of his "dates" in his bedroom. Nothing about that seemed patient at all.

But this Ben standing in your kitchen was different. He was almost smiling, dark hair still damp from the shower curling on his forehead, the t-shirt damp around the collar, jeans a dark blue, and the smell of your shampoo fills your senses again all over again. It made you wish for this person all the time. The one that you could see yourself falling in love with, not the racist, sexist, and inappropriate jerk that seemed to dominate his persona at all other parts of the day.

Funny, the only time you’d ever seen Ben like this, was when the two of you were alone- well sometimes- other times he annoyed you without end and made you want to jump out a window. 

But why? Why only around me?

The feeling in your chest grows. It jumps from synapse to synapse, pulses along your skin, buzzes in your blood, tangles through your hair, and radiates through the air like a sound wave. Your eyes drift down to his lips remembering exactly what it was like to kiss him last night. How he seemed to consume you whole, how everything else fell away, how Ben curled himself around you, how he-

Your cell phone rings, breaking through the moment, and making you remember exactly why you didn’t want to give in to Ben and remember the kind of person he was. 

You push him away and pull your cellphone out of your pocket. Butcher's photo and name appear on the screen.

Shit.

"Hey Butch, what's up?" You look away from Ben, forcing yourself to calm your racing heart.

Ben perks up at the mention of Butcher’s name.

“Do you have any idea where Soldier Boy is?”

“Soldier Boy?”

“Seems like our blunt smoking man out of time has vanished. Been trying to text him all bloody morning.”

At least he doesn’t know that Ben is here. That’s good. I’d never hear the end of it if-

Ben snatches the phone from your hand and holds it up to his ear. “What the fuck do you want?”

The softness was gone, his eyes had hardened again, and the spell was broken. Ben was no longer relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and guarded, jaw set.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Ben didn’t like Butcher. Sometimes you wondered why Ben decided to stay.

Probably because the alternative was being frozen like Han Solo next to his son.

When Ben had knocked Homelander out, you hadn’t believed it, and despite Ben’s arguing Butcher wanted to keep Homelander a supe, and just put him on ice. You had no idea why, especially since Butcher had been gunning for him forever, but had the sneakiest suspicion that it was because of Ryan.

But you didn't blame Butcher for that, watching your father get killed in front of you seemed traumatic, not to mention Ryan was still reeling from watching his mother die.

You turn back to your microwave to pull out your bowl of oatmeal with a groan.

Now Butcher’s going to mock me endlessly about going home with Soldier Boy. We didn’t do anything! Well…

Your mind flits back to the searing kiss you shared and to five seconds ago when whatever the hell just happened.

“You want me to meet you in fucking Jersey?” Ben laughs.

You choose not to eavesdrop on the conversation, instead you busy yourself with sprinkling brown sugar onto your breakfast and plucking a few more raspberries from the vines.

“Fine.” Ben almost growls before holding out the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Of course he does. Maybe I can pretend to lose the signal with a piece of paper or a candy wrapper.

“Hello-“

“You crazy wanker.” Butcher chuckles into the phone. “Guess your night was a little more exciting than mine eh? Oi Hughie, you owe me a tener!” He shouts to Hughie who you can guess is sitting nearby.

“What? He’s with y/n! No way!” You hear Hughie shout back, muffled but there.

Damn it he’s gonna tell Annie. She's going to start sending me pictures of babies photoshopped in supe suits.

“You guys were betting that he was here?!” You shout making eye contact with Ben who only smirks before he busies himself with getting a bowl for his cereal.

“He left about two minutes after you did. Said some bullshit about a smoke break.” Butcher is smiling and you know it. “How was he? Was he as good as all the girls say?" Butcher coos on the other side of the line.

“Nothing happened-“

“Sure it didn’t Cherie!” You hear Frenchie crow. “Hopefully you got to relieve some of that tension no?”

“I hate all of you.” You grumble, and before Butcher can say anything else you hang up the phone and glare at Ben. “This is your fault.”

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“You just had to follow me home!”

“You shouldn’t have been walking out there alone.”

“I do it all the time!”

“Not anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.”

"Like hell. I don't need a babysitter!"

"I think you do-"

"No I don't. In fact why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" You shout, snatching your bowl of oatmeal before moving to the wobbly kitchen table that you smooshed up against a window that looks out onto your fire escape.

"Because I tend to like morning sex. It's a great way to start the day. Thought you'd be interested." Ben winks as he sits across from you, barely fitting in the wooden chair.

Your phone buzzes where it sits on the table beside your bowl. When you flip it over, you see the text from Annie.

Annie: YOU SLEPT WITH SOLDIER BOY?!!!!

You: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.

Annie: That's a yes. TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!

You sigh and shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth, eyes drifting up to the top of your phone screen focusing on the time.

"SHIT! I'm late for work!" You shout before shoving as much oatmeal as you can into your mouth.

"Work?" Ben looks up from his bowl of cereal confused as you begin to run around the room.

The half-eaten bowl of oatmeal falls into the sink with a resounding crash, Bean's cat food lands haphazardly in his bright green food dish, and you practically run to your tote bag that hangs on a peg by your front door.

"I told you. I work at a plant shop." You glance back at your barren coffee maker mournfully. The thought of trying to get through the day without coffee seemed impossible, not to mention you didn’t have time to grab one on the way to work from your favorite shop just around the corner.

"I thought you were joking."

"No. Some of us have to work for a living." You run your fingers through your hair quickly pulling it back in a loose ponytail.

"You should leave your hair down." Ben says from the table watching you.

"What?"

"It's prettier when it's down."

"I don't have time for your misogynistic comments. Come on let's go."

"What?"

"I'm not going to leave you here in my apartment alone. You don't have a key."

"You could give me yours-"

"HA. No that's not going to happen. Come on." You tug on his muscular arm, trying to get him up out of the chair, but he barely moves.

“You know you could call out of work and we could spend the day in bed.” He smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “I mean you look good baby, but I think you'd look even better naked. Plus, Butcher and the rest of those fuckers already think we slept together so we might as well-“

“Not a chance Gramps. Either get up out of the chair and leave through the door or leave through the window. It’s your choice and I have no qualms with throwing you down to the street. But please don't make me do that because I can't afford a new window."

Ben rolls his eyes, but finally gets up to follow you. He actually tries to open the door for you, but you place your hand on his chest.

“Nah uh uh. Bowl in the sink. I’m not going to clean up after you.”

Ben sighs and mumbles something under his breath that’s lost in Mike’s inhuman screech of “Love on Top.”

Yeah. What a great fucking way to start the day.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

(Photos for series picture found on Pinterest)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro

[wlwsoccerfics]

Trouble (FC Barcelona Femení X Putellas/Barca Reader)

Warnings: b*llying, injuries, Foster Care mentioned

Summary: your Mom gets a call from school Case they Wonder where you are or If your Mom Just forgot to call in sick for you.

It was just a normal day. Which for you didn't mean it was a good one. You were supposed to be at school. Cause that's actually where your Mama Alexia had dropped you off.

But as soon as her car was out of sight some of your bullies walked over. They hated you for no reason. Always calling you stuff that could be translated to 'orphan annie' or something close to that. Alexia had adopted you three years ago. You were 12 years old back then. So you had Family now but they didn't seem to care about that. Your bullies didn't hesitate to get physical either. Usually it's just you being pushed. Which was already bad enough but today it was even worse. They basically dragged you into a corner of the bathrooms inside and no one seemed to care.

They threw some punches and kicks and took your Phone away. Throwing it on the floor. Stomping on it so it broke. They left you with what was gonna be a black eye , bruises on your face and your ribs & a bloody nose. You were an athlete but you knew you couldn't have taken on all 6 of them. That was just not realistic . Your bullies also said they would do worse things if you tell on them.

You stayed in the bathroom until classes started before you managed to leave without anyone seeing you. Hiding away by the beach. There was a place that was always quiet. Cause it was hidden away. You sometimes used to sleep there when you were still in the Foster system. You were hugging yourself. Knees pressed against your chest, tears streaming down your face. Your breathing became uneven and you were having a full on Panic Attack around a Minute later. All you wanted was your Mami or one of your aunts to tell you that things would be okay. But you were all alone. Scared and in pain.

At the same time at school everyone claimed they didn't see you. Including your bullies. Bad for them cause the teacher found it weird that your Mami didn't call to sign you out for the day. Because the rare Times you missed school were always excused by Alexia. So what the teacher did was call your Mami, who was concerned and surprised Hearing this.

"Sí, estoy segura de que estaba en la escuela. ¡La dejé allí!(yes I am sure she was at school. I dropped her off!)" Your Mami replied, she was pretty sure you wouldn't skip school. But she could be wrong. Which was why she said she would make her way over to school to see what they can do to find you. Cause the last time your phone was on was on school grounds. twenty minutes after your Mama had dropped you off. Alexia was out with Mapi, Ingrid, Ona & Aitana. So they all joined her. At school they found her smashed Phone on the restroom floor.

"¡Eso es malo!(that's bad!)! Mapi said once they told them about the Phone.

"Lo es. Tenemos que encontrarla.(it is. we have to find her.)" Aitana answered.

"Algo debe estar muy mal. ¡Estoy preocupada por mi pequeña niña!(something must be very wrong. i am worried about my little girl!)" Your Mami always called you her little Girl. Didn't matter that you were in your teenage years.

"¡Encontraremos a nuestra sobrina!" Ona stated. Ingrid nodded her head in agreement.

"yes we will!" She said.

While they stood there a girl walked over to them. She was also a target of the Girls who bullied you.

"Hola, eres la mamá de y/n, ¿verdad?(hello, you are y/n's mom, right?)" She asked Alexia. The other Girls looking at her.

"Sí, lo soy. ¿Por qué?(yes I am. why?)"your Mami answered.

"Hay algunas chicas que la intimidan.(there are some girls that bully her.)" She explained.

"¡¿disculpe?!(excuse me?!)" Ona replied. Everyone looked at the girl. They were shocked, sad and angry.

"A mí también me intimidan, entre algunos otros.(they bully me as well. among a few others.)" The Girl explained the situation to them and she told them their names, saying that she saw that they also cornered you this morning and dragged you to the bathroom. It's what they do alot.

"¿cuales son sus nombres?(what are their names?)" Ingrid asked. Your mami and aunts didn't know whether to cry or go and give the bullies a piece of their minds.

The girl gave them the names of the bullies and also her own so they could use her Name talking to the principal about this. She revealed that her name was Marisa. They thanked her. Ona & Aitana went to talk to the principal while Mapi, Ingrid and your Mami went to look for you.

Your Mami thankfully had the right idea and knew about the hiding place you used to sleep at before she took you in and adopted you.

She saw you sitting there, leaned against the rocks. You eyes were closed now & and you tried fighting sleep, the pain, crying and panic attack made you feel exhausted.

"y/n!" Your Mami yelled and ran over to you. Followed by Ingrid & Mapi. You managed to look at them and you could tell how shocked they were. All three of them close to tears.

"Mami, tías, me duele.(Mami, aunties, It hurts.)" You told them. Sniffling softly.

"Estas segura ahora(you are safe now.)" Mapi replied to you texted Ona & Aitana to let them know that they found you. Your Mami picked you up and you winced. She kissed you forehead.

"Nosotras vamos al hospital!(we are going to the hospital.)"

"it all will be okay!" Ingrid told you.

"Gracias por ayudarme.(thank you for helping me.)" You whispered out.

"Mi pequeño amor, no tienes que agradecernos, somos tu familia.(my little love, you don't have to thank us! we are your family.)" Alexia told you. You could tell your Mami was blaming herself for this. Even though this wasn't her fault.

At school the principal suspended the girls and Ona had informed them that they would hear from the Police for what had happened. Mapi had told them in the text, that you looked all banged up. You were on your way to the Hospital now, Mapi driving. Ingrid in the Passanger seat while your Mami sat in the Back with you. Holding you close without hurting you more then you already were.

The doctor at the hospital checked you over and got some X-rays on your ribs done. Turned out that you had two broken ribs from them kicking you. Your nose thankfully wasn't broken though.

You were sent home with the order to rest up, ice your ribs and nose. Also pain meds were given to you.

Ona and Aitana met you there. A Police officer was also there and you told them what had happened. They also went to Marisa.

Your Mami helped you to take a shower before you got to rest in bed. Having a right grip on Alexia so she couldn't get out of bed.

"Mami, por favor quédate.(Mami, please stay.)" You told her, sniffling softly. She kissed your forehead.

"Está bien, cariño.(okay, sweetheart)" She whispered out and held you close.

A few days later you felt a bit better but still had to rest and you weren't allowed to do anything physical. So no Football for you. Which sucked cause you just made your debut with the Senior Team, playing with your mami and aunties.

There also would be legal consequences for your bullies but you had No Idea what they would be.

But one thing you knew for sure. You could always count on your Family.

[sansaorgana]

— THE SERPENT QUEEN

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — The Queen of The Southlands is Adar's prisoner in Mordor but her husband comes back to set her free. At least that is what they want other people to believe. In fact, they seek their revenge on the Lord Father of the Uruks and they certainly are up to no good.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The idea for this story started quite simple – Halbrand looks so hot in this episode that while rewatching I thought... what if he was like "set my wife free" instead of "let my people go"...? 🥵 And in the end the story grew much bigger plot-wise and it's quite long but I didn't want to split it in two parts because I feel like more interesting things are happening later in the story. 🙈🤣 The Reader is a Maia and she changes her forms but I did not describe how any of them look like except for a little detail that is a scar and I needed it for the plot. She is also a shape-shifter like her husband but she is known for being a serpent and she is referred to as (Y/N), which is her "Maia name" but I also gave her three other names, which are for her disguises and their meanings are explained in the fic. BTW there might be a second part to my Chrysalis fanfic! But I wanted to write something else first! 🦋

WARNINGS — Reader is not a good person, mentions of Morgoth's past abuse (towards her, Mairon and Adar), Reader is being beaten by the Orcs as their prisoner (she is a Maia, though, so it doesn't really damage her or anything... but still!), brief mentions of other prisoners dying (including children), Reader has a scar on her chest/breast, shape-shifting into a snake (can it be a tw?)

WORD COUNT — 8,500 (🙈)

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE SERPENT QUEEN

“Where did Halbrand’s wife ever learn how to use a sword?” Galadriel wondered after watching your little performance to show her that you indeed could pick the freshly forged weapon up and wield it.

You panicked at first, not knowing what to say, therefore you laid your eyes on your husband who was leaning on the wall with a smirk as he watched you. His tanned muscles, dirty from the forge’s grease, flexed in a very appealing manner as he smirked. After all, he was the master of deception, therefore you hoped he would come up with a good lie.

“That is how I fell in love with her, don’t you know?” He chuckled and shook his head, winking at you. “I started a tavern brawl once and there she was, showed up out of nowhere and pressed a knife to my throat, telling me to get out of her father’s tavern. She kicked my arse although I admit, I let her,” he added and you rolled your eyes.

“Bollocks,” you snorted at that. “Keep lying to yourself, Hal.”

Galadriel smiled at the story, however she remained vigilant.

“That does not answer my question,” she pointed out but you already felt more comfortable with lying since your husband had prepared the soil for it.

“My grandfather was a knight,” you told her. “A poor one that had been given some of his own land but he lost nearly all of his humble fortune because of gambling. He kept his sword, though, and I was his only grandchild. My old man never learnt how to wield it nor was interested in it but I picked it up quite fast. My grandfather was hesitant at first since I was a girl but he eventually gave in and taught me,” you added to make the story more believable. Galadriel, however, looked a little stunned while you grew frustrated. “Listen here, Elf, human women are stronger and more independent than you think. In the village not so far away from ours, there is this woman… Annie’s her name, am I right, Hal?” You looked at your husband with another made up lie.

“Aye, hard–headed Annie,” he nodded and Galadriel raised an eyebrow.

“She is a carpenter’s widow and when ol’ John died, Annie was left with nothing. She learnt the craft in a year and re-opened the workshop,” you told her and Galadriel seemed to be a little surprised but did not comment any further.

“Well, alright then, knight’s granddaughter,” she challenged you as she raised her own sword slightly to point its sharp tip at you. “Show me how you fight now. Holding the sword and waving it around is one thing but dueling with me is another,” she walked out of your house and you swallowed thickly, squeezing the sword’s hilt.

“Don’t overdo it,” Mairon squeezed your arm when you were on your way out. He leaned in to hiss it into your ear as he shot you a warning glance. “(Y/N), I mean it. Let her win in the end.”

You looked deep into his eyes without hiding your frustration and anger. 

“Oh? You think I would defeat her? Have you forgotten already?!” You snapped at him, lowering aggressively your white blouse from underneath your corset with your free hand to show him a scar on your breast.

The scar Lady Galadriel had left there the very last time you had duelled with her back in the First Age during the battle where she had known you under a different name and profession, which was one of Morgoth’s Lieutenants. The wound had been inflicted with a steel from Valinor and its pure light had damaged your physical form forever – no matter what shape you took, your form always had a scar in the very same spot.

Your husband looked at the scar and chuckled at the sight of it, which annoyed you further.

“Just go and do your thing but don’t make her suspicious,” he said and you fixed your blouse before following Galadriel outside but not without giving him a scolding look.

Mairon walked out of the building as well and leaned on another wall now but this time in the shadow of the building’s roof where he was able to watch your duel with the Lady of Light.

“Do not fret, it is but a friendly sparring,” she smiled at you.

“I don’t fret,” you emphasised and charged at her.

You were trying to keep your rage at bay and despite the centuries since your previous fight, you quickly found your rhythm again that resembled a gracious dance of two fierce ladies. Feeling your husband’s gaze upon you, not without feeling frustrated and humiliated, you stumbled a few times and let out a few groans of effort to look more human and less experienced than you truly were, hesitating here and there before making the next move even though it had been calculated and planned already.

The Númenorian commoners living on the same street as you and your husband these days froze in the middle of the pavement and abandoned their daily errands to watch the sparring between two foreigner women and what fascinated them the most was how this extraordinary duel was between a human and an Elf. But what they did not know was the fact that the fight in front of their eyes was even more special than they realised.

It was a fight between two old enemies and none of them was mortal. A duel between the Lady of Light, Commander of the Northern Armies of High King Gil-Galad and the Serpent Queen – the only female Lieutenant of Morgoth and then Sauron’s right hand and wife. You had been enemies with her for long centuries now and even in the songs and legends you had always been put against one another. However, that was something even she did not know of at the moment.

You finally landed on the ground, your shoulder blades hitting the pavement as you dropped your sword. She would probably win either way, which was something you had to admit to your own self bitterly, however this time you allowed it to happen much quicker than usual. The way you fell down on the ground hurt your human flesh, therefore you let out a whine and Galadriel’s eyes widened slightly. She visibly felt bad about the fierceness in which she had defeated you despite assuring you of the friendly nature of this sparring.

But throughout the fight you could feel her frustration growing when she had realised you were better than she had been expecting.

“Are you quite alright?” She asked, reaching out towards you with his hand. “You fought well. Your style reminds me of someone very powerful I had once known… Your grandfather must have been a grand knight.”

“I am fine,” you drawled out through your gritted teeth and grabbed her hand, allowing her to help you stand up while you picked up the sword from the ground. The people watching on the pavement were slowly going back to running their daily errands. “Do you think my skills are enough to fight the Orcs?” You asked, innocently.

“Yes, I think so,” Galadriel nodded with a furrowed brow and looked behind you to meet your husband’s gaze. “If your husband allows it, that is.”

“I don’t need his permission for anything,” you shrugged your arms.

“Of course,” Galadriel smiled softly. “But I’m sure Halbrand here would not want to lose you, Maira.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he approached you two and stood behind you before wrapping his strong arm around your waist. “She’s invincible, that woman,” he leaned in to kiss your cheek and you giggled. “My woman,” he added and you patted his arm playfully.

Galadriel kept smiling gently at the two of you. She was very glad her plan was working out and of course you had been making sure it would. Your husband had been playing the role of a man who wanted to have nothing to do with his heritage and you played the role of an insisting wife, motivating her man to do the right thing. A classic, old tale.

“The Southlands will prosper under your rule, of that I am sure,” Galadriel whispered with hope in her voice. “King Halbrand and Queen Maira. Your bloodline will be the bloodline of the great and righteous kings.”

“And queens,” you winked at her with a chuckle.

About that one thing you agreed with her, actually – The Southlands would prosper under your rule.

You would heal it, after all. And then you would be moving along to heal more realms and lands. Until all of Middle-earth would be nothing but perfect.

You were not sure if the volcano exploding was part of your husband’s plan. It probably was but as usual he had not told you everything and it frustrated you greatly. Either way, you had no time to discuss it with him as the dust and fire began to cause chaos and destruction. As the (self-proclaimed) Queen of The Southlands, you busied yourself with pretending to be a protector of your subjects, helping women and children to seek shelter.

The darkness and disarray made it possible for all the Orcs to break free and begin their slaughter as well. And somewhere amongst the messy battle, you were suddenly thrown on the ground with all force and attacked by the filthy creatures you had once led to the battlefield yourself.

Therefore, you knew perfectly well everything about how they were fighting and how they were thinking. Surrounded by darkness and chaos you could show the true potential of your abilities since Galadriel could not see you and find them suspicious. This way, you slayed quite a few Orcs but there were too many of them charging at you and, eventually, they kicked the sword out of your hand and held you by your hair, throwing your head back to expose your neck for the dirty blade of the biggest one amongst them.

“Mairon,” you called for him with your mind. You needed a rescue – you did not want to lose this flesh, which would separate you from your husband for another few centuries.

You had been patiently waiting for his return, hiding away from the Valar who wanted to find and judge you. If you lost your flesh now like he had once lost his, you would have to be away from him for a few more centuries. What a cruel fate it would be but perhaps that was the way for the gods to punish you from afar.

And how ironic it would be if you lost your wife because of the Orcs like your husband had once lost his as well. 

“Mairon!” You called for him again when the Orc’s blade moved closer to your neck.

Your husband, however, was busy fighting and perhaps he didn’t even sense your calling. There was only one thing you could do to save your flesh now, although it risked losing your disguise.

The human colour of your eyes subdued slowly and you allowed your pupils to narrow unnaturally as if you were a snake while one side of your human face swelled with thick, black blood flowing in your veins. The Orcs took a step back and looked at each other, confused. You quickly went back to your ordinary and innocent look, though, making them believe they had just experienced some sort of mirage.

They were only descendants of the ones who had been fighting by your side all the centuries ago before your army had turned their backs on you, leaving you in the middle of the battlefield to die from the wound Galadriel had inflicted upon you. Therefore, they could not remember you.

But, perhaps, the legend of the Serpent Queen was still being told between a father and a son amongst the Orcs. Amongst the Elves you were known as Lókë, too, just like your husband was known as Sauron. The Serpent and The Abhorred.

“I am Maira, Queen of The Southlands,” you breathed out the name of your human disguise to the Orcs, pretending to be as desperate as proud. “I am more valuable to you alive,” you added.

They were grunting between each other some things in the Black Speech, which you could understand perfectly but you pretended you could not. Finally, they agreed to let Adar decide your fate and you clenched your jaw at the mention of his name.

The one who had betrayed you and your husband. The one who had ordered the Orcs to leave you out to die in the battlefield where you had been fighting at the same time Mairon had been coronating himself. The war with the Elves had kept you apart on the day so important but you had been trying to remain hopeful – to win him a battle as his coronation gift and get your own coronation ceremony shortly after.

In fact, your husband had promised you that yours would be much grander and more beautiful if you had to have two separate ones. His had been supposed to be a humble one but yours would be the most breathtaking and splendid.

And after nearly coughing your lungs out after being wounded and naively left alone to die as if you were an ordinary mortal, you had crawled out of the battlefield, leaving a bloody trail behind you. And when you had arrived at your fortress, all you had found was Mairon’s dead body.

Knowing he would eventually come back to you, you focused on healing yourself and hiding from the outside world since now you had no army and no husband by your side, meanwhile the Valar had been searching for you. And all this time, you had been tempted to find Adar and seek your revenge but you knew your husband would not be happy that you had taken this from him. He had been the one personally slain by Adar, therefore the vengeance was his to take.

The Orcs put the shackles around your wrists and dragged you behind them to some shed where you were supposed to wait. And while you were on your way there, you finally heard him.

“(Y/N)?” You sensed a panic in his tone. “We are leaving, I am faking an injury. Where are you?”

“Go, Mairon,” you answered. “I am their prisoner and I am sure you can make an advantage of it,” you assured your husband with your mind. He was not replying for a while as if he was thinking about a new scheme.

“I will be back,” he only assured you after a while and you smirked to yourself.

“I know.”

Beaten and bruised, hair full of mud and dried out blood, you were dragged in shackles alongside other human prisoners and you were given no special treatment due to your status. Of course, despite the unpleasant experience of your human form, none of that could truly affect you because you were not bound to your flesh. 

If you truly were who you were claiming to be – a human common woman Maira – you would be long dead now, of that you were sure. In fact, you could see some of the humans dying out of exhaustion or injuries and they were mostly women and children.

Each time they were feeling worse, like the true Queen of The Southlands, you were begging for mercy and for help. And each time you were punished for that but of course nothing could damage your flesh permanently – except for pure Elven steel that represented the light of Valinor… but the Orcs did not possess such weapons, naturally.

They worked on some sort of a primitive settlement for themselves and the humans were required to help them. As a woman you were given a bit lighter jobs around and you were performing them although you wondered when would Adar finally grace you with an audience as you were gritting your teeth and wondering where your husband was and what was he doing.

And, finally, one day, while working alongside others, you spotted Lord Father taking a walk around the camp. He was talking to a few Orcs and nodding his head at their reports. 

You lifted your head up and Adar turned around this very moment as if he felt some sort of a connection between you two. Your eyes met and he tilted his head slightly when you were giving him a hateful look before going back to work.

After a short while, you were being beckoned over by the Orcs to approach them and Adar.

“You!” One of them called in his filthy, raspy voice. “Queen of The Southlands,” he addressed you with irony. “Come ‘ere, Your Majesty,” he emphasised the title as the rest laughed.

You straightened your back and walked up to them as much as the collar around your neck attached to a chain allowed you to. It was not enough, so Adar took a few steps ahead to stand closer to you and examine your face. You could feel your hatred for him growing and making your fists clench around nothing.

“What do they call you, Your Majesty? I believe your name has escaped me,” he started.

“Maira, my Lord,” you remained polite to pose as a person full of dignity no matter what circumstances were.

“Maira…” Adar hummed to himself and furrowed his brows. “The name sounds oddly familiar to me.”

Of course it did, what an idiot, you thought. You named your human disguise after your husband’s true name. And perhaps it had been a mistake, you had just realised.

“Named after my great-grandmother, I was,” you nodded at him. “I wanted to talk to you for a while now, actually. About the way you treat my people here. They need more food and water, better shelters at night, especially children,” you continued your play-pretend. “But I don’t think you want to talk to me about that, am I right?” You sighed.

“My children work as hard as your people. We all start with nothing here,” Adar pointed out and you clenched your jaw at his words.

“Yet your children walk freely and we have collars around our necks,” you told him.

“There is a price one must pay for being defeated,” he pointed out and lowered his gaze at the place where your blouse was torn, revealing a small part of your scar.

Adar furrowed his brows and lowered your blouse down with his cold finger as a shiver travelled down your spine and your heart began to pounder.

“My husband would kill you for that, my Lord,” you threatened but he ignored you.

“Where did you get a scar like this? I’ve seen you back there on the battlefield and you fought well, my Queen,” he addressed you with sarcasm, of course, “and you seemed to be experienced in combat.”

“The scar is not from any combat and I’ve been taught how to fight by my grandfather, he was a knight,” you answered his question but he kept staring at your scar and tilting his head. Was it possible that he could sense the source of the old wound? He was an Elf after all and what had poisoned you forever now was made out of Valinor’s light. “Aye, my Lord, the scar is from my past when I was a very young maiden and didn’t listen to my mama as I wandered around the woods on my own. Don’t worry, I defended myself and you should see the other guy,” you chuckled nervously and Adar finally raised his eyes to meet your gaze but he still looked unconvinced.

One of the Orcs approached him as he kept staring at you suspiciously. He whispered something into Adar’s ear and you could hear the word serpent as you realised that the same Orc had been one of those who had captured you before.

Adar nodded at him and laid his eyes upon you once more, this time even more intrigued than a moment earlier.

“My children claim you pulled a magic trick on them,” he pointed out and you had a feeling that denying it would only make it look worse for you, so you came up with another excuse.

Actually, you realised that lying was not such a difficult craft. So far, you had been mostly relying on your husband to prepare the soil for your deceptions but now, when he was not around to help, you found out it was not that hard to do it on your own.

“My grandmother was a witch, they say,” you remarked.

“You seem to be coming from a very interesting bloodline,” Adar smirked and you sighed.

“You want to talk about my ancestors, my Lord? Sure, why not. I feel myself invited for dinner then, but is it not rude to keep your guests in shackles?” You raised an eyebrow and his facial expression hardened immediately.

“Where is your husband, I wanted to ask?” He finally inquired what he had called you for in the first place.

“The hell would I know?” You shrugged your arms. “What do you need him for?”

“To send him a message that I have you,” Adar explained. “What other use are you to me if not a bargaining chip?” He pointed out. “If he doesn’t come for you, I can kill you easily and get rid of the burden.”

“He will come back,” you assured him with a head nod as your eyes became serious in an instant. “I don’t know where he is but he will not forsake me. You can expect him any day,” you added. “Not only I was left behind, my Lord, but his subjects, too.”

Adar nodded at you and dismissed you before walking away. You, however, stood still and kept staring at his back with nothing but pure hatred.

“What are you staring at?!” One of the Orcs barked at you. “Go back to work, whore!”

“You have no idea who you have just called a whore,” you only told him before turning around and going back to other prisoners. The Orc laughed at you. “Scum,” you muttered under your breath.

The day was windy and dark – like all days nowadays in the land that Adar had renamed to be Mordor. Mairon quite liked the sound of it and he thought he would not change it. Unless his wife would insist, of course. You hated everything that came from Adar, therefore you could want to change the name and he would not blame you.

If you two did not need the army of the Orcs so badly, you would probably insist on getting rid of them, too. That was how much you hated Adar and his children.

A few weeks you had suffered at the Orcs’ camp while your husband worked in Eregion with Lord Celebrimbor – pretending to be worried and heartbroken about his wife’s imprisonment, of course – but now he was finally back to free you and to continue his plan.

He had not been actually heartbroken – he knew his Serpent Queen was strong and truly invincible but he had been worried indeed. Worried that your impulsive nature had given your disguise away somehow during that time.

After turning himself in he was led in chains, with a collar around his neck, to see Adar alongside other humans captured on the way. He witnessed some people being killed for refusing to kneel in front of their new Lord and some being marked with burning iron for choosing to follow the new leader. As a man posing to be their King and protector, Mairon had to pretend to be sympathetic towards their fate.

“The King of The Southlands turned himself in, Lord Father,” one of the Orcs pushed him to stand closer to Adar who had been squinting his eyes at the man in front of him. “Says he wants to negotiate.”

“Is she alive?” Mairon asked as his voice broke a little although he knew perfectly well that you were – his sweet (Y/N), he could sense your presence from miles away now.

Adar hesitated before giving him an answer, visibly debating with himself inside of his mind.

“Worried about the witch, are you?” Adar finally asked and Mairon gritted his teeth.

What looked like him being angry at Adar for calling his wife a witch, was nothing but his anger towards you for being impulsive enough to earn such a title amongst them now.

“What are you talking about?” Mairon asked.

“Nothing,” Adar shook his head and chuckled. “She is alive and a burden to us all. Her wicked tongue and her big mouth surely are. If you want to take her, I am not going to ask for much in return. I will gladly get rid of your Queen,” Adar remarked and the Orcs laughed. 

Mairon moved uncomfortably. It was all a game, of course, but he felt real rage now at the disrespect these filthy creatures were showing to their rightful Queen.

“That is good to hear but I am here not only as her husband. I am here as the King of my people, too,” Mairon pointed out. “Let them go.”

The Orcs laughed again, which was something he had been expecting. Adar remained serious, though, and so did Mairon.

“...or yours will die,” he threatened, although as a human he was posing to be he could not do anything, of course.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be so angry with you for making too many hints about your real nature because he was giving in to the temptation himself now. It was simply impossible for creatures as proud as you two not to hint at your real greatness when you were forced to be humiliated by the circumstances.

Adar finally shook his head and snorted at Mairon’s threat.

“My people defeated the Men of these lands,” he said. “We defeated the Elves who came to their aid. We even defeated the allies, the Men from beyond the sea,” he stood up from his throne to walk up to Mairon. “There is no one left for us to fear.”

“There is one,” Mairon said to that, pretending to look hopeless and defeated. “Since Galadriel’s defeat, she sought out new allies,” he continued as Adar kept staring at him angrily but not without a hint of fear on his scarred face. “An ancient sorcerer and a Lady of Darkness, to instruct the Elves in forging a new weapon.”

The Orcs were visibly upset about the news as they looked at each other, worried.

“One you first told her about,” Mairon kept teasing to plant an idea inside Adar’s mind that he could be a source of his children’s demise. “A power over flesh,” he explained. “Do you remember those words? A power that will allow them to use your children as slaves in their army once more,” he finished his teasing. “I fled from them after finding out with whom the Elves wanted to forge an alliance,” he continued with the lie.

“Galadriel would never have anything to do with them. She spent long centuries fighting them and their evil,” Adar shook his head.

“Nothing brings people together as much as a common enemy. Perhaps she hates your children more than she hates them,” Mairon answered.

“Besides, they are both slain,” Adar chuckled nervously, trying to convince others as much as himself, therefore Mairon ignored that accusation.

“Set my wife free, let my people go, and I will tell you where they can be found, so you can destroy them and rid us both of their endless evil,” he made sure to sound a little frightened as well.

“No, Your Majesty,” Adar addressed him with irony as he moved even closer. “You will tell me everything you think you know of this sorcerer and his serpent whore now. Or I will spill the words from your throat.”

“If I die, all that I know dies with me,” Mairon pointed out. “You can’t kill me.”

“We’ll see for how long you keep that attitude,” Adar smirked before looking at one of the Orcs. “Bring her.”

You knew that your husband was back already, you could sense him for long hours now. However, you kept working as usual and pretending that you could not sense anything. The Orcs were already calling you a witch and you wanted them to think of you as an innocent village folk healer instead of a real sorceress with any grand powers because that would be too suspicious.

“You,” you felt a dirty hand grabbing you and turning you around as you nearly bumped into an Orc standing there.

“What is it?” You furrowed your brows, expecting him to inform you that you were free to go after your husband’s negotiations.

This, however, did not happen. Of course. Life would be too beautiful then.

You were dragged by the chain towards one of the wooden huts and thrown inside on the hard floor. You scratched your hands when you landed on it with your arms extended to avoid bumping your head.

“She is no part of this,” you heard a familiar voice and you raised your head as your eyes sparkled and a smile appeared on your face at the sight of your husband. 

He had a collar around his neck as well and he was as dirty and bruised as you were, chained to a wooden pillar. You wanted to run up to him but the chain around your neck was too short to be able to reach him as the Orcs laughed and they chained you to another pillar. This way you could face your husband but you could not touch him and what a great torment it truly was.

It was surely a torment much greater than the physical pain they were inflicting upon you to make him talk. And while they kicked and punched you, you dissociated – staring blankly at the wall and being grateful for the fact you were a creature powerful enough to be able to mentally leave your body like this.

“Stop it!” Mairon begged in a raspy voice as one of the Orcs kept his head still, forcing him to watch. When you laid your eyes on him once, you swore, he even faked a tear streaming down his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you heard his voice inside your head and it made you realise that the tear was not a play-pretend. Watching you being in pain was not something he enjoyed unless it was in your intimate moments – something rooted in love and mutual consent.

“I can handle that,” you answered. “What is your plan?”

“I will tell you when we are left alone by them. Can you endure a bit more, my love?” He asked, worryingly.

“I would endure centuries of that for you, Mairon,” you assured him. “I will, however, lose consciousness now,” you warned him so he would not be scared before you pulled the trick on the Orcs and forced your flesh to shut down, pretending to faint out of pain.

Enduring the pain they were causing you was easy. Watching them hurt your husband was worse even though you knew that his case was exactly like yours and none of the damage could truly take him down or become too unbearable. Watching his pain was still making your heart ache as you sobbed and begged them to stop while your head was being kept still and forced to observe like his head had been held earlier by them as well.

The Orcs were taking turns in tormenting you both and you already knew all of Mairon’s plan, which he had revealed to you when they had left you for the night, thinking you would sleep the injuries off, not knowing that rest was not something any of you needed.

One evening the Orcs brought a growling and snarling warg with a collar around his neck like yours and chained him to yet another pillar. He could not hurt any of you because of the length of his chain but they assumed his presence would make you more scared as they walked out laughing and wishing you a good night ironically.

“Aww, poor baby,” you sighed and leaned your head back on the wooden pillar behind you. “Look, my love, they keep him on such a short chain. It should be a crime,” you pointed out. “Shh, shh, sweetheart, it’s fine now,” you cooed to the warg and he barked at you angrily. “Oh, don’t be cross with me, it was not me putting you here!” You chuckled at him and took a look at your husband from the corner of your eye.

He was sitting up as well, leaning on his pillar and staring at you lovingly from between his ruffled brown hair with a soft smile.

“You’ve always liked them,” he whispered.

“What is there not to like about those big, hairy beasts that tend to bite?” You teased him with a wicked smile and he chuckled while shaking his head.

“Do you remember witnessing me like that for the first time?” He asked and you smiled at the memory.

“You stepped on me, my love,” you said and he laughed, therefore you pouted, “and I do not find it funny!”

“You were easy to overlook, my darling. You were a snake then,” he reminded you

“First of all, I was the most beautiful snake in the woods, so you should have spotted me immediately,” you teased. “Second of all, I was terrified, remember? It was the first time I transformed and I could not repeat it. I truly thought I would never go back into my old shape…”

“But then, a big werewolf stepped on you and you suddenly changed into the fair maiden that you are to scold him,” he finished the story. “My wife.”

“Your wife,” you nodded with a smile. “I recognised you immediately, my husband. I recognised you by your eyes alone even though they were yellow orbs of the beast but something about them told me it was my Mairon.”

“And you hopped on me and I took you back to the fortress and our master laughed at that, remember? He called me your dog then,” he chuckled as he shook his head but you frowned at the mention of Morgoth.

“I never liked how he would humiliate you,” you admitted.

“This humiliation I did not mind,” he said.

“This whole thing,” you looked around, “reminds me of the past. Adar treats us like our master once did – making me watch you being hurt and forcing you to witness my torment. Do you think he is inspired by what our master was doing to us? And now he is inflicting it upon… well, us?” You chuckled sadly.

“I… don’t want to remember that,” your husband winced as he leaned his head back on the pillar behind him.

“Forgive me,” you looked down.

“Do you know what pains me the most?” He asked and you raised an eyebrow at him. “That we will forever be known and remembered as his subjects. His followers and his successors. His shadows.”

“There is nothing else we can do. In Valinor we are no longer welcome,” you shrugged your arms, however the old scar nearby your heart burnt at the mention of your home where, deep down, you longed to come back.

But not without Mairon.

“They wanted to give us a chance,” your husband reminded you in a whisper.

“And you really think they would allow us back in on the same terms? Don’t be foolish,” you snorted. “We would forever be outcasts amongst them and they would never trust us. And we would have to bow our heads for the rest of our lives – bow them lower than others to remain in their good graces. I’d rather be known as our master’s shadow and forever wear the stain of being his property once than to bow down in front of anyone ever again!” You drawled out through gritted teeth with determination and Mairon met your gaze, a little taken aback by your outburst. “You are the only one I can bow my head to.”

“You do not have to bow your head to anyone, my love,” he assured you.

At that very moment you were interrupted by a filthy human working for Adar and the Orcs – he was the worst amongst all of these creatures because he was doing all these things not because he had to or out of his nature but simply because he wanted to remain in their good favours no matter what.

He laughed with contempt at the sight of you and your husband and by the stink alone you recognised that he was carrying food for you.

“Am I interrupting’ somethin’, lovebirds?” He asked, to which you and your husband said nothing. “Come on, Your Majesties,” he teased. “Not even kings and queens can go without food,” he reminded you and he had lots of reasons to because you both had been refusing to eat for days now.

He crouched down next to you, probably too scared to tease your husband or perhaps you were more pleasant for his eye. Either way, you wanted to make him regret that.

You did not enjoy being perceived as weaker than your husband only because you were a woman. One thing you had to admit about your master – he had never treated you any different because of your gender. The pain, the torture, the punishments, the responsibilities – you had been gifted the very same ones as any other.

“Why doesn’t he want to open up?” Waldreg whispered into your ear as you kept staring at your husband only, ignoring him completely. “Mayhaps he doesn’t care about you so much, does he? Mayhaps it doesn’t bother him to see you in pain, Your Majesty.”

You clenched your jaw at his words. He had absolutely no idea how much Mairon cared. How much he had been caring for centuries now. How many times he had taken your master’s anger on himself to protect you.

“Mayhaps he told you what he knew, huh?” Waldreg continued. “I’m sure he did. You tell old Waldreg everything you know about Sauron and Lókë…”

Suddenly, you turned your head around to hiss at him, letting out a sound the very same as any real serpent would. Waldreg got startled and jumped back before stumbling down and falling as you chuckled with contempt.

“Pain must be something you enjoy!” He exclaimed at you and threw the food on the floor as two Orcs hurried to his side to help him stand up.

“Oh, mayhaps I do,” you mocked the word he had been teasing you with before and you gained a kick in the face in return from one of the Orcs. Blood filled your mouth as you laughed and the warg next to you began to snarl.

“After Lord Father releases us, I’m going to kill you,” your husband told Waldreg when you were spitting the blood out of your mouth.

“Adar doesn’t even remember you two are here,” Waldreg laughed.

But you knew it was not true – you would never forget the look in Adar’s eyes at the sight of your scar. You were sure he was intrigued by you and your husband and you even had that unsettling feeling that he simply… knew who you truly were.

The Orc, still standing above you, raised his hand to strike another blow and you tensed your muscles, preparing your flesh to endure it.

“I’ll take it,” Mairon interrupted him. “Leave her, I’ll take it,” he pleaded. “She is my wife and I am responsible for her big mouth and her stunts,” he insisted.

Tears filled your eyes at that because he had begged your master the same way once after the battle you had lost – she is my wife and I am responsible for her failure. I’ll take the punishment, leave her, I beg of you.

The Orc looked at Waldreg, a little confused. But Waldreg shrugged his arms in return because it did not matter to him which one of you would be beaten – he simply enjoyed the act. Therefore, the Orc only growled at you before he approached your husband to beat him instead.

What you did not sense in all that mess was the fact Adar was standing nearby and overhearing the last few sentences, which had reminded him of the twisted couple he had known in time long gone now, yet still fresh in his memory.

Your flesh was of a human, therefore it regenerated quicker when asleep. So, some nights you and your husband allowed yourselves to drift off to the land of dreams. You had done that on the previous evening but you quickly regretted that choice because the dream you had was far from pleasant.

It was not a dream, really. It was more of a memory that you found yourself inside of once more – the long and endless road you had crawled with a bleeding wound in your chest, only to find your husband’s dead body abandoned in the fortress in the puddle of his thick, black blood.

You had sobbed and taken his cold hand into yours as you had laid upon his still chest, burying your face in the red fabric of his robe, stained with his blood now, still sensing his weak presence somewhere around the fortress but it had been ungraspable, therefore hugging his dead flesh had been all you could do. You had brushed his ginger hair one last time with a sad smile and had fallen asleep there, on top of him, sobbing and defeated. Alone.

When you opened your eyes, though, you were back to reality. And there was Adar standing above you, staring intensely. You furrowed your brows at him but he did not say anything and crouched down to remove the collar from your neck and set your hands free from the shackles before standing up again without a word. He walked over you to stand above Mairon now, waiting for him to wake up as well.

You sat up lazily, wondering what would happen now and your husband woke up as well not long after you. 

“I was in your place once,” Adar said as you watched, intrigued. Mairon was still laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. “In the eldest of the Elder Days,” Adar continued. “Thirteen of us were chosen to be blessed of Morgoth’s hand with the promise of power,” he crouched down to be closer to your husband’s face.

You looked up to exchange a confused look with Waldreg and one of the Orcs standing by the door to the hut. That small string of connection between the three of you in that moment was nearly funny if the situation was not so serious.

“A new birth. I was led up to a dark and nameless peak. Chained and left with nobody to keep me company except for a vicious serpent coming to visit me sometimes,” Adar confessed and the pain in his voice was raw and authentic.

You saw something glistening in the dim light and, to your surprise, that was your husband’s tear streaming down his cheek. You understood why – the first Uruks had not been the only ones that Morgoth had been torturing. Despite being enemies with Adar, you had a strong connection with him through the suffering you all had endured back in the day from the hands of the one you all had been calling your master.

“And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger…” Adar continued his story. “I saw them. His servants’ faces. Sauron’s face… It was beautiful. And Lókë’s, too, for she followed him everywhere. Her eyes… Those were the very same eyes as of the serpent that had been keeping me company in those endless days and I realised she had been the one to join me in my misery. And until this day I do not know if it was her mercy, her sympathy or her wicked passion for witnessing somebody else’s pain.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat, stopping yourself with every fibre of your being from telling him that it had been sympathy – it had been nothing but pure sympathy and what had been his repayment? Betrayal.

Although some part of you understood his reasons, too. It had all been for his children. Perhaps one day you would understand this kind of love as well but it would require you to forever bind yourself to your physical form and you were not sure if it was a sacrifice you would ever be ready to make.

“Lókë wiped the dirt, sweat and blood off of my face. Sauron offered me wine, red as a blood moon,” Adar went on with his story. “He offered me wine and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all.”

You saw your husband glancing at you with his teary eyes and now your own eyes were wet, too, after being reminded of that day.

“Your wife is no longer in chains. Your people have been set free,” Adar announced. “Now, tell me what you know of Sauron and Lókë,” he demanded and your husband moved his head up slightly as his blood-covered lips curved into a smile.

“Sauron has returned in a new form and his lover forged herself a new flesh as well,” your husband revealed. “I am not yet sure what shape they have taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asked, angrily, while standing up.

“I have something you don’t,” your husband teased him. “The trust of the Elves. Release me, release my wife,” he continued, “and we’ll go to them and I’ll seek Sauron out, so you can marshal your legions to destroy him.”

Long silence occurred, in which you assumed Adar was overthinking the proposition.

“We want the same thing you do, Lord Father,” you whispered, your voice nothing but a shaky breath. Adar turned around to look at you intensely and you pretended to startle a little. “We want Middle-earth to be free of evil.”

It was no lie – you wanted nothing else. You wanted this world to be a good and happy place. Healed.

Adar took a deep breath in and eventually nodded at Waldreg, who walked up to Mairon hesitantly.

“Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks?” He asked, giving you a quick glance before looking back at your husband.

You waited for Mairon’s decision first and you could see how much it costed him to say that word even though it was only a game you two were playing.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes,” you followed.

“Then kneel,” Waldreg ordered. “Both of you,” he turned his head around to look at you.

You moved yourself up on trembling legs, pretending to be moved and scared. Your husband was still in shackles, therefore he struggled to get onto his knees and it pained you to watch him so humiliated. You approached him to help him but Adar extended his hand to stop you from any further movement. You froze and waited for your husband to get on his knees first before you would join him.

And when he was on his knees, you felt Waldreg hitting your back and making you fall down upon yours as well even though it was unnecessary because you planned on doing that anyway. You looked up at him with hatred.

“Now, swear it,” he ordered.

It was all a play-pretend, you had to remind yourself. Being on your knees in front of a man who had betrayed you once was so humiliating, though, that you wanted to cry for real. And something about Adar’s proud and intense gaze was telling you he truly knew who you were.

“I vow–” your husband began.

“With your head at my feet,” Adar interrupted him and you looked up at him with anger before you began to follow his order before your husband even moved, still taken aback by such a request.

“Not you,” Adar stopped you. “Him.”

You swallowed thickly and exchanged a look with your husband before he eventually gave in and laid his face on the ground in front of Adar’s boots.

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor,” your husband whispered. To the end of my days… and his,” he finished.

Adar laid his eyes on you now, still kneeling as your thighs trembled slightly.

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor,” you bowed your head, humbly. “Till death removes me from the responsibility,” you added.

Adar nodded and walked away. Waldreg freed your husband from his collar and his shackles although he did not look happy about it. When Mairon was finally free, you cupped his face and leaned in to press your forehead to his before kissing him briefly with a big smile to be able to hold him again.

You were given one black horse you had to share but you did not mind it at all as you hopped on it to sit behind your husband and wrap your arms around his waist before pressing your cheek to his shoulder blade.

Very slowly he was leading the horse out of the camp and when you were on the hill above it, you heard a scream of pain from the distance. Your husband stopped the horse as you both chuckled because it was the scream of Waldreg being eaten by the warg left behind in the hut. The one you had tamed during your stay there and now you had your revenge on the filthy human.

And soon, on all of them.

“You know,” you mumbled out.

“Hm?”

“I quite enjoy our adventures as Halbrand and Maira,” you admitted and squeezed your husband tighter.

“We have been tortured for weeks now, my love,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I know but apart from that… There is a certain charm to it,” you explained.

“Yes, I am aware,” he admitted with a head nod and ordered the horse to move again. “However, we have a work to finish in Eregion.”

“Do you have a new name already?” You asked him, teasingly.

“Annatar, Lord of Gifts,” your husband answered. “You?”

“Fëanár,” you revealed and waited for his response. “The patron saint of the fire… to spark a brand new inspiration within Lord Celebrimbor’s forge,” you explained your choice.

“Soul of fire,” your husband hummed to himself. “Bold one. I like it,” he admitted and you smiled to yourself, hugging him tighter, proud of yourself.

Proud and happy to be with him. Wherever the road would take you two.

MASTERLIST

[lqveharrington]

For your 2k celebration, I’d love something with peace by Taylor and Finnick Odair x reader. Love your work!! 🩷🩷

Peace | F.O.

summary: even after everything you and finnick have been through, peace would never be an option

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

includes: arguing, yelling, pregnancy, marriage, kissing

a/n: first time writing for finnick! 🫶🏼also i'm apparently a whole foot shorter than finnick, i didn't know that until i searched up his height (not sam. he's six inches taller than me)

In your entire relationship with Finnick, you never thought he would yell. You knew he was in the game twice, but he never yelled at you once and you didn't think it would happen. Especially if you were arguing over an important subject.

It was like his fight or flight instincts switched on. The danger that lived in him flashed red and he couldn't stop the fire that left him. Even if that meant blazing the trail your way.

“How is it my fault?” You run your fingers through your hair and look outside the cottage, biting your lip in frustration. It wasn't like you asked for it to happen at this very moment in time. All you wanted was to see him happy, but he reacted in the worst way possible. “I didn’t know!”

“We should’ve been more careful! Who knows if the games will ever happen again and I have to play for the third time?” Finnick paced the length of the kitchen before resting his arms on the counter, gripping the edge like it could break at any moment. His face contorted, small huffs leaving his lips. “What if you get chosen? What if we both do? Then what will happen?”

You shake your head at him and spin the ring on your finger, eyes full of exasperation. “What do you want me to do, Finn? Get rid of the baby?”

The rolling waves from the beach outside took over the silence as the wind blew strands of your hair away from your face. You didn’t know what he was going to say. He looked sick, but you doubted he truly was. You wanted something to be said — anything — until Finnick looked at you with a blank face.

“If that what it takes for you to be safe — yes.”

Your face instantly twists in disbelief, stepping away from the man you loved. “Unbelievable.” You turned and headed for the front door, pulling your shawl on tightly. As your hands reached for the handle, you spoke once more, voice so quiet he could barely hear it over the roaring ocean. “This used to be our dream, you know?”

Start of Flashbacks

“Finnick?” You rushed inside the cottage, looking for the blue-eyed man. You heard his voice from the bedroom and you quickly entered, sitting on the floor in front of him. “Annie just told me the champions are being chosen for the games again — “

“It’s a quarter quell.” Finnick murmured and took your hands in his, tracing invisible shapes into your palm. He sighed softly and kissed your knuckles, “They want to put in old winners to see who would win from the best.”

You blink rapidly and fight the tears already forming. You thought he was done with stressing over the games, but to put a winner back in was cruel and inhuman. Although the games itself were already tragic. “That shouldn’t be allowed! You’re the only male winner left in District 4!“

“I’ll be okay.” He tried reassuring you even if he wasn’t confident in his own abilities. He squeezed your hands softly and met your teary-eyed expression. “Just promise you won’t watch the games.”

Your face falls as your eyes searching his. You grip his hand tighter and shake your head, hands shaking in fear. “Finnick — “

“Promise me.”

You swallow a sob and nod, looking down at the wooden floor. You wished it would swallow you up rather than wait for Finnick to come home to you. “I promise, I won’t watch the games. But you can’t stop me from going to the reaping. I will go.”

Finnick let his free hand drift to your cheek, wiping a stray tear. “Sunshine…” He pursed his lips and pressed a kiss to the top of your heads, letting you calm down before he spoke again. “Once I get out and everything is over, we’ll start our own life together, yeah?”

You slowly breathe, listening intently to his words. The world you lived in was never at peace and you knew that his words were words until the action was completed. It’s just how Panem worked.

“The first thing I’ll do is marry you.” He whispered and watched your lips twitch up at the thought. “Maybe a mini you? Mini me?”

You let out a small laugh and tilt your head, playing with his hands. “More than one Finnick? That’d be a sight.”

He linked your hand together and pressed a kiss to the back of it, making your finally grin.

“I’m holding you to your words, Odair, be careful.

—

“You know, you’re going to get sick if you stay out here long enough with no coat, Sunshine.” Finnick's voice rang out from behind you, making you whip around.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him. It had been days — weeks — since you last saw the love of your life and there he was. His face was scratched and his hair grew a little, but otherwise, he was unharmed. Although you weren’t sure what happened mentally.

“Finnick.” You whisper and ran into his open arms, clinging onto him tightly — afraid that if you let go he would disappear. “I missed you so much. I forbid everyone around to tell me what happened in the games and I didn’t want to hear who died and who— I couldn’t—“

“That’s okay, you’re okay.” He ran his fingers through your hair and pressed a kiss to the top, holding onto you equally as tight. “I’m okay.”

“I was so scared.” You bury your head in his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to completely be one with him. “I thought you wouldn’t come home to me.”

“I’m here, see?” He slowly moved your hand over the left side of his chest and held it there for a minute, watching your breathing match the steady beat. “Heart still beating just for you.”

You give him a soft smile and open your eyes again, meeting his loving ones. You didn’t know what you did to deserve an amazing partner, but you sure as hell wasn’t complaining. You just smiled up at him and knew he was all it took to make you happy in the entire world.

“I missed you.” You whispered and brushed some of his hair away from his eyes, letting scratching his scalp. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I wouldn’t dare think about it.” Finnick kissed your cheek before pulling the drawstring bag to his front and began digging inside of it. “I have a gift for you.”

You take a small step back and raise a brow, scanning over his body to ensure he truly was alright. “You do?”

“From the Capitol.” He waved his hand around before producing a ring box from the bag, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I don’t know if you’ll love it, but…”

“Oh, Finn.” You covered your mouth and watched him get down on one knee.

He opened the box to reveal the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen in your entire life. You would bet your entire life savings that Mags helped him pick it out. You wondered where she was... You heard multiple people got out of the game, but where was she? She was like a mother to you.

“I said I would marry you the second I got out of there, didn’t I?” Finnick held the ring out to you and gave you a bright smile, your name falling from his lips. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course.” You whisper with so much devotion and love before tackling him to the floor of the front porch, kissing him deeply. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

He caught you before you could both slam onto the wood, one hand on your back while the other around your shoulders. Finnick grinned into the kiss and pulled away, eyes bouncing around your facial features.

“I love you.” You murmur and watch him slip the beautiful ring onto your finger, the stones glistening in the sunlight. “Thank you for coming home.”

“Wouldn’t miss coming home to you.” Finnick kissed your cheek and let you rest your head on his shoulder. “Ever.”

End of Flashbacks

“What did I say about sitting outside with no coat on, Sunshine?”

You scoff and turn away at the sound of your husband, pulling the thin shawl around you tighter as sprays of salt water hits your exposed skin. You came outside to think, not get lectured by Finnick.

“I’m not talking to you, Finnick.”

He sighed before putting a blanket around your shoulder and taking a seat beside you, gaze shifting to the vast ocean he loved. He watched the waves crash into the shore for a few seconds before speaking.

“Do you remember when I got home from the quarter quell games? How you told me you were so scared for me?" Finnick asked as he played with the sand beneath his fingers, the grains slipping through every now and then. "Well, I'm scared for you."

He paused and shook his head, pulling his legs up and resting his head on his knees. "Everything has changed and I'm afraid everything will go back the way it used to be."

You sat quietly and took in his words, burying your head in the blanket. It smelled like flowers and citrus. It smelled like Finnick. You briefly looked at him and saw the tiredness under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. All you saw was the toll the games and rebellion took out on him.

"I’m sorry I shouted earlier… I know we've been wanting this for so long, but it's terrifying." Finnick admitted and dropped all the sand from his shaking hands. "I'm scared to come home one day and you're gone from this world. I'm scared to leave you on your own, especially when you're pregnant."

You frown and take his shaking hand, squeezing it softly until he looked over at you. "I'm scared too, Finn."

He stared at you as you spoke, the blanket you wore now upon his shoulders as well. He looked down at your hands, the ones that wrote his name over and over again until the shaking stopped.

"You think I don't know how scary it is to not know what will happen to us?" You whisper and purse your lips, squeezing his hand once more. "But I know we'll be okay."

"Why is that?"

"Because we have each other." You brought his hand up to his face and flashed the wedding ring to him, making eye contact with him. "With all the hell we've been through, we always had each other."

You watch as his mind gears begin turning, giving him a small smile. "Our job now is to protect our child. We're not running or fighting. We've settled for them."

Finnick shut his eyes and kissed the back of your hand, thinking about his past. Ever since he was fourteen, he was never able to get past the horrors he’s seen and he wasn’t sure if he would ever come to terms with them.

"I could never give us peace." He met your eyes again, the blue in his eyes darkening with all the emotional turmoil in his mind.

"But you're enough for me." You take his clasped hand and place it on your lower half, his hand warm against you. "All I want is to be with you."

You rest your forehead on his and breathe, feeling him thumb the skin of your stomach. "That's my peace."

Finnick hummed and leaned in, giving your a quick kiss to the lips. "You really know how to make me fall for you."

"Well, I would like to think so— Finnick!" You gasp as he pulls you down into the sand, your hair now covered in grains of sand. He pressed a tender kiss on your lips, making your heart beat faster. When you separate, your vision is a little hazy and you blink it away, grinning stupidly. "What was that for?"

"A thank you and a promise." He brushed the back of his fingers on your cheek, dusting the sand off and ensuring you were alright from pulling you down. "I'll protect you and our child with my life."

You lean into his touch and look between his eyes, "I love you."

"I love you too." He pecked your cheek once, twice, thrice before pulling away and matching your bright smile. "More than you'll ever know, Sunshine."

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