#kes watches one piece

[knightofkestrels]

I was rewatching the early Grand Line parts of OP to get it fresher in my mind for fic and OPLA S2 purposes, and I came across this moment again:

Which is absolutely hilarious in and of itself, but I think last time I started this episode I missed the immediate next shot of the boys:

Awwww :3

[spacelesscowboy]

IM OLDER THAN IÑAKI⁉️⁉️ KILL ME.

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of Emiko, Emi and Mina, Ultraman form, Kenji being a little needy (once again), fluff, a little something to warm our hearts and minds so dreamy.

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Underneath, and sometimes over, tight-fitting t-shirts and extremely expensive fabrics, wear a necklace; however, there is something special there. — His promise ring hangs on the gold chain; like a talisman, something that surrounds he with luck and passion. — Staying attached and close to you, even with a small object.

⤷ If he needs to think or try to decide something dramatically important and you're not around, Sato will take his fingers to the necklace and hold the ring; looking for guidance. — Oh, and waking up, before him, and contemplating that shiny and significant piece, which rests on his broad chest, is angelic.

⭑.ᐟ It's not uncommon to feel, in the middle of the night, Kenji's face trying, persistently, on your neck; readily, wanting to harness the huge and strong body between your. — He doesn't care about the grotesque difference in size, just at that moment, and he doesn't give up.

“Kenji, be careful…!” — Your voice, fully, drunk with sleep and maintaining stillness, murmured between the boy's black and shiny locks; who only responded with a snore, more like a purr and clinging even tighter to you.

⭑.ᐟ Sato can't keep his hands off you, no matter what's going on, what you're doing or what simple task you're performing; hands on your waist, kisses on every exposed and revealed part of your body, thin and wide fingers catching on some part of your clothes. — Don't be upset with him, this poor man is in love with you.

⤷ One day, Mina compared him to a sloth and obviously got a frown of disapproval and the adorable Emi observes how her “father” remains so attached to her “mother”. — Even laughing and grunting when he saw a completely sleepy and desperate Ken crawling towards you.

⭑.ᐟ Please, we have, we need to talk about all the times Kenji and Emi train together, most of the time, being just leisure moments, you sit in the stands, virtually, scheduled and cheer for them; accompanied by Mina. — The feeling of nostalgia, remembering an incredible part of his life, is exposed in Ken's chest; remembering his mother.

⭑.ᐟ I can easily imagine Ken pressing his nose against your cheek or neck wanting your attention; also, when he wants to show you the way Emi is sleeping, enjoying the baby's sweetness. — And, together, pressing his forehead against yours during countless moments of the day and night, when you get home after confronting some creature and every time he want to say "i love you" to you.

⭑.ᐟ This man knows you like the back of his hand; no one can disagree or dispute this fact. — Kenji pays attention to your gestures, noticing your body language and, for a matter of seconds, he knows that something is bothering you; and, there he is, dedicating himself, with all his attention, to doing his girl well.

⭑.ᐟ Funny situations, for Ken, between you and his Ultraman form are included in your lives. — Once, while chasing Aboras, he ended up finding you on the street, wanting to go home, and clearly he was distracted by wanting to cause a provocation. — Mina gave the boy a long, and rightly so, scolding.

“Go back to the house, young lady.” — The robotic voice filled a part of the city's environment, wanting to convey an authoritarian image. — “You know…” — He pointed one of his gigantic fingers in your direction, then towards the place he was. — “The streets have been very dangerous lately.” — Oh, you stopped yourself from answering him like you really wanted to.

“Thank you, so much, for the advice, Ultraman.”

⭑.ᐟ There are nights — many, many nights — that Ken spends watching, contemplating you sleeping, peacefully; your face remained full, without signs of tiredness, exquisite and messy locks spread out, this was adored by the player's eyes. — Between seconds of fascination, Kenji longed, dreamed, deeply and painfully, of his mother meeting you; this way, she would have the chance to know the light that raised her dear son.

⤷ Kenji prospers, sometimes praying, that one day his mother will return, safe and sound, and be able to achieve what he wants so much in his life.

[p0ssywhippedcream]

Zuko has been with the gang for a while now and you've been able to teach him how to do most any chore. He can set up tents, bathe Appa and even dry clothes off without lighting them on fire (it happened a couple times tho). But the one thing he just can't get is cooking.

He stands beside you as you lower a pot over the fire gently, his eyebrows knitted. He watches as you angle it so there's no chance of it falling as it small bubbles appear; signaling its commence of boiling. You sit down on a flat stone and take out a small knife, gesturing a c'mere motion with the blade.

"Can you hand me the tomatoes?" He grabs them and passes them over, ears flushing when your hand brushes his.

"You're going to boil them?" You giggle and shake your head.

"No, this is for the broth and the beef. Everybody has been craving it but Aang is a vegetarian, remember?"

He nods and pops a squat next to you on a large rock. Your ankles touch and his toes flex. "You're making him something separate." You agreed with a hum and begin to slice the fruit over a bowl in your lap.

"That's nice of you." You glance up briefly and give him a sheepish grin. He finds it endearing.

As you focus your attention back to the task at hand, Zuko wonders what he should say next. Before he can really consider it, you toss a piece of tomato at Momo and ask, "Your uncle makes tea right?"

"Uh, yeah. Uncle loves tea."

"How come you haven't learned how to?"

He doesn't want to admit that he didn't pay attention when he should've, when he had time to notice how Iroh did it. "I wasn't taught."

"Do you want me to teach you?" You look up and pause your slicing. The bowl has a small stack of tomato piled inside that tumbles when you shake it.

"I'm not very good at uh.. making things." You snicker, remembering when he burned lettuce a couple weeks ago.

"Yeah, I noticed," You smile to let him know you're teasing and he returns it a little shyer. "I could, though. Teach you. You don't have to be good at it."

"What's the point of teaching me if I'm not good at it?"

"I like spending time with you." You shrug and reach for an avocado across him. Your arm is just too short and he takes the opportunity to grab it for you, turning his head so you don't see his blush. "And you'd get the hang of it, tea is like.. your birthright."

Zuko chuckles. He always thought his birthright was violence. He wonders if it still is. He doesn't say that. "Because Uncle owned a tea shop?"

"Yeah," You laugh, "And you can use your fire bending, yunno? But I'm not sure if you have the patience for it."

"Why's that?" Suddenly Sokka is next to him, holding a pile of sticks and asking you where you want them. You point next to the fire and notice the water jumping in the pot. Standing up, you motion for the broth ingredients and Zuko hands you the pre-mixed bowl. Sokka is quickly distracted by Toph demanding to know where Aang went and Zuko turns back to you.

The crackle of the fire comforts the atmosphere as the sun sets, giving your face an orange hue that dances dramatically from your chin to your nose. You tuck a piece of hair away and Zuko can see the way your eyes glitter in the soft glow, your pupils swallowing the color of their rims.

It's silent for a bit, Zuko simply watching as you stir the pot and occasionally call out for Sokka and Toph to stop arguing. You set down the ladle and pick up a bowl of assorted vegetables and fruits, passing it to Zuko.

"Can you find that bread from the village? I think it's in Katara's bag?" He disappears to rummage and returns holding a half-eaten loaf.

"Okay, that should be enough," You remark as you turn away from cooking and towards his returning figure. You make eye contact with him and your nose wrinkles in the moonlight as you smile, "Can you cut that in half and make a sandwich?"

He sits down and follows your instructions, first wiping the knife you'd used earlier before slipping it in the loaf and beginning to separate it. His dominant hand slices down as he keeps it steady in the other and as he gets to the end, he takes his chance to look at you.

Your feet are bare on the ground, a little dirty and as you shift from side to side, your heels lift enough he can see your bridges. A daffodil is stuck to the bottom of your left foot, staring at him before being engulfed in a step again. You move around the pot, pushing the ingredients stuck to the side back in the middle and the flower is left upside down on a rock.

His finger burns in pain and he notices a small cut. He had finished slicing the bread and had dug into his hand. Cursing, he sets aside your assignment and stands up holding his hand as blood flows slowly. You notice immediately and rush over. You bend down and rip a bit of your skirt, wrapping it around his hand and shushing him back down onto the rock again.

"It's not too deep, you should be okay." He nods, hissing as the fabric rubs the sensitive flesh. "It hurts?"

"Yeah." You press his hand towards you, checking it again and clutching it from the palm.

"You can go back to cooking." You look up at him confused and he continues, "It might burn."

"It's fine, it needs to marinate. You need my attention more."

The firelight covers the furious burning of his face, "Are you sure? It's a small cut."

Your expression is hard to see in the dark but the coy fluttering of your features is obvious enough. You're nervous, and a shade darker on your cheeks and oh, you're blushing too.

"I care about you." You murmur and it's a blessing he hears it.

"I- I care about you too," He offers, the urge to look away would be worse if you weren't already doing that. He watches the twitch of your nose as your smile takes your lips again. You meet his gaze and he realizes how close you are. He feels your hot breath on his face and leans in just a bit more. "You look really... really pretty."

Your eyes crinkle in the corners as your mouth spreads wider and reveals your teeth, dimples making his heart flutter as he confesses, "You're glowing. The- the fire makes you glow."

You digest his words with a gentle laugh covered by your hand. "Yeah," You pause and quirk your head to the side, "You do."

He wants to faint and of course he doesn't know what to say. You help him out again and suddenly your nose is brushing his. "You like me?"

He nods because he's not sure he can speak without squeaking.

"I like you too.." Your words are felt on his lips as you get even closer. Your eyes dart across his face, seemingly checking for affirmation before your mouth is on his and all the blood rushes to his head. His hand comes up to hold your head as he kisses you back. For a second, it's so amazing as you lick across his bottom lip until pain is shooting up his hand and he has to pull away.

Your hair had brushed his still open cut and he cradled his hand a little closer to himself as you re-examine it. "Sorry.."

Zuko looks at you like you're crazy, "Don't be sorry."

You glance up and away, still flustered.

"I've liked you for so long," His admission fills the night wind and you prompt him to continue with wide eyes. He's a little quieter as he finishes with, "Since Ba Sing Se."

He misses your voice dearly as he waits for your answer. He gets it in the form of giggles ticklish as butterflies. He watches you with curiosity until you say, "I was wrong, you are patient."

He laughs too now and you both shake beside the fire with hands holding bellies. The spurt of broth leaping out of the pot brings you back and you scramble up to stir it. Zuko watches as you step over the daffodil again and it flips upright, showing him that it was two, smushed so closely it looked like one. He looks up at you in admiration as you taste the stew and feels a surge of affection for whatever luck landed him at your side tonight.

"You were wrong too," His face contorts in confusion and you elaborate, "You're good at making things... you made me like you."

He's the luckiest guy in the fire nation. He goes to tell you but you speak first. "And I want to teach you how to make tea, but I think I should let Iroh. When we find him."

Zuko's left with a mouth hanging open and a heart stuck between missing his Uncle and loving you for all your kindness and thoughtful nature. He settles on both. "I don't know if he'll forgive me."

You make a strange face as you gaze at him over the open flame, it looks intense in the orange heat. "You don't give his love for you enough credit."

Then you're coming over and pecking him on the cheek, making him dizzy again. You bring your lips to his ear and whisper "I think he'll do anything if you let him teach you to make tea."

His smile is warm and flustered when you teasingly add, "I would, and I like you a little bit less than he does."

[cassiefromhell]

The Game

Nanami x Wife!Reader

wc: 2.7k

warnings: f!reader, mdni/18+, smut, teasing, ROUGH, manhandling, gentle choking, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering a/n: this is a combination of my reaction to the latest jjk ep and a general need for manhandling nanami.

You know exactly what is coming for you.

You can feel his eyes on you from across the room. Watching you. 

Watching his pretty little wife play games that she’d lose. 

Because you have one goal in mind: piss off your husband, Nanami Kento.

Which is not an easy task. But you had pissed him off once before, a few weeks ago, and had been insatiably craving more. His reaction that night was… his hands in your hair, throwing you back against the bed, the words out of his mouth—

You can’t help but blush a little at the memories that flood your head now, as you speak to a man twice your age at this party. You know this man thinks he has a chance with you. He came up to you earlier, and is now flirting with you relentlessly, seeming blind to the ring on your marriage finger which marks you as claimed. 

You giggle a little at something he says, taking your poker and stabbing at the fire. You sip the glass of wine in your hands. There’s no need to look over your shoulder to confirm; Kento is most decidedly watching you.

And that fire? It’s growing.

You can feel the way your white silk mini dress has ridden up your thighs a little, but you don’t do anything to fix it, no matter how much the skin on the back of your thighs sizzles and sears under his scorched gaze.

All it takes is for the man to reach out, try to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, and the flame explodes.

Hands are on your waist in an instant, a cotton-covered, firm chest pressed against your back. You know that chest. Those hands.

“I think it’s time for us to get going, don’t you think, dear?” Kento grits out, his thumbs digging into your skin. A warning.

“Oh,” you pout, turning your head to look up at him. You’re met with a hard-set jaw and cold eyes, as your husband stares down the inferior man who got a centimeter too close. “But it’s raining. We’ll have to wait for it to slow down a bit, or have a valet bring the car around, we’re parked a block away—”

“We’ll walk. Goodbye,” he flashes the tightest, fakest smile you’ve ever seen, and then turns you towards the elevator, pushing you in that direction.

And what choice do you have? You half walk, half stumble forward, his hands never faltering in their iron grip the whole walk over. He stops you in front of the elevator.

“Button,” he commands, jerking his chin towards the panel with two buttons, one an up arrow and the other down.

“Why do I have to do it?”

“It seems that if I let you go for half a second, you’ll run off and let yourself get eye-fucked by a nobody in a cheap suit. Button,” he growls, his hands tightening their grip, causing your sides to protest.

You whimper softly, reaching out and pressing the down button. It glows a soft blue, and you tilt your head to the side, gazing up at your angry, blond man. “What’s got you in such a frenzy? I was socializing—”

He scoffs. “Socializing. Sure. I know the game you’re playing, and might I remind you that it’s a game you can’t win, darling.”

You swallow hard, fighting back a flinch as the elevator dings, and the doors slide open. 

Empty.

Kento shuffles you both inside, and holds the ‘close doors’ button so hard that you’re afraid it might actually crack.

The elevator doors slide closed, and he releases you, taking two steps back.

Suddenly, the air is so thick that you can hardly breathe, and the thought of the fingerprint bruises he’s likely left on you fills your head.

“Ke—”

“No. No more words from you,” he spits out, practically punching the ground floor button.

You pout, and take a step towards him. “‘Nam, c’mon,” you poke that damned fire again, just waiting for it to burn you.

And it does.

His arm snaps out, his hand gripping your chin, tilting your head up. “I said, quiet.”

That sharp anger in his eyes makes your stomach flutter, abdomen tensing. You bite your bottom lip, and try your luck. “You’re a little angry, huh?”

Your back is against the wall before you can even process what’s happened, before you recognize that he’s shoved you into the corner of the elevator, one hand gripping your neck and the other pressed firmly against your hip, keeping you in place. His body is fully pressed to yours, and the straining bulge you feel is unmistakable.

“Angry? You have no idea,” he says, his voice having dropped to an eerily calm tone. “I want to throw you onto the ground of this damned elevator and make you suck me off right here, right now. I want to fuck your throat, and then that kinky little cunt of yours, until you are sobbing and begging me to stop.”

Your breath catches in your throat— no, it completely stops. You’re no longer breathing.

“Then do it.”

He gives a breathy chuckle, suddenly spinning you around, a hand knotting in your hair and shoving your cheek against the wall. And then he leans down, presses his lips against your ear, and…

“No. You’d like that too much.”

You whine, straining against his grip on you. Kento is usually ever the gentleman, the perfect white picket fence husband. He brings you roses each Friday and a piece of your favorite cake every Tuesday, and fucks the shit out of you each day when he returns from missions. But he’s so… polite, all the time, his touch gentle and his voice soft. He’s the type to rest his hand on your thigh while he drives, and carry you bridal style into the house.

But this Kento… This Kento is the reason you’re trying to piss him off. Because you unlocked the manhandling, relentless Kento once, and now can’t get enough of it.

Suddenly, the hand on your neck drops down, down, down to your thighs, and then up under your skirt. Kento’s fingers ghost over your bare pussy, straight up laughing when he realizes you’re wearing no underwear. But the laughter is harsh, and sends shivers down your spine.

“You really planned this, didn’t you dear.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“Can you blame me?” You murmur, trying to grind down on his hand, the hand which is now cupping your dripping cunt, the heel of his hand juuuust below your clit. “Please.”

“We’re almost on our floor,” Kento suddenly releases you, fixing your dress with a soft touch and taking two steps back. 

You open your mouth to complain, but right on cue, the elevator doors slide open. Kento presses a hand against the small of your back, forcibly guiding you out of the elevator, and across the plaza, out to the main doors.

Where it’s pouring.

You pause outside the glass doors, crossing your arms across your chest. “No. It’s pouring.”

Kento sighs, but looks you over, and realizes it at the same moment as you do; you’re wearing white.

And Kento is a gentleman.

“I’ll bring the car around. You stay right here, you understand me?”

You nod, and he’s out the doors in an instant.

You find yourself shifting on your feet as you wait, your heels really starting to do a number on you. You keep fixing your dress, trying to ignore how you’re wetter than the rain outside.

Your feet have not moved an inch when your familiar white BMW M8 pulls up to the doors, and your husband gets out of the driver's seat, umbrella in hand.

And he is soaking wet.

His blue shirt sticks to his chest, not hiding any of the rippling muscle along his entire torso. He’s discarded his gray suit jacket, but the pants have darkened a shade due to the rain. His hair sticks to his face, blond locks drenched.

You can’t help the blush that rises to your cheeks when you realize how close you are to being able to make out his dick print, and that only worsens when he walks through those doors, headed straight for you.

“I didn’t move,” you murmur as he takes your arm, gripping your bicep tightly and heading for the exit once more.

“That earns you no brownie points tonight.”

Kento opens the umbrella as he drags you outside, holding it over your head. Not a drop of water hits you as he escorts you to the car, and then opens the door to the back seat.

You raise a brow. “Backseat?”

“So you can’t touch me,” he replies, and then promptly sweeps your feet out from under you, catches you, and tosses you into the back seat.

You yelp as your back hits the leather, and the door is closed immediately. Kento is in the driver’s seat before you can blink, staring at you in the rear view mirror. 

You buckle yourself up, and he seems satisfied, putting the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot at a speed that’s probably too fast.

You chew your bottom lip, watching his hair drip onto his face, watching his hands white-knuckle the steering wheel, watching his foot press the accelerator.

“You’ll catch a cold,” you murmur, leaning forward and running a hand over his hair, trying to squeeze some of the water out.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your fingers away from his head. “No touching.”

You pout, unbuckling yourself and scooting forward, pressing your face against his neck. “Kentoooo…”

You feel the change in his demeanor immediately. He tenses, and reaches back to grip your hair, yanking your head away from him.

“That’s it,” he hisses, and pulls the car into an empty parking lot, putting it in park.

He’s out of the driver’s seat instantly, coming around to the back, and climbing into the back seat.

You have to fight back your victorious grin, but he doesn’t have the same plans as you do, because he grabs you, and pulls you out of the car and into the rain.

“Kento—”

His mouth crashes into yours, and he grabs your chin tightly, his other hand holding your waist to his. You whimper into his mouth, trying to ignore the cold rainwater that’s certainly making your white dress translucent.

He pulls away just when you begin to shiver, then drags you around the car, putting you into the passenger seat and slamming the door. He appears back in the driver’s seat in an instant, his jaw once again set and eyes cold as ice.

“What happened to the no touching rule?” You grin, kicking off your heels.

“Better idea.”

He pulls back onto the road, eyes staying on the path ahead, all while his hand starts to make its way under your skirt.

You realize what he’s doing just as a finger plunges into you, sliding easily with your wetness. You groan loudly, whimpering as his thumb grazes your clit.

He slides in a second finger, and starts pulling them out and pushing them back in, all while stimulating your clit.

It hardly takes any time at all for you to be whimpering and grinding against his hand, gripping the door for support and leverage.

With a few more strokes and swipes of his thumb, that coil in your abdomen begins to tighten, your cunt clenching around his fingers. “Ah— oh, shit…”

Kento withdraws his hand, and you open your mouth to protest, then realize he’s pulled the car into your garage, and is putting it in park.

And he presses the garage door closing button.

And then waits, both hands on the steering wheel, as the garage door closes.

The second that the concrete meets the door, Kento turns his head to look at you, all needy and desperate with pleas begging to escape your lips.

“You really want me to be rough with you?” he asks, his brows stitched together in concern.

“Wherever would you have gotten that impression?” you drone, raising a brow sarcastically. “I want to get the ever-loving shit fucked out of me.”

“You want to be hurt?”

“A little. I liked last time,” you murmur, allowing your mind to slip back a little bit, back to that night that had left you both bruised and begging for more.

“There are better ways to go about this than pissing me off,” your husband narrows his eyes, jaw clenching.

“This is the authentic way.”

“You’re spoiled, you know that?”

“You’re hard as fuck, you feel that?” your eyes flick to the bulge under his pants zipper.

That’s enough to send Kento flying out of the car, and before you know it, he’s opening your door, dragging you out by your bicep.

You yelp, stumbling forward as his grip on you — which is covered in your slick — remains firm. He pulls you into the house, and your back is pressed against a wall immediately, his mouth on yours, hand around your throat.

Kento pulls you up the wall, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your aching cunt against his shirt. He roots his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to be a bit painful.

Clearly he’s done waiting, because his dick is out within seconds, and he’s pulling up your dress. You whimper once the fabric is bunched up around your waist, gripping his shoulders.

“Please…”

“You think that’s enough?” he scoffs, tugging your hair and tilting your head back. “You flirt with another man, nearly let him touch you, act like a brat, and you expect me to just give it to you?” Nevertheless, he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with the slightest bit of pressure. 

“Fuck—” you whine, groaning softly. The hand holding you up digs into your skin. “I’ll be good— jesus, please. I need you.”

Kento slaps your ass, and then thrusts nearly his entire thick length in at once, causing you to cry out, tears coming to your eyes. He immediately starts a bruising pace, fucking you into the wall so god damn hard that a picture frame nearby rattles.

You whimper as his cock reaches that sweet spot once— and then again, and again, until you’re matching each thrust with a tilt of your hips and a moan.

“Fuck— there you go, baby,” he grits out, yanking on your hair. “Take it all.”

That familiar cool begins to tighten, your abdomen tensing as he picks up his pace even more, and you wonder how it’s possible — untll you look down and realize he’s using the tiniest bit of cursed energy to fuck the actual shit out of you.

“Cum for me, come on. You wanted this so bad, so cum on my dick.”

And that’s enough to send you tumbling over the edge, stars flooding your vision and a long string of curses leaving your lips like a prayer.

His thrusts grow a little sloppier, and he spills himself into you with a hiss, leaving little nips along your jawline. 

“I’m not close to being done with you, just as a fair warning,” he growls, and then tosses you over his shoulder.

At this point, you’re half dead.

But also half alive, kept awake by Kento’s hands rubbing circles along your skin, the bubbly bath water tickling your breasts. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to a bruise on your shoulder.

You give a half-babbled response, leaning into his warmth more.

“Full sentences, please.”

“Mm.. I love you,” you manage, turning to face him. You press your face into his neck and inhale his scent.

“I love you too.”

A long pause comes, with Kento just rubbing circles into your bruised sides. Then, he speaks.

“Now, what did we learn?”

“That pissing off the husband results in mind-blowing sex.”

He draws a sharp breath in, and smacks your shoulder gently. “No, no. We learned that we don’t have to piss the husband off, we just have to use our words and plan a date for these things.”

“That’s not very authentic.”

“Do I have a shot at winning this?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright.”

[kyksbb]

Wild Day In

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Summary: You and Jude babysit your friend’s hyperactive 5 year old, battling snack mishaps, a bubble-filled bath explosion, and a mini tornado of energy.

Word Count: 3.9K

Masterlist

Author’s note: Heyyy 🤍 I was in the mood for fluff overload bc this week was a fever dream and soo much happened and none of it was good 😭 sooo here is a cutesy fic I wrote very quickly. Hope you’ll like it & don’t forget to tell me your thoughts! 🌸

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Jude is, without a doubt, one of the most considerate people you’ve ever met. He doesn’t just listen — he hears you. He’s thoughtful, always taking your perspective into account, and when it comes to making decisions, your opinion carries an almost sacred value for him. But, and this is a big but, sometimes the man is as stubborn as a remote control that refuses to work until you smack it just right.

Enter today’s situation.

Your friend called you in desperation, asking for a huge favor. She and her partner were off to a wedding, and their regular babysitter had fallen through. Would you and Jude be able to babysit her 5 year old son, Ollie, for the entire day and night?

Now, Ollie is an adorable little boy, the kind who can charm anyone in seconds. You and Jude had spent plenty of time with him before, and you both adored him, but an entire day and night? That was an entirely different ballgame.

You couldn’t say no. How could you? Ruining your friend’s plans wasn’t an option, and besides, how bad could it be?

When you told Jude about the arrangement, he seemed oddly enthusiastic, flashing his trademark grin. Jude loved kids, and Ollie was no exception. But that’s where his stubborn streak kicked in.

Ollie, bless his heart, was a handful. Hyperactive, tireless, loud, and joyful in a way that only 5 year olds can be. A sweet little menace, in other words.

You had begged Jude to ask his mom or your mom to help out, just in case things got overwhelming. But Jude? Absolutely not. He flat-out refused.

“We’ve got this,” he said, as if the two of you were seasoned parents. “It’s one kid. How hard can it be?”

No matter how many times you tried to change his mind, he was dead set on the idea of having Ollie all to yourselves. And, eventually, you caved. It’s just one day, you reminded yourself. What could possibly go wrong?

As you rearranged the cushions on the couch for the hundredth time, anxiously waiting for Ollie to arrive, you threw out one last Hail Mary.

“We can still call your mom, you know? Her experience would be pretty useful right about now.”

Jude, cool as a cucumber, flashed you a grin. “Y/N, you’re worrying too much. We’re going to be fine.”

Fine, you thought, eyeing him like he’d lost his mind. Sure, taking care of a hyperactive five year old for 24 hours was no big deal — if you were, say, a superhero. But realizing you weren’t going to win this battle, you let out a resigned sigh and went back to fluffing pillows.

The doorbell rang, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Hi there!” you greeted Ollie once you opened the door with a wide smile as he launched himself at your knees, hugging them tight like you were his long-lost best friend. Your friend followed, looking both relieved and grateful as she set Ollie’s overnight bag on the floor.

“You guys are lifesavers. Seriously, thank you so much for watching him.” She placed a hand over her heart like she might cry with gratitude.

“No worries,” you said, giving Ollie’s fluffy hair a quick ruffle. “We’re going to have so much fun, right Ollie?”

Jude, standing tall behind you, added with a confident nod, “We promise he’ll still be in one piece when you get back.” You shot him a quick, anxious glance as your friend let out a nervous laugh.

“Just... try to keep him away from sugar before bed. He’ll get... well, crazier than usual.” She gave you instructions.

With a final hug for Ollie and another round of heartfelt thank-yous, your friend headed out the door, promising to keep her phone on 24/7, “just in case.”

You shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, steeling yourself for what was to come.

When you returned to the living room, Jude and Ollie were already on the couch, flipping through kids' channels. Jude turned to you with a deadpan expression.

“Can a 5 year old watch Goodfellas?”

You burst out laughing but quickly realized from his face that he was, in fact, being serious. “No, Jude. Absolutely not. 90s movie about mobsters is not suitable for a kindergartener!”

Jude shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

The afternoon, thankfully, went off without too much drama — at first. Jude and Ollie settled on watching PAW Patrol for a solid 20 minutes before Jude, ever the athlete, decided to take Ollie outside to teach him a few football tricks.

It started off perfectly. They passed the ball back and forth, Ollie giggling with every kick. But then, ten minutes in, disaster struck. Ollie, in a burst of over-enthusiasm, kicked the ball with every ounce of strength his tiny body could muster... right into Jude’s crotch.

Jude dropped to the ground in agony, his face contorted in pain as he clutched himself. “I’m fine,” he managed to croak out, though you weren’t so sure.

Meanwhile, Ollie, oblivious to the catastrophe he’d just caused, ran around the backyard, laughing like a mini maniac. Football wasn’t distracting him — it was fueling him.

And that’s when you realized: this kid loved to run.

Like, really run.

He was a blur of energy, darting around the yard with Jude in hot pursuit, though Jude was limping slightly from the earlier injury.

You, on the other hand, could barely keep up. At some point, you dropped down onto the grass, panting for breath, your sides aching.

“How is he still going?” you wheezed, watching as Ollie raced around Jude, who had finally caught up and scooped the boy into his arms.

Ollie hung upside down, laughing hysterically as Jude spun him in circles. Despite the chaos, the sight of Jude with Ollie, both of them laughing and carefree, made your heart swell. Exhausted as you were, you couldn’t help but smile as you watched them. Jude, for all his stubbornness, was in his element, and seeing him like this, with a kid who adored him, was enough to make your heart race for a completely different reason.

After a solid hour of chasing the little whirlwind around the backyard, you finally managed to corral him back into the kitchen.

“Okay, buddy,” you said, leaning down to Ollie’s eye level, your tone hopeful. “How about a snack now?” Surely, after all the running he’d done, he’d be exhausted and ready to wind down.

“Yeah! Snack time!” he cheered, still bursting with energy as his little arms flailed in excitement. He darted into the kitchen like his life depended on it. You exchanged a look with Jude, who simply shook his head, a mix of admiration and disbelief on his face.

“How does he have this much energy?” you whispered, half to yourself. Ollie’s endless stamina was slightly terrifying but also ridiculously adorable. Jude, ever the optimist, scooped Ollie up and sat him on the kitchen counter.

“Alright, little man. What’s it gonna be? Cookies, fruit, or a sandwich?” Ollie tapped his chin in exaggerated thought, his face scrunching up like he was about to make the most critical decision of his young life.

“I want a peanut butter sandwich!” His eyes lit up, and just as you were about to reach for the bread, he added with the utmost seriousness, “But I want to make it myself.”

You and Jude exchanged another look, the same thought crossing your minds. This could either be the cutest bonding moment, or a disaster of epic proportions. Given Ollie’s track record for chaos, you were leaning toward the latter.

You hesitated, trying to find the words to suggest otherwise. “Are you sure we should—” Before you could finish, Ollie hopped off the counter and dragged a chair over, determined to prove his culinary genius.

His little legs struggled to climb up, but he managed with the confidence only a 5 year old could have. You and Jude watched in amusement as he grabbed the loaf of bread with two hands and tossed it onto the counter, a few slices falling to the floor in the process.

Jude discreetly reached for the peanut butter jar, loosening the lid before handing it to Ollie, so that he wouldn’t struggle with opening it.

“Alright, chef,” Jude said with a smirk, glancing at you.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Ollie stacked the slices of bread in a crooked pile, beaming like he’d just created a masterpiece.

“First, you need bread,” he said, his little voice full of authority. Jude chuckled, trying to stifle his laughter. “Looks… great.” Ollie then opened the jar of peanut butter with ease, thanks to Jude’s secret assistance, and proudly held up a butter knife that was far too big for his tiny hands.

With the precision of a wrecking ball, he began smearing peanut butter onto the bread — or rather, onto the counter, with a few globs landing on the bread by accident.

“It’s perfect!” Ollie announced, a glob of peanut butter now stuck to his cheek, completely unaware of the mess he was making.

Jude bent down to inspect the "masterpiece" with exaggerated seriousness.

“Wow, this looks like a real chef’s special. What do you think, babe? Should we open a restaurant?”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “Oh, absolutely.”

But Ollie wasn’t done yet.

“Wait! We need juice!” He hopped off the chair and sprinted to the fridge with the speed of a mini Olympic sprinter.

In his excitement, he grabbed a juice box, squeezing it so hard that juice sprayed everywhere — his shirt, the counter, and even Jude’s face.

“Whoops!” Ollie giggled, looking completely unfazed by the chaos.

“Whoops is right,” you muttered, grabbing a towel to clean up the sticky mess while Jude stood there, wiping juice from his face with a defeated look.

He shook his head, now fully laughing. “This is going great.” You tossed the towel at him, grinning.

“You’re cleaning this up, by the way.” You took Ollie’s sticky hand and led him off to change his shirt.

When you came back, the little boy proudly sat on the counter with his lopsided, half-smeared sandwich in hand.

“Here! Try it!” he demanded, shoving the sandwich toward Jude. “I made it special for you!”

He glanced at you with mock horror in his eyes, clearly torn between supporting Ollie’s culinary adventure and protecting his taste buds.

“Special, huh? Well, I’m honored,” Jude said, taking the smallest, most hesitant bite he could manage.

You watched, thoroughly amused.

“Go on,” you teased, eyes twinkling. “It’s a chef’s special.” Jude struggled to chew the sticky mess, his voice strained as he forced out, “Mmm... delicious.”

Ollie beamed with pride. “Told you! I’m a chef!” You burst out laughing, patting Jude on the back as he finally swallowed.

“You’re a brave man.”

“Anything for you, chef,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek, only for you to wipe a smudge of peanut butter from the corner of his lips.

The little boy, satisfied with his work, hopped off the counter and ran off to the living room, leaving the kitchen a sticky, peanut-butter-coated disaster.

You both stood there for a moment, surveying the damage. The counter was smeared with peanut butter, the floor stained with juice, and somehow, there was still a glob of peanut butter in Jude’s hair.

“This might’ve been a bad idea,” Jude sighed, tossing the towel over his shoulder, but the fond smile on his face told you otherwise. You nudged him playfully, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Admit it, you’re having fun.”

He looked down at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “With you? Always.”

By the time bath time rolled around, you and Jude were already feeling the effects of a full day of babysitting. Ollie had run circles around the both of you, literally, and now it was time to tackle what could be the most unpredictable part of the night. You knew one thing for sure: getting a hyperactive five year old into a bath was going to be anything but peaceful.

Jude clapped his hands together. “Alright, little man, bath time!” he announced, flashing Ollie a wide smile. Ollie’s eyes widened like you’d just suggested the most absurd thing in the world.

“But I don’t need a bath! I’m not even dirty!” he protested, looking down at his dirt-streaked knees and peanut butter-stained shirt with a completely straight face.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure that peanut butter in your hair says otherwise.”

“No way,” Ollie argued, puffing out his chest. “Peanut butter is for eating, not for washing off!”

Jude knelt down to his level, trying his best to reason with the kid. “Come on, buddy, how about we make it fun? You can bring your toys, and we’ll have bubbles!”

“BUBBLES?!” Ollie’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “Okay! But I want a lot of bubbles!”

You grinned, grabbing the bubble bath solution from the cupboard. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll give you more bubbles than you’ve ever seen.”

With that promise, Ollie finally agreed to the bath, darting up the stairs with the same boundless energy he’d had all day. You and Jude followed close behind, exchanging amused glances.

Once you reached the bathroom, Ollie was already busy picking out which toys were worthy of accompanying him into the tub. Jude turned on the water, adding a generous amount of bubble bath until the tub was practically overflowing with fluffy white bubbles. Ollie clapped his hands in glee, bouncing on his toes as he watched the bubbles multiply.

“It’s like a cloud!” Ollie exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“More like a bubble avalanche,” you said, watching the bubbles cascade over the edge of the tub.

Ollie started stripping off his clothes — his shirt getting stuck over his head, turning him into a giggling mess as he tried to wriggle free. Jude stepped in to help.

“Alright, into the tub you go,” Jude said, lifting Ollie up and plopping him into the sea of bubbles.

Within seconds, Ollie was completely submerged, only his head and a mountain of bubbles visible above the surface. He giggled as he started splashing around, sending bubbles and water flying in every direction.

“Ollie! Gentle with the splashing!” you warned, dodging a particularly large splash that just narrowly missed your face. Ollie grinned mischievously. He threw a handful of bubbles at Jude, who was standing just a bit too close. Jude wiped the bubbles off his face, grinning.

“Oh, you want to play it that way, huh?” He grabbed a cup from the counter and scooped up some of the bathwater, threatening to pour it on Ollie’s head. Ollie shrieked in delight, ducking beneath the bubbles as Jude pretended to chase him with the cup.

“You two are going to flood the bathroom!” you said, laughing as you grabbed a towel to try and catch some of the water splashing over the edge of the tub. It was no use — by now, half the bathroom floor was soaked.

“Gotcha!” Jude finally managed to pour the water over Ollie’s head, earning another round of giggles from the little boy.

But then Ollie went quiet, his eyes narrowing as he smirked up at you. “Y/N, now it’s your turn!”

Before you could react, Ollie launched a fistful of bubbles right at you, hitting you square in the chest. You gasped, trying to look stern, but you couldn’t hold back the laughter.

“Alright, that’s it. You’re in trouble now!” You scooped up a huge pile of bubbles and gently tossed them at Ollie, who squealed in delight as the fluffy foam covered his face. Jude watched with a grin, clearly enjoying every second of the chaos.

“I think we’ve lost control of the situation,” he joked, shaking his head as more water sloshed onto the floor.

“Oh, we definitely have,” you agreed, but honestly, you didn’t mind one bit. Ollie’s laughter was contagious, and seeing Jude play along, completely carefree and happy, made your heart swell.

After what felt like an hour of splashing, giggles, and what could only be described as a bubble war, you finally managed to get Ollie cleaned up. He sat in the tub, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes as if the last hour hadn’t been complete chaos.

“Okay, time to get out now,” you said, reaching for a towel.

“But I don’t wanna get out! The bubbles are still here!” Ollie protested, scooping up another handful of bubbles. Jude knelt down beside the tub, giving Ollie a smile.

“We can have more bubbles next time, buddy. But if you don’t get out now, we won’t have time for a bedtime story.” Ollie’s eyes widened again at the mention of a bedtime story.

“A story?! Okay, okay, I’m getting out!” he said, quickly standing up and letting you wrap him in the towel. As you dried him off, Jude stood back, admiring the aftermath of what could only be described as a hurricane of bubbles and water. He grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You smiled up at him, leaning into his embrace as Ollie, wrapped in his dinosaur towel, skipped out of the bathroom, still buzzing with excitement.

“You sure you’re still up for that story?” you called after him, watching as he practically ran toward the living room. Jude looked down at you, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you think? You ready for round two?” You sighed dramatically but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “I’m always ready if you are.”

With Ollie freshly bathed and wrapped in his cozy pajamas, you and Jude settled him onto the couch for what was promised, a bedtime story. His boundless energy had finally started to fade, though his excitement for the story was still evident in his wide eyes and toothy grin.

“Alright, buddy. What story are we reading tonight?” you asked, sitting down on one side of the couch as Jude took the other. Ollie squirmed in the middle, his little legs kicking restlessly as he looked up at you both, clearly relishing the attention.

“The dragon one! The one with the big, scary dragon!” Ollie announced, bouncing a little as he said it. Jude grabbed the book from the table, flipping through the pages dramatically.

“Ah, the one with the scary dragon. I see you like living dangerously.”

Ollie’s eyes grew wide, and he giggled. “I’m not scared of anything! I’m a superhero, remember?” He flexed his tiny arms, making you and Jude chuckle, referring to the superhero game he had made you play with him earlier.

“Of course,” you said with a grin. “Now let’s see how you handle dragons.”

Jude opened the book and began reading in an exaggerated voice, using different accents for the characters, making Ollie giggle uncontrollably. Every time Jude mimicked the dragon’s deep, growly voice, Ollie would cover his mouth in awe, eyes wide, but clearly loving every second of it.

You couldn’t help but watch Jude in admiration. He was amazing with kids, and it made your heart swell seeing him like this; so gentle, so fun, so effortlessly caring.

You caught yourself thinking about what he’d be like as a dad, the thought sneaking into your mind and making you smile to yourself.

“And then,” Jude continued, building up to the story’s climax, “the brave knight faced the dragon, sword in hand, ready to protect his kingdom!” His voice was filled with drama, causing Ollie to sit up straighter, his eyes glued to Jude.

“Did the knight win?” Ollie whispered, completely engrossed in the story.

Jude winked at him, lowering his voice. “What do you think, champ? Do you think the knight was brave enough to win?” Ollie nodded vigorously.

“Yeah! He’s brave, just like me!” Jude smiled, continuing the story with a heroic flair.

“The knight swung his sword and with one mighty swoop, the dragon was defeated!” Ollie clapped his hands, grinning from ear to ear.

“I knew it! The knight is the best!”

As the story reached its happy conclusion, you noticed Ollie’s eyes starting to droop, his earlier excitement finally giving way to sleepiness. His little body leaned against Jude, snuggling into his side as his breathing slowed.

“Looks like the knight’s biggest battle is staying awake,” you whispered, chuckling softly.

Jude smiled down at Ollie, gently closing the book. “Yeah, I think our superhero’s finally ready to call it a night.”

With Ollie half asleep, Jude carefully lifted him in his arms, cradling him with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

You followed them to the guest room, watching as Jude tucked Ollie into the little bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. The little boy stirred for a moment, mumbling something about dragons before he drifted off completely.

You stood at the door, your heart practically melting at the sight. Jude leaned down, brushing a gentle hand over Ollie’s head before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

As you tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind you, the silence of the house settled in. For a moment, neither of you said anything, both still caught up in the sweetness of the scene you’d just left behind.

Finally, Jude broke the silence, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You know, I could get used to this.” You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat.

“Used to what?” He shrugged casually, but there was something deeper in his eyes.

“This. You, me, taking care of a little one. It feels... nice.” Your chest tightened, warmth flooding through you at his words.

You leaned against the wall, trying to act nonchalant even though your heart was pounding. “You think?”

Jude nodded, his gaze soft and full of affection. “Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ollie’s a handful, but... I don’t know. When it’s us, it doesn’t feel hard. It feels like... like we could do this one day. For real.” You felt a lump form in your throat, not from nerves, but from the overwhelming sweetness of the moment.

He wasn’t just talking about babysitting — he was talking about a future. A real future. And that thought made your heart feel so full it could burst.

You smiled up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’d make a pretty great dad, you know.” He reached out, gently pulling you into his arms, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“Only if I get to do it with you.” Your heart swelled, the simplicity and sincerity of his words filling you with a quiet kind of happiness.

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you.

In that moment, as the two of you stood there in the quiet, everything just felt right. You could see it so clearly. The future you’d both only ever hinted at, the one you were both starting to realize you wanted. And as you stood there in each other’s arms, you knew without a doubt that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

[mistydeyes]

for all my ugly sleepy girls out there🎀 (aka me bc beauty sleep is not a word in my vocabulary lol)

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pairing: kyle "gaz" garrick x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, some implied sexy fun times lmao

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You were by no means a sleeping beauty. You had been told by friends, family members, and even exes that you were the absolute worst when you slept. The laundry list of reasons you were the ugliest sleeping corpse crept into your mind every time you fell asleep. From drool-soaked pillows to your snoring that sounded like a mix between a chainsaw and a rumbling earthquake, you reveled in the fact that you lived in a one-person flat.

That was part of the reason you were hesitant to allow your boyfriend, Kyle, to spend the night after some festivities. It wasn’t like you hadn’t slept together before but it was usually following a drunken-filled night and he was still knocked out when you awoke and made yourself look a bit more presentable. But this time, it was clear he had come to stay when he showed up at your flat with dinner and a small backpack. Your heart sank as he innocently walked to your bedroom and you peeked into the bag to find it filled with basic toiletries and a fresh set of clothes for the next day.

You knew you were doomed the minute you both fell back into the sheets and he replied that he would get washed up for bed. “You sure you want to stay over,” you called as you followed him into the brightly lit washroom, “I’m a bit of a kicker when I sleep.” You decided to throw that in instead of all the other odd things you did in your sleep, you secretly hoped he’d get the hint and head home. You leaned against the doorframe as you watched him go about his quick routine and waited for a response. “Think I can handle it,” he replied as he patted his face with one of your face towels and delicately folded it in his hands. His boyish, charming smile made you melt but you decided to remain firm on the task at hand. You tried to feign a smile and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Alright,” you said a bit cautiously before making your way to the sink, “just have to brush my teeth, I’ll be back to bed in a moment.”

The minute Kyle was out of the bathroom, you speed-ran your nightly routine. You ditched your multi-step skincare routine and went with the bare bones. As you quickly rubbed your moisturizer in with one hand and brushed your teeth with the other, you tried to figure out a solution to your current predicament. Kyle was the perfect partner and you wanted him around in the future but you knew from past experiences your sleeping habits were an immediate turn-off. You juggled the idea of sneaking to sleep on the couch but decided it was too risky. Eventually, you decided in your infinite wisdom it would be best to try and stay up for the remainder of the late night. You sighed as you washed your hands and patted your face with a soft towel. You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror before shutting the lights and returning to the bedroom.

“Took you long enough,” Kyle teased as he pulled you into bed. He gently placed his phone on your nightstand as you approached the bed. You giggled as he flipped you over him and wrapped a secure arm around your waist. You couldn’t help but reach a hand up and allow your fingers to trace his features. “You have to tell me what you use to keep your skin so soft,” you teased as you leaned closer to him. He smiled at your comment before moving his hand to tuck a few loose pieces of hair behind your ear. “I’ll never tell,” he whispered as he gazed at you, “besides, you are the most gorgeous person to me.”

Oh, how ironic his compliment was. You couldn't help but mentally gag at that comment, knowing there was so much more to you that he hadn't and hopefully would never see. It pained you to even try to imagine what it would be like to pull off an all-nighter. However, to keep Kyle, you would do anything. You lay in a comfortable silence, your hands exploring his chiseled frame, before he spoke up again. “Get some sleep, love,” Kyle commented before placing his head into the crook of your neck. You sat wide awake as his gentle breaths brushed your clavicle. You were fighting off sleep the best you could but were drawn into the idea of peaceful slumber every time he slowly tightened his grip around you. You pinched the side of your thigh as you tried to continue your little charade. You eventually moved slowly, untangling yourself from his grasp. You gently moved his head from your neck and rolled out of his arms that were settled around your waist. You could’ve sworn you heard him stir awake but the minute you looked back, he was still softly sleeping.

As you turned over and watched the soft midnight light hit Kyle’s face, you couldn’t help but yawn a bit from exhaustion. You rubbed your tired eyes and refocused your attention on how his chest softly rose and fell. He was gorgeous even when he was asleep. He looked peaceful as if he was something out of a fairytale book. You secretly envied him as you pulled out your phone and scrolled through your various social media platforms. You could feel your eyes getting heavier as you continued to scroll. “Just going to close my eyes for a few moments,” you said to yourself as you slowly felt yourself sink into your warm sheets.

When you awoke, you frantically trapped your phone to look at the time. 8:56 AM the letters harshly read as you wiped some droll off your face. You took a minute to wake up before you realized, fuck, Kyle was nowhere to be seen. Your insecurities began to unravel before you heard some noise in the kitchen. You rose from the bed and hissed at the cold hardwood hitting your feet. You pulled on a shirt that had been haphazardly thrown on the ground and made your way to the bathroom. You took a moment to look at yourself in all of your disgusting glory as you continued to hear the commotion of ceramic cups clanging against each other. “At least he didn’t leave,” you mumbled to yourself before you ran the faucet and splashed some water onto your face.

“Hey,” you said gently as you walked over to the kitchen. You had spent a good five minutes brushing your wild hair and scrubbing your drool-crusted face. Kyle was leaning against the counter as he prepared two cups of tea. "Sorry if I woke you," he commented and you couldn't help but smile at the baritone nature of his morning voice. You shook your head as you stretched lightly and suddenly felt a bit shy at the feeling of his eyes on yours. “I’m sorry,” you suddenly blurted out as you made your way to him, “I know I’m an ugly sleeper and I should’ve warned you before you slept over.” As you scanned his face for a reaction, he burst out in laughter. You rubbed your neck in embarrassment as he calmed down from his sudden outburst. “I will say I was scared at first when I looked over and saw your eyes were open but I was happy to hear you loudly snoring after,” he said through chuckles, reaching up and cupping your cheek. You were flushed at his words and felt yourself slowly dying from shame. “But you know I’m a soldier, love,” he reassured you as he stoked your soft face, “I have slept in much worse situations.”

You let out a sigh and looked back up at him with a soft smile. “Well I’d be more than happy to stay 'round yours,” you teased as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “now that you know what you’re in for.” As you savored the moment, you couldn’t help but look over to see how the phone with a few notifications popping up. What was more important was the fact that his new lock screen was a picture of you sprawled out on his chest, eyes half-lidded, and hair a complete wreck. Before you could even think about it, he snatched the device and placed it safely in his pocket. “Don’t even think about it, love.”

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 006

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [10.2k] Sarah shows up on the doorstep on The Chateau with a key piece of the puzzle, now it's up to the pogues to put them all together.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, L*ke M*ybank, mentions of death, graphic depictions of injuries

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ im sorry this chapter took wayyy too fucking long😭

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“GOOD MORNING…” You mumbled, trotting out onto the patio, sock-clad feet padding across the hardwood as you joined your four friends outside, the morning air damp and humid. Kie was laid out on the sofa, Pope curled in the armchair with a blanket draped over him as JJ leaned against the railing and John B sat in the last remaining armchair.

JJ outstretched his arms for you to fall into them, you sleepily walking over to the boy and wrapping your arms around his torso as he returned the gesture, planting a small kiss on the top of your head. “Mornin’, princess.”

“Well, aren’t you two just adorable.” John B mocked, tossing pennies onto the coffee table.

“Don’t be salty because your girl went back to her roots, Bree.” JJ joked, JB flipping him off.

“It is far from a good morning.” Pope said firmly, shifting in his seat. “It’s a key-less morning is what it is...”

“We’ll get it back...” Kiara mumbled from the couch, her beanie pulled down over her eyes. 

“And how do you suppose we’ll do that?” Pope sassed. The girl just shrugged, shifting herself on the furniture.

Just then, the screen door of the patio creaked — all eyes drifting to find a fully dressed Sarah Cameron walking in, fiddling with her fingers.

“Well, hello.” JJ was the first to speak.

“What’s up?” Kie greeted tiredly, looking up at the blonde girl.

“Shouldn’t you be on Figure Eight with your group of polo players?” John B jabbed, rolling his eyes and looking away from the girl. Sarah just pursed her lips, looking her ex-boyfriend dead in the eyes as his own drifted back to her when he was met with no response. “Or did you break up with Topper?” He drove the knife even further.

“We’re just friends.” Sarah shot back, squinting her eyes at the boy. 

“Oh, he’s just a friend?” John B said unbelievably, watching as the girl walked across the floor to lean against the railing next to you and JJ. “You have a lot of friends, Sarah Cameron.”

“Yeah, and it seems like you’ve got some of your own, too.” Sarah retorted, pinching her eyebrows together.

You and JJ made silent ‘O’ faces, looking away from the lover’s quarrel happening on the patio. 

“Alright, what’re you doing here?” JB pressed, sitting up straighter in his seat. “What do you want?”

Sarah sighed, hitting her fists together in contemplation. “I’m here for Pope.” She declared, all eyes on her once again as Pope’s face twisted. “...I think I found the island room.” She told him.

The tension in the room became palpable — If Sarah had truly found the island room, then you all had an advantage again. There was nothing Limbrey could do with the key if she didn’t know where the island room was. Now each team had a piece of the puzzle, if Sarah was right.

“GUYS, LISTEN TO THIS…” Pope silenced the crowd of you in the van. John B and Sarah were upfront while the rest of your rode in the back — everyone quieting down and allowing Pope to speak, photocopies of pages from Denmark’s journal clutched in his hands. “The diary says the cross holds the most holy relic in all of Christendom, The Garment of The Savior.” 

“So wait,” Kiara interrupted from her place next to Pope, the two of them across from you and JJ. You were leaned against his shoulder, one of his arms slung over your shoulders. “He’s saying there’s a holy garment inside the cross?”

“Yeah.” Pope exasperated. “It says the garment is capable of healing the sick from any malady.”

“Maybe that’s why she wants it so bad?” You threw out tiredly, voice still raspy and weak from sleep. 

“Who?” JJ probed, looking down at you.

“Limbrey.” You clarified. “Maybe she thinks it’ll heal her.”

“Mmm…” Your boyfriend hummed in thought, looking up at nothing. “Yeah. ‘If only I may touch His garment, I will be made well.’” He quoted with full confidence, the three of you surrounding him sharing looks. “What? I went to Sunday School.”

“Well, that would explain why Limbrey wants the cross so bad.” Pope agreed with your theory and JJ’s biblical evidence.

“What else does it say?” Kiara asked, Pope’s eyes darting back to the papers.

“...’Many feel that we have sinned to steal such a sacred thing, and God will strike his vengeance on us.’” Pope read directly from the printed journal pages. 

“Thing is,” Kie started. “God did have His vengeance…” She trailed off, leaving everyone to think before Pope put the pieces together.

“...He sent a hurricane to sink the ship.” He said aloud, connecting the pieces for the rest of you. “And only Denmark survived.”

“THIS PLACE STILL FREAKS ME OUT.” John B proclaimed as the six of you walked through the hallways of Tannyhill, following Sarah’s lead. 

“You’re telling me…” You added, eyes trailing the walls of the house you hadn’t been in in months. You could still remember everything that went down behind these walls — sleepovers, baking nights, Rafe…

Sarah stopped in front of a door to her right, opening it and guiding everyone in. “Pope, look.” She directed as the group of you piled into the room. What was once boring, plain wallpaper was torn down and shredded, revealing a much more intricate piece of art beneath — it was a map. A map that went around the entire room. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me...” Pope said relieved, eyes trailing each of the walls. 

“It’s been here this whole time.” Sarah smiled, stepping back to let you all examine what she’d found. You all dispersed and scattered, each evaluating a different part of the wall.

“This is a map of the whole island.” John B recorded, eyeing one of the walls closest to the windows. 

“Yeah, John B, I think you’re right ‘cause this is Rixon’s right here.” JJ corroborated, standing in front of the wall directly across from his best friend. 

“And then there’s the lighthouse.” You added, pointing to the lighthouse on the wall that matched the one right outside the window of Tannyhill.

“Guys,” Kiara spoke up. “Look, Parcel Nine and the well.” She said, trailing her fingers across the spot on the map, the five of you walking over to give it a glance.

“So, if that’s Parcel Nine,” John B began, his head on swivel as he connected the dots. “And that’s Rixon’s,” He pointed as he walked down the middle of the room, looking at the piece of the map that stood between two cabinets full of fine china. “Then that’s gotta be the surf break at Mase.” He realized, JJ right next to him as the remaining four of you watched from behind.

“Right. And look.” The blonde chipped in, holding a page of the diary up to the section of the wall. “Pope, c’mere. This is Denmark’s handwriting, for sure.” He smirked, Pope, standing behind his two friends. 

The drawing was an exact replica of what was on the diary page.

“...These are all his drawings.” Pope examined, turning around to survey the walls around him once more, the diary pages clutched to his chest. “He painted this entire room.”

“Yeah, the question is why?” Kiara threw out, leaning against the table in the center.

“He did all of this for a reason.” You offered, trailing your fingers over the dried paint softly. “It has to lead to something. I mean, that’s what maps are for, right?”

“Something to do with the key?” JJ proposed, eyes pinching as he surveyed the walls himself. “That’s where the whole island room message came from.”

“How did you know to uncover this?” John B asked Sarah, standing right next to the girl as she smoothed over the painted walls with her palms. 

“I didn’t.” She said. “It was like this when I got home.” Now all eyes were on her.

“What?” You sputtered, eyes wide.

“Then who did it?” Kie pressed as Sarah walked around the room, further from the five of you.

“I don’t know...” Sarah defended. 

“The freaks.” Another, much smaller, voice added — startling all of you. The six of you jumped to find Wheezie standing by the door.

“Wheeze…” Sarah sighed in relief, walking closer to her sister. 

“What freaks are we talkin’ about?” JJ asked the young girl.

“Uh, that sick lady and her attack dog.” She said like it was nothing. Wheezie always seemed relatively unphased by things that would and should phase someone of her age and circumstance. “They showed up last night, and they wanted to talk to Rafe.” 

“Pale blonde lady with crutches?” JJ gave a description of Limbrey.

“With a creepy, dirty looking guy in leather?” You added on a description of her ‘attack dog’.

“Uh-huh.” The girl nodded, lips parted as you all fired off question after question.

“Okay, what happened?” John B asked, stepping forward and cutting off the influx of questions. 

“Well, at first they searched the house looking for something, and then Rafe told me to go upstairs.” She explained as if she were telling a simple story from school, voice full of attitude. “But I didn’t wanna miss out so I listened through the grate. I could hear them tearing the wallpaper down and then the lady got excited about ‘finally finding something’.” She explained. “And then they started talking about…getting across the sand flamingo?”

 “That’s code.” JJ immediately perked up, everyone’s faces twisting in confusion as your rolled your eyes, mumbles heard left and right as they tried to work out what Wheezie was saying.

“The cross.” You blurted, looking around at your friends all speaking to themselves. “The Cross of Santo Domingo.” You reminded as if it was the easiest thing to figure out. “Is that what you meant, Wheezie?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Her eyes lit up before another thought seemed to ease its way into her mind. “Oh! And they were talking about, like, angels. A lot of angel talk, I don’t know…” She waved it off as a mere irrelevant detail. 

“Angels?” Everyone mumbled to themselves when suddenly, Pope tensed.

“Guys,” He blurted, eyes wide and shoulders square. “Denmark’s famous last words. He buried the real treasure at the foot of the angel.”

“We have to find an angel.” You mumbled to yourself, head whipping to scan the tattered walls. “Look for an angel.” You prompted, the group of you hurriedly looking over the walls. Poor Wheezie probably thought you were all crazy. 

Your eyes went wild across the painting, instinctively stopping over an illustration of a large tree with a prominent key hole in the middle. “Guys!” You cut off your friend's incessant and frantic rambling, everyone talking over one another. “I think I found something. Come here.” You instructed, eyes still on the illustration as the sound of them walking over echoed in your ears.

“This tree?” You pointed. “It’s still on Goat Island. And this is an Angel Oak tree. Do you see that?” You asked, tip of your index finger sliding over to the keyhole. 

“The cross is buried at the foot of the angel…” Pope reiterated, his eyes drifting down in thought.

“It’s a reach but it’s worth a shot.” You shrugged, looking back at your friends with wide eyes. You hoped it meant something. 

“But whose to say they didn’t get there first?” John B said solemnly, referring to Limbrey. “They found this last night.”

“But whose to say they did?” JJ countered.

“Regardless, that must be where they are right now.” Pope brushed off, basically shaking with anticipation. “We have to go. We have to go!” He jumped up, slapping JB’s shoulder and darting out of the room.

“You’re welcome, by the way!” You smiled, turning to follow Pope as JJ grabbed your head and pulled it into his chest, kissing the top of your head — the gesture making an audible sound.

“Let’s go, baby!” He cheered as the group of you scurried out of Tannyhill.

“GUYS, WE’RE COMIN’ UP ON FREEDMAN’S CHURCH.” Pope informed, you all looking out of the window as The Twinkie rode past the worn down cathedral, shrouded by overgrown bushes and vines. “The church Denmark built for all the slaves he freed.”

“Why have we never heard of Denmark before?” You pondered, watching the church disappear out of sight. “I mean, it seems like a big portion of the island has something to do with Denmark and his family and his story.”

“Probably because of the gold.” JJ said from his place behind you as you sat in between his legs. “The more people who know, the more chaos it causes.”

You hummed, accepting his answer as logical.

As the van continued its journey, you could see the tree coming into view. It was big and beautiful — completely visible over the tall field you were driving through.

“Ah, shit…” John B cursed from the driver’s seat, the vehicle slowing. “Tide’s coming in.” He sighed, the four of you in the back standing to look out of the windshield, spotting the ditch The Twinkie would have to drive through in order to make it to the other side.

“And they already came through here.” Pope pointed out. “Those have to be Limbrey’s tire tracks.” He pointed out the heavy duty tracks embedded into the mud.

“Mmmm…” JJ cringed. “What do you think, Chief?” He aimed the question at John B.

“I’m thinking it’s looking a little dicey.” John B evaluated, pinching his chin between his fingers. 

“I’m inclined to agree.” You said sheepishly, eyeing Pope. “Sorry, Pope.”

“Okay, clearly they made it. No?” Kie stated the obvious in the name of optimism. 

“In a two-wheel drive?” John B said incredulously. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Why are y’all are acting like you’re not gonna do it anyways?” Sarah chuckled from the passenger seat, looking at each of you individually. “Like when have y’all ever done the safe thing?”

…

“Alright.” 

“She’s got a point.” John B agreed begrudgingly, drawing his lips into a thin line.

JJ sighed, positioning himself behind his friend in the driver’s seat. “Speed is your friend here, brother.” He advised as John B shifted gears and adjusted himself. “So, put her in second and hammer down.” 

“And stick to the high ground in the middle, John B.” Pope added, the sound of the engine revving and the tires rolling against the wet mud greeting your ears.

“Alright, here we go.” John B said, pressing down on the gas pedal and guiding the Twinkie through the wet terrain. It actually made it farther than you thought, blazing through the sodden ground but it wasn’t fast enough. 

“It’s gonna slide!”

“You’re fishtailing already!”

Even with the endless protests and doubts, the van managed to make it to the other side — the road evening out to make a less bumpy ride as it came to a stop on dry land. “Whoo! That’s my girl.” John B smiled, patting the dashboard and cutting the engine. “I told you we’d make it.” He sassed, opening the door to let himself out as Sarah did the same, the rest of you piling out of the back.

“Angel Oak is right through here.” Pope said, pointing through the trees. He didn’t wait for anyone before eagerly walking forward, making his way through thick trees, sharp branches, and wading dangerously close to potentially gator-infested water. 

The five of you followed behind him, trying not to get hit in the face by tree branches and violent insects. The further you trekked, the more you could hear — the sound of machinery whirring and beeping drifting into your ears.

You stopped when Pope did, the crowd of you hiding behind the thickness of a family of bushes. Above the the greenery, you could see an entire team of workers. Limbrey was serious about this, huh?

They had expensive equipment and they looked exhausted. Your eyes scanned the scene in front of you when suddenly, a familiar face followed by a haunting voice came into view.

“I don’t see shit.” Rafe’s voice traveled, the boy carrying a shovel in his hand. The sight of him made your palms sweaty. “You sure this is the right spot?” He called out, looking behind him. Looking to your side, you could see JJ in your peripheral — his jaw clenched tightly as his eyes followed the boy’s every move from afar.

“It’s there.” Limbrey called back, your eyes roaming to land on her figure standing far away from the excavation, leaning against her car. “The garment will be in the cross and the cross will be at the foot of the tree.” 

“Alright, well whatever we find, I get my cut.” Her bodyguard said from beside her, closing the trunk.

“Yes, Renfield, you will.” She said carelessly. At least now you knew his name. “The actual Garment…” She fawned, staring up at the tall tree. “You understand the significance.”

“I do, Carla.” He replied, but he didn’t seem like he meant it. Anyone but her could see that they were in this for two different things. She wanted to heal herself. Renfield wanted money.

“One touch of it, and I’ll be healed.” She said softly, never taking her sights off the tree. “And this long nightmare will be over.” She spoke so fondly of being healed, it almost made you feel bad for her. Almost.

“Your lips to God’s ears…” Her body guard spoke aimlessly.

“I know you don’t believe it.” She sighed, finally looking over at him. “But countless stories over millennia prove that miracles happen.”

He went silent, rolling his eyes at her words when a loud crunch sounded out through the forest — the excavation truck hitting something as it dug into the ground.

“Hey!” Carla shouted, putting her hand up and going over as quickly as possible to get a closer look. “Wait, stop!” She commanded, the workers halting in any further digging attempt with the machine. “Get in there, boys. Do it by hand.” She instructed the workers. 

The small team of men hopping into the shallow ditch they’d dug, removing the dirt manually. “This has gotta be the cross…” She hoped — her, Rafe, and Renfield standing around as the men dug and dug.

Their conversation became hushed, mere whispers in the wind when suddenly they backed up as the men crawled out of the ditch, bringing a large, wooden object up with them. Rafe and Renfield helped to lift it as the six of you watched them remove it.

“They got the cross?” JJ was the first to speak, his voice small and hushed. “What do we do? What do we do?” He asked frantically, shaking Pope.

“What can we do?” John B countered.

“That’s not a cross.” You interrupted the two boys, eyes never leaving the object. It was old-fashioned, sure. But after your father’s funeral, you could spot it from a mile away. “That’s a casket.”

“...Are you sure?” Kiara asked, her face set into a heavy frown as you all watched the men grab tools to pry the box open.

You nodded mindlessly, watching these people possibly deface a grave. “I’m positive.”

“Maybe the cross is inside?” Sarah threw out, but you shook your head. 

“Based off of Denmark’s descriptions and drawings? The cross would be too big to fit into something that small…” You informed, watching as the top of the box popped off, the men tossing it to the side. Even from feet away, you could see the way each and every one of their faces fell.

“...It’s just a corpse.” Renfield sighed, almost angrily.

“...We must’ve missed something.” Carla said, refusing to believe this was the end. 

“Of course it’s just a dead body- Jesus!” Rafe exclaimed. 

“We just got the wrong place.” Carla said, breathing heavily as she over-exerted herself to make it back to her vehicle. “We just need to go back to the island room- We’re going back!” She announced. “It’s not over!”

The men all shared looks, not believing her words but she was probably offering them enough money to want to stay on the job. So, they all piled into their trucks and cars, the group of them exiting the premises as the six of you crept closer to the tree, hearing the cars get further and further away.

Pope was the first one to reach the tree, almost sprinting out from the bushes. 

You were right. It was a casket. And inside was nothing but a pile of bones.

“Cecilia…” Pope sighed, looking down at the name tag inside of the casket. “Cecilia Tanny. Denmark’s wife.” He said sadly, looking up at the tree. “He wasn’t talking about the cross.” He realized, voice wavering.

“The true treasure...” Kiara said, a solemn smile on her face.

“...He was talking about his wife.” You added, looking down into the casket. You realized they couldn’t have known it was a grave, but to discover something so sacred and then leave her bones so exposed in her final resting place…

It was unconsciously evil.

Pope sniffed, holding back his tears and crouching down over the casket, the rest of you following. “...Denmark was hung for burying his wife,” He said, voice cracking under his suppressed emotions. “And now they defiled her grave.” He said, his voice just above a whisper.

But his eyes seemed to find something within the box, not a care in the world as his fingers reached inside the woman’s casket, brushing dust and ash off a hidden object. It was circular and shining in some lights, Pope dusted it off with his fingers to reveal the gold underneath — a ring.

“...This must’ve been from Denmark.” He said. “Her wedding ring.” He examined the object, twirling it in his fingers. You didn’t miss the look of regret and longing shared between John B and Sarah at the mention of the ring.

Pope sighed and placed the ring back into the casket gently. “We can’t leave her like this.”

“We won’t.” You assured him, planting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it for emphasis as you all stood — the three guys lifting the top of the casket and replacing it back in its respective position, sealing Cecilia’s grave.

Taking the tools left behind by the crew, JJ and John B hammered the casket back closed, making sure it was secure as Pope gathered a small bouquet of flowers, placing them softly on top of the wooden structure, putting the woman to rest for the second, and hopefully last, time.

THE BOYS HAD SPENT THE LAST HOUR REBURYING CECILIA, only just now reaching a point where the ground was once again leveled, no longer able to tell there was something buried underneath.

“I just don’t get it.” Pope pondered. “You guys saw the map. He hides his gold so nobodies finds it for one-hundred and seventy years.” He ranted, walking in circles. John B and JJ were laid on the ground, exhausted from the digging while you, Sarah, and Kie sat in a circle in front of the large Oak Tree. “And then he sends a message to his son Robert to come here to his mother’s grave, but the message never gets to him. And Denmark wanted him to find the cross.” Pope explained, throwing his hands in the air. “I know we’re in the right spot…It just feels like-”

“Like we missed somethin’?” JJ interrupted, all eyes going to the blonde who was staring absentmindedly up at that tree. “Guys…” He trailed off, walking swiftly towards the tree — climbing on top of the parked van for a boost. “Wasn’t there a keyhole in the painting in the island room, princess?” He asked, eyes darting to you for a second who was now crowded around the elevated boy with the rest of your friends, holding a hand out to bring you up on top of the vehicle with him.

“Yeah. Why?” You asked, face twisting in curiosity as your boyfriend helped you up. Balancing yourself, that’s when you saw it — a hole in the bark of the tree. “You think that’s…?”

The boy simply shrugged, a smug smile on his face as your four friend looked up at the two of you. “It’s worth a shot, right?” He asked, the rest of the group agreeing. JJ was quick to turn to you, motioning his head in the direction of the black hole. “Go for it.”

“What?” You asked, repulsed. “No way. I went in the storm drain. It’s your turn, blondie.” 

“She did go in the storm drain.” Pope backed you up, Kiara humming in agreement. 

“Okay, yeah. I’ll do it. I’m gonna do it, it’s just…” JJ rambled, stepping closer to the tree cautiously, shaking his hand in preparation.

“He’s scared.” You whispered, looking down at your friends. 

“I’m not scared.”

“You seem scared.” You smiled behind the blonde’s back, watching his hand getting closer to the hole. Eventually, he stuck it in, the black hole managing to fit half of his arm as he fished around to see what, if anything, was inside. 

“...There’s somethin’ in here.” JJ said after moments of silence. 

“Can you grab it?” You asked, offering potential assistance.

“Nah, I got it.” He waved off, digging his arm deeper. “Wait…”

“Wha-”

“AAH!” JJ bellowed, his arm now shoulder deep into the tree as it looked like he struggled to pull it out. His screaming caused the rest of you to flinch and scream as well. Your four friends on the ground began to attempt to climb the van and render aid as you grabbed onto the arm that was lodged in the tree, tugging vehemently. 

JJ continued to yell and shout as you attempted to pull him out of the tree, breaking a small sweat as you did so when the boy’s pleas for help turned into a small fit of laughter, your concern slowly dwindling along with your friends.

The blonde continued to breathlessly cackled as your expressions of concern morphed into annoyance. Pope was the first to scold him — slamming his palm against the roof of the van. “Oh, you asshole.” He scoffed as the four of them returned to the ground, you letting go of JJ’s arm and standing back with your arms crossed.

“That is so not funny.” You mumbled, the boy placing a peck on your cheek before removing his hand from the tree — a gold tube clutched in between his fingers.

“...Let me see.” Pope demanded, holding his hands up for JJ to hand him the object. He wasted no time in taking it and wiping away any dust and debris, revealing letters engraved onto it, reading ‘H.M.S Royal Merchant’. 

You and JJ hopped down off the vehicle — him going first in order to help you down before standing next to Pope. “Wait, let me see.” He said, gently taking the item from Pope’s hands and into his own and pulling it apart, the object elongating by twice it’s size before he put it to his eye. “It’s a spyglass.” He joked, waving it around wildly before John B and Pope took it from him.

“There’s something on the ends…” Kiara added, standing in between John B and Sarah.

“An inscription, right there…”John B caught on, pointing for Pope to see. “Look at that shit.” He chuckled.

Pope smiled, huffing out a laugh before reading. “You’ve come this far. Do not falter. The cross is on the…Freedman’s alter?”

Freedman’s alter, you pondered. Why did it seem like you had just-

“The church.” You blurted, all eyes on you. “Freedman’s Church, we passed it at the entrance.” You explained, a smile on your face as you met each of their eyes. “The cross is at the church!”

“What are we still doing here?” JJ joined in, a smile on his face. 

“We got it!” Pope celebrated, collapsing the telescope. “Come on!” He urged, being the first one to hop in The Twinkie, the rest of you following.

“AH CRAP. THE TIDE…” Pope exclaimed from the backseat, wedged in between the two seats up front as John B came up on the road you’d all just barely passed the first time.

“How deep is that?” Kiara asked peering out the window.

“Dunno.” John B replied simply. “The road’s gone.” He observed, the previous tire tracks no longer visible, hidden beneath the shallow pool of water. 

“Uh, John B, how high are the spark plugs?” JJ asked.

“...They’re good. We’re fine.” The boy assured, not meeting any of your eyes and looking straight ahead, actively avoiding your gazes.

“How high are they?” You all asked in unison, pressing him further. 

“Oh, um…” He cringed, ducking his head out of the driver’s side window. “Just above the tail light.” The van filled with silence, save for the running engine, until Pope spoke.

“So, that’s…what, three feet?”

“That’s three feet, yeah.” JJ said with disappointment lacing his tone. 

“That…can’t be three feet deep.” Kiara doubted, throwing an arm out in the direction of the windshield.

“Then what’s the problem?” John B asked the collective.

“No problem. Not a problem at all.” JJ shook his shoulders, patting John B’s in assurance. “We’re good. She’ll make it.”

“Yeah…” The brunette boy said to mainly to himself, shifting gears and adjusting in his seat. “Fasten your seatbelts, hold onto something-”

“There are no seatbelts back here.” You mumbled, looking around along with everyone else crowded in the back. JJ stifled out a chuckle, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your body against his firmly.

“There’s your seatbelt.” He laughed lowly, the close proximity making your face heat up.

“We’re going into hyperdrive.” John B breathed out, the vehicle rumbling back to life underneath the six of you. He pressed himself into the driver’s seat and put his foot hard down on the pedal, the wheels of the van spinning on themselves before The Twinkie lurched forward, basically hydroplaning straight through the puddle of water.

You’d made it halfway through, almost to the otherside. The group of you began cheering when suddenly the vehicle nearly tipped over veering itself to the right, lodging itself deeper into the water as the engine died. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no…” John B panicked, flipping switches and pressing buttons.

“I think we miscalculated…” Pope said.

“...Everyone out. We gotta take the weight off before she sinks…” JB sighed, killing the engine completely and removing the keys from the ignition, frustratedly pushing the driver’s side door open. “Gah!- Dammit…” He exclaimed, noticing the foot of water that he’d have to step in.

Sarah followed suit, getting out of the passenger seat while the rest of you unloaded the back, groaning in disgust as your sneakers filled with water going up mid-calf.

“Ew, ew, ew…” You mumbled to yourself, face twisting in disgust as you walked around to the back of the van with your friends. “Oh God, my socks are brown.” You heard a familiar chuckle behind you, shooting a mean glare at the blonde. “It’s not funny. This is disgusting. There’s probably flesh-eating fish and gators and shit in here…”

“Here, c’mon.” JJ said before a hand was reaching out to stop you from walking further, both of his hands going under your arms so he could quickly pick you up and swing you around to carry you on his back as your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso, your arms around his neck — the boy not seeming to care about the water that was now staining his upper half as well.

“That was sexy.” You said absentmindedly, silently cursing yourself when you realized that you had said it aloud. The blonde let out a hearty chuckle, lifting you higher on his back to sit more comfortably.

“If you thought that was sexy, just wait until I whip out my other tricks.” He laughed out, walking towards the group as an optimistic Pope spoke.

“Maybe we can walk from here?”

“What?” John B was quick to argue, throwing his hands out. “And leave The Twinkie? The tide’s coming in.”

“So, then what are we supposed to do?” Sarah questioned.

“Not stay here.” Kie said.

Silence filled the air for a few moments, everyone in their own heads trying to come up with solutions before your voice broke through the air. 

“I can take my car.” You threw out, shrugging. 

“What?” JJ asked, trying to look at you over his shoulder. “Absolutely not, I spent weeks fixing that thing-”

“And you fixed it for good reason.” You smiled, kissing his cheek as he grumbled under his breath. “It should be able to fit all of us, if need be, and JJ replaced the tires, so it should ride pretty smooth.”

“We’re gonna need somethin’ to pull her out.” JJ brought up, motioning towards the van stuck in the mud. “There’s a winch at The Chateau.” 

“That doesn’t sound too bad.” Sarah backed up, eyes mainly on John B who was visibly distressed. Sometimes you all forgot how much the van meant to him.

“Okay, if you’re gonna do it, let’s go, okay?” John B breathed out, eyes wide and pleading. “Tide’s coming. Twinkie’s going underwater.

“Alright,” JJ said, hiking you up once again. “Let’s roll, princess.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CARRIED ME ALL THE WAY HERE ON YOUR BACK.” You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully as JJ sat you down on the gravel on the grounds of The Chateau. “I could’ve walked.”

“I know but I like the feeling of you wrapped around me.” The boy flirted, stepping closer and planting a quick kiss on your lips.

“Go away, you flirt.” You joked, lightly pushing the blonde back as an equally bright smile broke out on his face. 

“Alright, princess. You go start up the truck and I’ll grab the winch.” He said, hopping on his feet before turning around and walking backwards. “And you may wanna feed Marley really quick while we’re here!” He shouted quickly before disappearing into the Surf Shack.

You figured he was right — skipping up the steps to the front door and swinging it open, you walked inside, immediately spotting Marley curled up on the couch.

She hadn’t exactly been herself since you picked her up from Barry’s trailer. She seemed…gloomy. Different. She didn’t seem hurt when you got her back but you were starting to wonder what she’d gone through while she was there…

Quietly walking over, you placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head before heading towards the kitchen and filling her bowl to the brim with food and water for when she woke up.

One last glance over your shoulder and you were exiting the home, snatching your keys off of the kitchen counter and walking towards your car — the boxwood green Ford Bronco sitting perfectly parked and untouched.

Unlocking the vehicle you hopped in the driver’s seat, too busy putting the key in the ignition to see JJ walking towards the car…with his dad. The only thing that alerted you to the presence of a third person was the sound of the back door opening and slamming shut, almost in unison with the passenger side.

You perked up, eyes spotting the older man in the rearview before your eyebrows pinched together, whipping around to find Luke Maybank in the backseat of your car. “What the fuck?” You muttered, eyes shifting between JJ and his father. “...No.” You shook your head, killing the engine. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Just start the car.” JJ said, voice flat. You scoffed, getting out of the driver’s seat and walking around the back of the vehicle. You heard JJ sigh before his own door was opening and closing, the blonde meeting you around at the back of the truck.

“He’s not coming.” You said firmly, trying to push past him.

“I know, okay?-” He said, hands on your shoulders.

“If you know then why is he in the backseat of my car?”

“Listen to me-”

“What the hell is this?” You pressed.

“Just listen.” JJ hissed, hands firmly on both of your arms, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I need to get into the marina at the Island Club. There’s a boat there that he can take. You still have the sticker on your truck.”

“There’s no telling if they’ll even let me into the parking lot with everything going on with my mom-”

“Twenty minutes.” JJ cut you off, eyes boring into yours. “That’s all I need.”

“All he needs, you mean.” You retorted. “The Twinkie is gonna be underwater in twenty minutes, JJ. Your dad-” You sassed, making direct eye contact with the older man before turning back to JJ. “Can handle whatever this is on his own. Leave him and we can come back! If we come back-” You raised your voice as JJ walked away and back around to passenger side.

“The cops are after him!” JJ replied, slamming his fist against the truck. “If I do this now, maybe I’ll never have to do it again.” He told you, voice softening. 

“You’re putting a lot on that maybe.” You shot back, JJ getting into the passenger seat silently as you rounded the vehicle to get back into the driver’s seat, shooting Luke a mean, pointed look as you got in and slammed your door shut.

YOU’D BEEN DRIVING FOR TEN MINUTES, losing patience and getting further away from The Twinkie that was probably half-way underwater by now. If it were up to you, Luke Maybank would be camping out on the shore of The Marsh, but if you didn’t help JJ, he’d do it himself. And that wasn’t going to happen, whether you supported him helping his dad or not.

“Hey,” Luke’s raspy voice filled the void in the vehicle after a long period of no one speaking. “Pull up to the Home Foods here. I’m gonna need provisions.”

“Piss in a jar.” You spat, eyeing him in the rearview. “There’s your provision…” You mumbled.

“Y/N.” JJ called your name, eyeing you as warning to just not engage. You scoffed, sharply making the turn off the road into the parking lot of the Farmer’s Market. Pulling the car to a stop, you looked back at Luke, motioning for the man to get out and get what he needed.

“I can’t get out, darlin’. I’m a fugitive.” He said, a smug smile on his face.

"That's just not my problem." You shrugged, drawing your lips into a thin line before turning to JJ.

“Look, I’ll give you the cash. Can you go in and buy it?” The blonde requested to which you nearly choked on nothing.

“And leave you in here with him?” You asked, your mind flashing back to the day you and JJ got out of jail and what you saw when he got into the car with his father. “No way. No.”

JJ sighed. “Then we’ll both go.”

“And leave him here to jack my car? Yeah, no.” You denied firmly, looking ahead. JJ licked his lips, eyes fleeting between the two of you before he leaned over the console to whisper in your ear.

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” He said, you turning to the side to look your boyfriend in the eyes.

“I’ll be fine.” You assured as he sat down in his seat, unbuckling his seatbealt. “I promise.” You nodded, the boy sighing once more and quickly exiting the truck, his father calling out of the rolled down backseat window.

“Crackers and baked beans and tuna! Alright?” He shouted his request across the mostly empty parking lot. “And some salt ‘n pepper!”

“Yeah...” JJ replied back, annoyed.

“Five days worth!”

“I know.”

The car filled with silence following JJ’s absence, the only sound being the faint music flowing from inside the establishment. Not even a full minute after his son had gone inside, Luke Maybank made it his mission to become a nuisance for however long it would take for JJ to come back — playing the drums on the back of your seat like a child.

You ignored him for as long as you could, pretending like the incessant knocking sound and irritating vibrations against your back weren’t prompting your fists to curl in on themselves before you decided to let go.

“You’re a piece of shit.” You spat, not even looking at him as you said it. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, gon ‘head. Preach it to me.” He chuckled, leaning back in his seat as his drumming ceased. “Set me straight.”

“Just because you’re a lowlife with nothing but a penny and a few beer cans to his name doesn’t mean you have to try and turn your son into the same monster you are.” You gave it to him, no sugar coating. “You have no idea how amazing he is...” You pondered. "...and how much better off he'd be without you."

Luke just scoffed. “He’s a thief, is what he is.”

“And what are you?” You scoffed back. “Some kind of model citizen?” You laughed. “You’re just another deadbeat, wasted local salt who never did shit with his life but hustle people and get doped up on…Ambien, was it?” You spat.

Luke just snickered in the backseat. “Yknow, you sound just like your daddy.” He threw out, the mention of your father falling from his lips boiling a whole new pot of anger. “He was just like you in high school. Always thought he was better than everybody else just ‘cause he was had a little heart to him and played by the rules. But I bet you? You're more like your mama…” He trailed off and you could hear him shift closer in the back seat. “Slumming with bad boys? Or the rich ones who just want a night with an easy, southside chick? I seen you with that Cameron boy all those months ago. Does my boy know about your little summer fling?” He laughed, having no idea the shit he was stirring.

“Nah, you wouldn’t tell him. Just like your mama, all about reputations. Little Miss Figure Eight…but not so much anymore, huh?” He carried on. “Mommy’s in jail while you ride around your dead daddy’s truck-” His rant was cut off when you turned around and punched him square in the nose, all within the same second — sending the man thumping against the back seat, holding his face.

“Don’t ever talk about my father.” You spat. “And don't act like you know shit about me. I am nothing like my mother.” You spat, face twisting in disgust as you turned back to face the windshield, watching JJ come out with bags in his hands. “And JJ’s nothing like you.”

The silence resumed as JJ got back to the car, tossing the bag in the back with his father and getting into the passenger seat. He must’ve felt that something was off because he paused in buckling his seatbelt to eye the both of you, but you spoke before he could say anything. Shifting the gears and adjusting your seat.

“Let’s get this over with.” You said, hands on the steering wheel as you practically whipped out of the parking lot.

PULLING IN FRONT OF THE PELICAN YACHT CLUB, JJ hopped out of the passenger seat as Luke handed him the bag of provisions. The older man was quick to lean in between the two seats in the front, voice next to your head.

“Hey, when you go and visit mommy in prison, why don���t you tell her I said hi-”

“Shut up.” JJ warned his father, pulling the backseat door open, motioning for him to get out of the car. “Come on.” JJ urged the man, Luke getting out of the car with that same smug grin as before as he slammed the door shut. “I won’t be long.” JJ assured you, leaning through the passenger side window.

“Five minutes.” You clarified. “That's it. Any longer and I’m coming to find you.” The boy simply nodded, turning around to walk with his father who shot you a victorious smile. “Yo, Luke.” You called out, the father and son both turning around to face you as you took both of your hands and flipped the older man off, a smile on your face.

There was a pause before he attempted to walk back to your truck, JJ standing in his way and nudging him forward. “Don’t. Go...” JJ pushed, his father still trying to walk back towards you. “Go.” JJ raised his voice slightly, pushing his father with more force this time — the man giving in and walking away.

You watched the two men disappear, your mental countdown immediately starting. You sat in your car, listening to the low sounds of the music from the stereo. When it hit four minutes, you got out of your car — leaning against the vehicle to prepare yourself for when it hit five. You considered pushing it to six, giving JJ time with his father, but your gut went against that idea. Once the fifth minute hit, you didn’t hesitate to follow after their footsteps, power walking through the grass and down the marina.

You immediately spotted a boat sailing away, a certain blonde standing at the edge of the dock watching it leave. You slowed in your steps the closer you got to him, hearing JJ sniffle as he stood there, unmoving.

It wasn’t long before he turned around, throwing what looked like two pill bottles into a wastebin on the dock and walking towards you. You opened your arms, offering a warm embrace to the boy — your boy, who accepted the gesture gratefully. 

You two stood there, swaying in each other arms as he breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief into your hair. 

“...I love you.” He said, voice watery and wavering but the statement remained loud and clear.

You sighed, hugging JJ tighter before pulling back and cradling his face in your hands, wiping his tears away and kissing his lips. Pulling away, you looked him in his eyes. “I love you.” You smiled, the boy returning it in full before the both of you turned around to leave the dock, a hand slung over each of your shoulder’s.

“OH, LOOK!” Pope���s voice traveled as you reversed the truck in the direction of the nearly fully submerged Twinkie. “The turtle and the tortoise.” He threw out. “Where the hell were you guys?!”

You looked to JJ, not saying a word. It was his choice. 

“Luke was at The Chateau.” He sighed, grabbing the tools and the winch from the backseat.

“Oh, great!” Pope scoffed. “While you two were having family time with your pops, John B got bit by a gator.”

“Wait, for real?” JJ paused, standing with the tools swinging in his hands.

“I was just about to ask…” You trailed off, pointing at John B and Sarah, who was tending to his leg — The four of them sitting on top of the van.

“Does it look like we’re joking?” Kiara replied, pointing to the large gash on JB’s leg.

“How the hell did that even happen?” You asked, walking closer to the group with JJ trailing behind.

“How did it happen?” John B asked incredulously. “I got bit by a gator!” He repeated Pope’s words.

“I don’t know why I’m getting yelled at, no one told you to drive your van into a pond!” You defended – you, Pope, and John B’s voices merging into one.

“You’re being yelled at because it’s been twenty minutes-!”

“-Since when did two miles turn into two hours?!”

“We got here as fast as we could-”

It was voice on top of voice until one overtook everyone else’s. “Shut up!” JJ bellowed, the loudest you’d ever heard him yell. Everyone fell silent at his outburst, looking down at their shoes or at the blonde in shock. “Seriously, guys, I can’t take it anymore, alright?” He said. JJ was never the serious one of the group, so this was a bit nerve-wracking. “Everyone, just…cut it out for a second.” He sighed, setting the tools down and leaning against a tree.

“...Look, I just helped my dad leave this island for good.” He scoffed, a small smile on his face. “Like, he’s not ever comin’ back. He’s straight up like the Spanish. Just, “Bon voyage.” The five of you shared a look, noting his mistake but you shook your heads, choosing not to acknowledge it and let him speak. “All we got…I know for a fact, all I’ve got is you guys, okay?” He said, eyes drifting towards you. “You’re it. And I’ve come too close to losing you,” He said, eyes leaving you now to look at everyone else. “All of you.”

“I mean, shit,” He said, pointing to you. “You almost drowned. Plus…some other shit we won’t mention for sensitivity purposes.” He said, a small smile spreading across your face as he shifted his focus. “Pope, you were kidnapped. Sarah, you’ve been shot. And John B, you were just almost dinner for a fuckin’ gator, bro.” He listed. “So, this blaming each other is some Kook-ass bullshit, alright?” He said, walking over to you and throwing an arm over your shoulder. “We don’t do that. Okay? We’re Pogues.” He finished, silence clouding the air around you all. “Sorry. That was…a lot, right now…”

The five you eyed each other, smiling before clapping for JJ’s speech.

“Well done.” Pope smiled.

“I gotta be honest, that was the best freakin’ speech you have ever given.” John B laughed. “Also, you should think about, like, a Rosetta Stone because your Spanish and French are flip-flopped.” He said to which JJ flipped the boy off with both hands, the clapping dying down.

“We should Bon Voyage out of here.” Sarah joked, raising her hand in the air.

“Agreed.” Kie chuckled.

“Alright,” JJ waved off, picking up the abandoned tools. “Let’s get this damn Twinkie out of here.”

THE DOORS OF FREEDMAN’S CHURCH CREAKED AS YOU PUSHED THEM OPEN, dust kicking up from the small action as moth’s fluttered around you all.

“Okay, you’re tellin’ me Denmark Tanny decided to hide the cross here?” JJ asked, being the first to walk further into the church.

“Okay, everybody, just spread out.” Kiara suggested.

“If I was an old cross and wanted to be hidden in an old church, where would I hide?” John B spoke absentmindedly. Pope paid none of you any mind, on the prowl for anything. He was even on the floor, looking at the cracks in between the wooden planks.

“Are we sure that Denmark hid the cross here?” JJ questioned, hands on his hips as he looked around the nearly empty, worn down church. “Like, are we at the right church?”

“It’s gotta be here somewhere, guys…” Pope assured, standing to his full height. “It has to be.”

“I can’t see where they would hide a giant cross in here.” John B said, throwing his arms out as you stood in the middle of the small building, looking around at any and everything. 

“No.” Pope shook his head, voice rising. “There’s no way he would set us up on a wild goose chase-”

“I get it, I get it-” John B tried to calm.

“-To a church that has nothing!”

“Yes, I get it!” John B defended, shoulders square as Pope paced. “I don’t know what to tell you, man…”

“The clues led us here.” Pope stood firm. “The cross is in this church.” He said, sitting down on one of the worn pews. You continued to look — if Pope said it was here, then you were inclined to believe so. 

“Pope, it’ll be alright.” John B tried to soothe. “We’ve had setbacks in the past and we’ve figured it out. We’re gonna find it. We’ve just gotta think about this logically…” John B offered as you looked, walking slowly around but there was nothing. Nothing on the floor, on the walls, on the… “Where else would you hide a seven-foot-tall cross made of gold?”

Ceiling.

“Up there.” You and Pope said in unison, shooting each other a look. 

“What?” JJ asked, neither of you responding as you just focused your sights on the structure above your heads — the beams holding up the roof of the church were shaped like three crosses. The rest of your friends followed your gazes, quickly catching on to the observation the two of you had made.

“Oh my God…” Kiara said softly.

Unlike you, however, Pope was quick to spring into action — your eyes catching him as the boy seemed to spot holes in the wall, perfect for climbing. “Pope.” You called once.

“Hey, Pope, no.” JJ called.

“Now, Pope’s climbing the wall…”

“Pope, this church is old.” Kiara warned, but he never stopped climbing, reaching the height he needed to climb onto the support beam. “Like, really old. This isn’t safe.”

Pope ignored all of your protests, the wood chipping and falling underneath his feet. He managed to stabilize himself on the beam, hugging the wood before knocking on it — a simple thudding sound ringing out. “Okay, this one’s solid wood.” He cleared, beginning to climb over to the next one. “I’m gonna try the other beam.”

At this point, your protests had died down, accepting the fact that he was already up there and he wasn't coming down. Once he made it to the other beam, he knocked again — the same thudding sound ringing out.

“I hate to break it to you but that’s solid wood.” JJ called out as Pope tried to manuever his way to the third cross.

“It has to be here.” Pope stuck by his statement. “I know it.”

“Okay, Pope, just please be careful of the giant wasp’s nest above your head, please.” You warned, the boy glancing above his head to spot the insects buzzing dangerously around their hive. 

“Just move slow, alright?” John B added, Pope doing as he advised. Attempting to put his foot on the third beam had a sizeable chunk of wood chipping off and falling to the floor.

“Whoa, hey!” JJ protested, the five of you backing up and shielding your eyes from the dust and debris falling.

“...Look.” Pope said, looking down at the group of you and back at the beam. “It’s hollow.” He whispered to himself. “Go get me a crowbar!” He instructed. Sarah, being the closest to the exit, immediately ran to go get one. 

“What’re you gonna do, Pope?” JJ asked, face twisting in uncertainty. “I don’t want this whole church to collapse on top of us. That’s all I’m sayin’...”

It wasn’t long before Sarah returned with the crowbar in hand, quickly tossing it up to Pope who caught it with ease — this is the most coordinated he’s ever been in all your years of knowing him.

“Okay, Pope, just go slow. Watch out for that nest, okay?” John B warned once more.

Pope nodded and began hacking away at the wood, small planks falling to the floor as you all shielded your eyes from the dust until it settled — watching your friend chip away at the beam.

“...Do you guys see that?” You were the first ask, noting how the small stream of sunlight coming through one of the windows illuminated something inside of the support post — making it gleam and glitter. Wood doesn’t do that. But gold does…

Pope continued to hit and beat the wood, eventually hooking onto a large, weak section — rendering him able to pull an entire section off, revealing the intersection of the cross. The Cross of Santo Domingo.

“Holy shit…”

“It’s here. Oh my God…”

Pope stared at the object in awe as you all got more excited with each passing second — smiles and laughter filling the emptiness of the church.

“Yeaaaah!” Pope basically roared, chipping away at more of the wood.

“I thought you were crazy!” Kiara laughed out, watching as Pope revealed the entirety of the cross.

“We did it!” The boy cheered from the ceiling, the five of you jumping into each other and cheering.

But all of the noise and commotion must’ve ticked off the wasp’s above Pope’s head. “Ah- okay, they’re stinging now.” He said, swatting his hands around his head. “Ow!” He exclaimed, dropping the crowbar to the floor and aimlessly swinging his hands around.

Trying to swat one away from his ear resulted in the boy knocking himself off balance and falling off the beam, now swinging by his hands.

“Pope!” You exclaimed along with the rest of your friends. “The pews! Move the pews and get the cushions!” You instructed, the five of you pushing the pews into the corners of the church and taking the dusty pillows and piling them under Pope’s feet. “Just hang on, Pope!”

“I can’t!” He said, one of his hands giving out, now leaving the boy hanging by one as he continued to get stung by a family of angry wasps. “I’m slipping guys!” Was the last warning he gave before he fell from the ceiling and onto the bed of cushions you all had made.

Crowding around him, he didn’t say anything as you all looked him over. It was only seconds before his eyes went wide and he rolled to the side — the five of you confused before looking up and seeing the cross tumbling down and ducking out of the way.

You all took a few breaths before going back over to Pope who was curled up in a ball on the floor.

“Pope? You okay?” Kie asked.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He exasperated, making no moves to sit up. “Just gimme a second to catch my breath.” He requested, all of you backing up a few feet.

You, Sarah, and Kiara sat in front of Pope, keeping an eye on him as JJ and John B examined the cross that lodged into the floor, sticking up.

“You did it, Pope…” JJ cooed, trailing the cross with his fingers.

“The details are insane…” John B noted. “And here’s why Limbrey wanted that key so bad.” He said, crouching down and rubbing his thumb over a keyhole just below the center of the cross.

“How much do you think she’s worth?” JJ discussed with John B as you three helped Pope sit up straight, noting the swelling on his face. “Like, if we melted her down? I’m thinkin’ high millions.”

“No, this belongs in a museum.” John B argued.

“What? So, no one sees her?” JJ countered, the boys going back and forth.

“In a museum where everyone sees it.”

“It’s not up to you.” You cut in, both of your friends turning to you. “Either of you. It’s Pope’s family. It’s his choice.”

“Right.” JJ backed down. “Okay, okay.”

“This is bigger than money.” Pope spoke, even though it seemed like he was struggling to. “The world’s gotta know the truth.”

“Yes,” John B agreed. “And if we don’t get this shit out of here before Limbrey gets here, nobody’s gonna know.” He reasoned.

The five of you agreed, crowding around the large, gold object and each grabbing an end. On the count of three, you all lifted the cross — the solid gold heirloom being even heavier than you could’ve ever anticipated. With the six of you lifting it at full strength, you could make it to the car. But that wasn’t the case, considering Pope could barely see.

“Guys, I can’t…” He breathed out, his end of the cross getting lower and lower as he lost the willpower to hold it up.

“Pope, just hang on.” JJ tried to coax, but it was no use. In the next few seconds, Pope would completely let go of the cross and collapse against one of the pews — the entire cross falling to the floor without the extra support as you all let go.

“Dammit, yo!” JJ exclaimed, throwing a hand out in Sarah’s direction. “You almost dropped it on my foot!”

“Because I’m the only one lifting it!” She argued.

“Guys!” Pope cut in, groaning. “Guys, I’m not okay…” He struggled out, the five of you slowly crowding around him. “I’m not okay, I can’t-” He cut himself off this time, taking a huge gasp of air in his lungs. Or at least attempting to.

“What’s wrong?” Kiara worried.

“How many times did he get stung?” You wondered aloud.

“His face is all puffy…” Sarah noted.

“I think I’m - *gasp* - having an allergic reaction.” He said, continuing to gasp for air.

“Okay, we need to get him help.” You urged, the first one to lift his body from the pew, slinging one of his arms over your shoulder as Kiara got the other. “He’s probably going into anaphylactic shock.”

“Okay, c’mon. JJ, hide the cross.” John B directed, the blonde throwing cushions and whatever over the cross in a pointless attempt to hide it as you escorted a wheezing Pope out of the church.

“JJ, come on!” You urged, getting Pope to the car as fast as you could. 

“I didn’t hide it well enough!” He called out, closing the doors to the church since he was the last one out.

“It doesn’t matter!” You reprimanded. “We need to get Pope some help.” You reminded — you and Kie loading Pope into the back of you truck, Kie jumping in beside him as John B and Sarah jumped in The Twinkie, JJ hopping into the passenger seat.

“Just hang on, Pope! We’re goin’!” JJ tried as you went around to the driver’s seat. A branch breaking in the woods caught your attention for a brief second — pausing in your tracks, hand grasping the door handle as your eyes fleeted across the wooded area suspiciously. “What’re you doing?” JJ asked, voice full of panic as he pulled you from your thoughts. 

Your head whipped to him, then to the woods as you squinted your eyes, then back to him. “I thought I heard something.” You said simply, shaking it off and jumping in the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition. “Sorry. Just hang on a little longer, Pope.” You said, pressing your foot against the pedal as your truck sped off. “Just a little longer…”

next chapter>

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[knightofkestrels]

The One Piece openings kept getting better and better but uh, may have peaked with Hope. Just got the next one after that and it was a bit of a let down. XD Not bad, but Hope was better.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Summary: You've been doing OnlyFans for a few years when you gain a new subscriber. A creator himself—as made obvious with his username being prongsplayground_free—and you quickly discover that he's part of a polyamorous relationship and they've been watching your content together for a while.

Content Warnings: Adult content, mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator (hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy.

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Chapter One

The screen flickers as you refresh your subscriber feed, the blue light casting an ethereal glow on your face. The usual ache in your shoulders is more pronounced today, a reminder of the hours spent hunched over your laptop. It's been a slow day for interactions, and with each passing minute, your energy wanes.

You've become accustomed to the steady hum of pain that accompanies your cerebral palsy, a constant companion through the years. But some days, like today, it sings a sharper tune. A grimace crosses your face as a jolt shoots through your lower back, making you wince. Still, you adjust yourself in your wheelchair, pushing past the discomfort. You are resolute, persistent—qualities that have carried you far despite the odds.

Your gaze flits across the screen, taking in the aliases of your OnlyFans subscribers. Most are nondescript, a blend of numbers and letters that reveal nothing about the person behind the screen. But one notification stands out: a new subscriber—"ProngsPlayground_free." The uniqueness of the name catches your attention; it's different, that’s for sure.

Your fingers hover over the screen, curiosity piqued, and then you tap on the profile. The avatar is of a single man, but the banner image shows three figures intertwined, their faces obscured by shadows and strategic angles. You begin to scroll, the soft hum of your laptop the only sound that fills the room. OnlyFans has an auto-subscribe feature for creators who follow each other, and it's clear that this "Prongs" belongs to a throuple.

Your brows furrow slightly, interest piqued. It's not common to come across a polyamorous relationship on this platform, let alone one that shares content so openly. But then again, what is common in a world mediated by screens and pseudonyms?

You've noticed how many creators on here have a story behind them, something that fuels their content and connects them with their audience. Not that you'll ever know the full truth—they keep their personal lives as hidden as you do yours, tucked away behind usernames and carefully composed photos. Just as you keep your chronic illness behind a shield, they too have their own secrets. It's safer that way.

Each post from Prongs is a window, however small, into the life they share. The photos are playful, intimate—a hand reaching out to touch, fingers tracing the curve of a muscle, the rumpled sheets of a bed bathed in the warm glow of a setting sun. Faces are always obscured, identities hidden behind screen names and tantalising hints of bodies that suggest closeness without ever fully revealing. It's like a jigsaw puzzle with ever-changing pieces, a mystery enticing followers back for more.

The cover images on each video promise another piece of the story: Prongs’s hips pressed against Padfoot’s backside, their bodies moving together in rhythm, or maybe Moony's hand tangled in Prongs' hair, speaking volumes without words. Captions tease just as much as the images they're attached to: "Can't help being all tangled up," one reads, while another suggests, "Moony and Padfoot never give me a break 😏." Almost every post ends with a familiar prompt—“see the unedited version on @packofpleasure.”

The names Moony and Padfoot are everywhere, tagged in Prongs' bio with links to their own free accounts, @moonysden_free and @padfootsplaypen_free. And then there's the shared world they offer on their paid account, where followers can pay to peek behind the curtain and see what happens when the camera keeps rolling.

Your hand hovers over the trackpad, careful not to click on anything that might alert anyone to your presence. The videos tempt you with their colourful thumbnails and engaging titles, but you resist. You know how these platforms work. It would be all too easy to accidentally hit the like button and leave a digital footprint where you have no intention of treading.

A notification pings, pulling you away from the infinity scroll. Your heart pounds in your chest as you see a new message waiting for you.

It’s from Prongs.

ProngsPlayground_free: Hi! My name is Prongs, and I wanted to take a moment to introduce myself properly. My boyfriends and I have been fans of your content across various platforms for some time now, and we've always admired the passion and authenticity you bring to your work — it’s what we try to bring to our own content, to say the least.

As you finish reading, another message arrives, this one tinged with a different tone—more hesitant, but still earnest.

ProngsPlayground_free: We have discussed subscribing to your OnlyFans on more than one occasion, and today I finally took the plunge and made it official. I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to ask a somewhat delicate question: Would it be acceptable for me to share your content with my boyfriends? I understand that sharing outside of the platform goes against the rules—and for good reason—but given the nature of our relationship, not sharing feels... odd, to say the least. I didn't want to make any assumptions, so I thought it best to reach out and ask directly 😅

Your brow furrows as you read the message again, a spark of surprise igniting in your chest. It's unusual to see such respect when it comes to sharing your content—most people just do it without a second thought, and you're left hoping they haven't undermined your livelihood by giving away what you charge for. But the fact that he asked... it's endearing in a way that makes the corners of your lips twitch upward.

You pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You don't want to seem too eager, but there's an undeniable intrigue that tugs at you. Prongs and his boyfriends have shown genuine interest in your work, and perhaps there's a part of you that wants to know more about them, too. With a soft exhale, you begin typing your response.

You: Hey, Prongs! Thanks for reaching out. I appreciate you being direct about it. Honestly, I don't mind as long as it's just between the three of you—since you're all in a relationship, I can make an exception. 😉

You send the message and lean back, stretching your arms a bit, though your back still hurts too much to move much. It's not the first time someone has asked about sharing your porn with a partner, but this feels different. Maybe it's because they're a throuple, or maybe it's just the respectful way he asked. Either way, you're okay with it.

A few moments later, another message notification pops up. But this time, the message has a noticeably different tone.

ProngsPlayground_free: Thanks for being so chill about it! I know Prongs can get a bit stuffy with the rules sometimes, but we really appreciate you letting us use your place. We’re happy to give you a nice tip for being so accommodating. 😉 How does $100 sound? - Pads

You stare at your screen, a half-laugh caught in your throat. You hadn't anticipated an offer of a tip, let alone one as generous as $100, and you certainly wouldn't have asked for it. But when opportunity knocks...

You: I wasn’t going to ask for a tip, but since you offered… $100 sounds just fine. 😏

A spark of excitement flickers in your chest as you send the message. It's always a pleasant surprise when subscribers offer tips for additional content or special circumstances, and it helps more than they might realize. Sometimes, between managing your health and the unpredictability of your condition, working on OnlyFans can be more challenging than it seems. It's not just a playful side hustle—it's a lifeline on days when your energy is too low to do much else, and it feels good when subscribers acknowledge the work behind each post.

Almost immediately, a message appears from Prongs’s account: I sent you a $100.00 tip with the attached message of 'We appreciate you!'

You smile to yourself, pausing as you consider how to respond. It would be easy enough to leave it at that, a simple exchange of money for content, but something in you wants to offer them more. A gesture of gratitude for their generosity, a token of appreciation beyond the expected. You remember a video you recorded a while back—it was one of your favourites, originally sent out as pay-per-view content about a month ago. Perhaps they'd enjoy that?

You attach the video, your finger hovering over the file icon for a fraction of a second before you press it. The thumbnail shows a blurred image of your body, a tantalizing promise of what's inside. You push play just to make sure everything is as it should be. The clip begins with the camera set on a tripod, capturing the scene in your bedroom bathed in soft, ambient light. The sheets are rumpled, the air ripe with anticipation. It’s a sensual tableau, and at its center, you.

Your movements are slow and deliberate, each one designed to tease, to draw out the moments until they stretch thin with wanting. Your clothes peel away like layers of an intimate confession, revealing more of yourself with every passing second. A sigh escapes your lips, not acted but drawn from deep within by your own touch, your own desire. The final crescendo comes as no surprise; even through the lens, the raw intensity of your climax is palpable.

The video plays to its end, leaving behind a silence that hums in your ears. You wait for a moment, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, before typing your message.

You: Thanks for being so generous! Here's a little something extra. This was a PPV from last month—hope you all like it. 😘

With that, you lean back in your chair, the tension in your shoulders easing as you let out a long, slow breath. The screen of your laptop throws off a soft glow, casting shadows that dance across the walls of your room. For a moment, everything seems to be right with the world.

Your wheelchair creaks slightly as you shift your weight, the ache in your lower back a constant reminder of your limitations. But as you close the lid of your laptop, there's a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

A soft buzz draws your attention, and you glance down to see a notification lighting up the screen of your phone. It's from Prongs. Intrigued, you unlock the device and tap on the message, your eyes quickly scanning the lines of text, and you find your lips curving into a small smile as you read.

ProngsPlayground_free: Oh, wow. Thanks for that! We didn’t expect anything in return, but we’ll definitely enjoy it 😉 Moony says you’re very generous, and Padfoot is already deep into your feed. Can’t wait to see what you do next!

You can't help but laugh, setting your phone down and leaning back in your chair. This is new, this back-and-forth communication with subscribers. Most keep their identities hidden, their messages short and concise. But there's something different about this group—something inviting. Perhaps it's the respectful undertones or the playful banter they engage in. Either way, it makes you feel... connected, more so than usual.

The day wanes, shadows slanting long against the walls. Your body throbs with the dull ache of fatigue, and you know it's time to rest. With effort, you transfer from your wheelchair to the bed, each movement careful and measured. As you settle into the sheets, your thoughts drift back to Prongs, Moony, and Padfoot.

Who knew that today would turn into this?

[justatypicalwizard]

[Giyuu is in love with you but you had to marry Sanemi] angst

Giyuu was never one to express his emotions, to let them reflect as if his face was a mirror. That's why, despite watching the woman he loved get tied by the sacred knot to another man, he didn't move a muscle.

You were only a servant, a poor, lost soul tossed around the whirlpool of life, thrown into the Oyakata mansion by fate to wipe the floor and rinse the rice at dusk. You were your weak and soft self when the demon attacked you on your way from town. You were still crying and shaking when the demon crumbled to dust, the piece of flesh from your arm fell from its disappearing mouth. You couldn't focus your eyes even though Giyuu kept you tight to his body, running towards the mansion.

It took a few nights of Shinobu's meticulous research to find out the power of your blood. The next few missions only proved the thesis further. Whatever pumped through your veins was poisonous for demons, even a small splatter left sizzling spots on their skin.

As always Oyakata had only one purpose - humankind.

It didn't come as a surprise to the others when a marriage proposal was set. Giyuu could never imagine a world where a small and vulnerable servant would disobey her master, especially if the matter was so urgent. So, when he heard that you agreed to all the terms of your new mission and life purpose, not even a sigh escaped his lips. What better could you do?

The way in which you peaked at Sanemi Shinazugawa whenever he came into vision had something fearful in it. It also held a dose of a different feeling, something warmer. Giyuu looked at thousands of terrified faces, he knew fear well enough to smell it from a mile. Happiness on the other hand. Could you be happy?

After a few months your expression changed. The look of your doe like eyes was no longer laced with fear. Did you get used to Shinazugawa? Can someone even get used to him or were you simply lying?

The fair haired man was a brute at his best, a monster at his worst. And yet, it was his idea to take you as a wife. Something about not wanting to leave a woman's honour stained and a bunch of children fatherless or at least that's what he seemed to say one night during training.

If someone would ask Giyuu, there was no love in Sanemi's eyes when he mentioned you. There was no joy in his voice when he reported to Oyakata saying you're pregnant. There was no difference between how he spoke about a group of trainees and you.

Somehow, you still managed to put a smile on your face. Was his treatment enough to satisfy you? Did you throw yourself into the role of a wife and mother, not thinking about the unfortunate circumstances, about the lack of choice, the dryness of these emotions. Were you fine without love in your life? Of course you would love your children but who would love you?

Giyuu's thoughts cost a few demons their heads. He sliced and cut, easing out his anger, letting it drip with his sweat, leaving his system.

Soon, he started to miss the anger, it was easier than what he heard.

It was after you gave birth to a small yet healthy boy with hair as fair as the moon's cheeks. The baby was brought before Oyakata who looked at it as if it was a precious treasure. They were just talking about trying out the baby's blood, as it gets a bit older, when the child started to cry. The few other Hashira and Oyakata's wife tried to calm the tiny boy but the tears wouldn't stop rolling. Shinazugawa kept still, only looking at the baby wriggling and kicking in his hands.

Your quiet footsteps were heard only by Giyuu but as you walked past him, you didn't even spare him a glance, too entranced with your crying child.

Shinazugawa looked like he wanted to say something but ultimately decided against it, handing you the child. After a while the crying eased and the boy was lulled to sleep by your quiet murmurs.

“He's hungry.” You said more to yourself than to others.

Oyakata left after a few more words and a promise to keep up to which Sanemi and you nodded, your head bouncing back and forth with the force of a person fighting for their dream. The Hashira left shortly after, every beside Giyuu who disguised his true intentions, lying about meditation and a further meeting with another Hashira in a moment. Truthly he just wanted a glance at the kid, at the fruit of your (and his) work. So when you and Sanemi started to talk, he could hear everything as clear as day.

“I told you to rest.”

“The baby was crying.”

“I can handle.”

You kept silent for a second.

“Sanemi-” So you called him by his first name. “-thank you.”

He didn't answer. Instead the sound of a short breath reached Giyuu's ears. It ached to turn around, to see when the brute did to you. Grab your arm? Look at you with those hateful eyes? Turn his back to you? Punish you for stepping up?

Finally, Giyuu felt thankful he did not turn. Another sound came forth, the sound of a kiss.

It was easier to bear when he convinced himself you were unhappy. It was easier to picture Shinazugawa as a monster who used you at night and left you in the morning. It was easier to treat it as a mission from Oyakata. Every lie Giyuu fed himself was easier than looking at your eyes, fixed upon another man's face, filled to the brim with love.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(cw: mentions of losing a close family member)

König doesn’t really know how to cook.

Well, anything other than the basics… Most of his meals consist of rice, meat and some kind of vegetable. Or like a carton of eggs. And of course, he can warm up meals and cook pasta and put pesto on it. But working in the military his whole life, he never really had the need to learn to prepare something to eat other than those basics, because most of the meals were provided and he’ll eat any- and everything. When he’s on leave, he cycles through his staples and also orders a lot of take-out, just to satisfy the calorie intake he needs at his size.

His grandma used to cook for him, ever since he was a little boy and then when he returned to Austria as an adult, she always made sure to prepare his favourite meals. He hasn’t been back ever since her funeral, he tells me while he gets some ingredients out of the fridge. Eggs, milk and butter. He misses her and her cooking, but that’s just how it is in life. Flour from the pantry. Mixing it all together, eyeballing the measurements, and adding a pinch of salt.

She taught him how to make Palatschinken. Thin pancake or crepe-like sheets of dough that he apparently made too much of. Rolled up, filled with jam and powdered sugar on top.

“Pala- what?”, I ask, wanting him to teach me how to say the word properly.

“Pa-la-tschin-ke.”, he repeats, sounding the syllables out, and I imitate them, until he tells me that I’ve got it.

I sit at the cooking island in his kitchen, on one of the chairs, and watch him pour the thin dough into the hot buttered pan. It bubbles and sizzles as he swirls it around, until the whole bottom is covered. Waiting for it to be cooked from one side. He lifts the edges with a spatula to make sure. Then he looks at me, raising his brows, like ‘Look at me, look what I can do’, lifting the pan of the hob, holding it in front of his body.

Oh, oh, that won’t- He flips it with a rehearsed flick of his wrist, the thin pancake rotating in the air for just a moment, then landing in the pan again.

I coo, clapping excitedly. He bows jokingly, with the pan still in his hand.

When it’s done, he puts the Palatschinke on a plate, spreads apricot jam on the thin dough, rolls it up and then sprinkles powdered sugar over it, setting the sweet roll in front of me. Gesturing me to eat.

I dig in, cutting it, and the fluffy dough almost melts on my tongue, the sweet jam spreading in my mouth as I chew. God damn it, that’s good. Simple, but very tasty. I finish the first one in record time and he puts the next Palatschinke on my plate. I fill it myself, devouring that one as well. He starts to make more, stacking them on a separate plate.

“You wanna try to make one as well?”, he asks me then.

I nod excitedly and get up from the stool. He hands me the pan and the ladle, putting some more butter onto the hot teflon, and I add the dough. When it’s cooked through, I try to do the flip just like he did. The little crepe flops up a bit and then folds in on itself. I burst into laughter and he joins in. Well, that didn’t go as planned.

“Don’t worry, that happened to me a lot of times.”, he says, scrapping the dough into the bin. “We’ll try again.”

So, the same spiel again. Until the Palatschinke is ready to be flipped. He’s standing behind me, we’re both gripping the handle of the pan and he’s looking over my shoulder, coaching me through it.

“Mit Gefühl.”, he tells me. “Carefully, but with determination.”

“I wanted to flip this thing, not get a lecture on how to enter some-“, I quip, but I get cut off when he playfully pinches my butt cheek.

It makes me jump up a bit and I bat his hand away. “König!”, I yelp, with pretend indignation, but he only grins down at me.

“Come on, you can do it.”, he says, nudging the pan in my hand.

“On three. One, two, three!”, I count down and then we flip it, together. The piece of dough rotates in the air and lands in the pan again.

“First authentically self-made Palatschinke.”, he says, with joking solemnity, as he drops it onto my plate. I do the rest of the steps and then eat it as well.

He makes Palatschinke after Palatschinke, telling me some more about his grandma and the dishes she used to cook, until all of the dough is gone. I listen to him and eat a whole bunch of them until I’m so full, I feel like I’m gonna burst. He finishes the rest of the thin pancakes, decimating a whole stack of them with lots of jam and sugar.

“The rest we can cut into small strips and put into soup.”, he explains.

“Into soup?!”, I question what he just said.

“Yes, Frittatensuppe. It’s really delicious.”, he says like it’s a normal thing.

I shake my head. Those Austrians and their weird dishes.

If you wanna try and make your own Palatschinken like metalhead!könig and reader, I got a recipe for you! Enjoy! a/n: this is the start of a little series I'm doing for mh!k x reader because I have so many scenes (some already finished a while ago like this one) that don't have a certain place in the plot and are just sitting in my word document, left to rot, so i'm gonna post them as their own random scenes that are still connected to them! some of it is gonna be sfw comfort fluff like this one, some is gonna be nsfw - stay tuned <3 Wanna get to know them better? Find more chapters in the Masterlist

[sillyteecup]

The Wrong Way

Roman Reigns x black!o.c

Jey Uso x black!o.c

Chapter 4

Warnings:

18+

Strong language

Misogyny

Mention of sexual assault

Taglist: @wrestlingprincess80 @nbanenefrmdao @vebner37 @theninthwonder @tshepisho @lensilver2 @trentybenty @empressdede @queen-shadow22 @becauseimher @jstarr86 @jaded-human @c-sgolden

A.N: This took me too damn long😭😭in my defense though, school has been drowning me and I've barely had the time to get this done quick enough, but ke...what can be said? Anyway, here is chapter 4 of The Wrong Way. I hope you like it. Enjoy❤️

Lori did not believe in setting expectations for people. As it was, she tried to keep her social interactions with anyone she did not know or trust to a minimal. Being a certified introvert, she thought it to be unrealistic to hold people to any social standards before speaking to them. All expectations bred disappointments as life is fickle. Human beings weren't nearly as fickle as life, but they could never be the exception to the rule.

All of that to say, she didn't know what to expect from the Tribal Prince Jey, as the first they met he grinned at her as though she were a piece of meat, and then the second time he glared at her like a foe. Now they were seated opposite each other in the matte black suv that Paul assigned to them, and he still had a scowl on his face.

"Have we met perhaps?" Lori questioned, breaking the heavy silence.

Jey tilted his head, features dancing between confusion and wondering if she was just stupid. "What?" he asked.

"Well you've been glaring at me since I landed, so I couldn't help but wonder if we had crossed paths and I happened to have wronged you by chance," she said indignantly, her irritation at his current expression slowly boiling.

"You're one to talk, when you don't look like the happiest trooper yourself," Jey said evenly, trying to keep an iron grip on his temper.

"Well I'm sure you can agree that there is nothing to be happy about as it stands," Lori pointed out bitterly.

Jey's face scrunched up in mild annoyance. "Yet you asked to ride with me. And for what? So you can shit on me for not acting like everything is sunshine and rainbows?" Jey spat, getting angrier by the sexond.

"I asked for you to accompany me so that we could perhaps get to know each other and maybe figure out a way to make this work, not have you sit there pouting like some petulant child who was denied pudding after dinner!" Lori hissed, finally losing her temper.

She watched as Tribal Prince Jey sat in his seat, jaw clenching as he likely fought the urge to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze till she was dead. If only he knew that she had the same thoughts swimming around her mind.

"Says the immature little bitch that threw a tantrum in the middle of a meeting because things weren't going her way," Jey said venomously.

"Tribal Prince Jey I assure you that while I respect your royal standing, I cannot allow you to call me out of my name. I shall hold my tongue because I was raised to be a respectable young lady, but-" she had begun to rant before being cut off by a mirthles chuckle from Jey.

"Respectable? Girl you a whole ass ho that runs around serving up pussy to every man that smiles at you," he said maliciously.

At this, Lori's heart stopped. Her hands began to tremble as tears threatened to spill form her eyes. She mentally condemned her father to hell for the way he painted the loss of her virginity as her being promiscuous. She had always rued the day she trusted him to understand and empathize with her for what actually happened that night. But now, at this very moment, she hated him for this false portrait he had sold of her to this family. He threw her trauma like a piece of raw meat into a den of lions. One day, he would pay.

"You do not know anything about me," she said, tone lowering as she seethed in rage.

There was another one of those mirthles laughs. "I don't need to. And frankly, I don't want to. Just 'cause we engaged, don't mean I need to coddle your feelings or be your friend or whatever the fuck you were hoping to achieve here!"

Lori bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from speaking out of line. Just because he was an insulant fool, it did not mean she had to stoop this level down in hell to defend herself. She was a woman of honor and dignity; there was no place in her mind that was reserved for engaging in petty spats with an individual such as Tribal Prince Jey.

"If that is what you so wish, then very well," she said evenly, marking him as dead to her.

No one could say she did not try.

➽──────────────❥

Roman, Paul and Sami arrived at the family mansion, or "the palace" as they usually called it, to find Miss Loreal Moore with her maidens, and Jey waiting for them. While the maidens each took in the courtyard with awe, Jey and his fiancé seemed disgruntled.

"Damnit," Roman whispered to himself. Even after the clear warning he had given Jey, his cousin did not cooperate. Roman could not let his incompetence slide as it would set a bad example to his brothers and the rest of their cousins. But he would deal with that later.

"The lady looks unhappy, my Tribal Chief," Paul pointed out, only adding to the grating of Roman's nerves.

"Wiseman, please tell me something. Do I look blind maybe?" Roman questioned him sarcastically, to which he shook his head rapidly while stammering for an answer.

"N-no, never my-my Tribal Chief. Your eyesight is absolutely perfect. 20/20 vision I would say-" Paul rambled, attempting to calm Roman down before he angered him even further.

"Then what made you feel the need to point out something that I can so obviously fucking see?" Roman said through gritted teeth. Everybody just seemed keen on trying his patience today and he couldn't understand why.

"I apologize my tribal Chief. But, may I ask, are there any plans by chance that the Tribal Chief may have to sway the lady in our favor?" Paul genuinely asked. If there was one thing Roman appreciated about his Wiseman, it was his dedication to the family. However Roman couldn't let his real plans be known, as one of the pieces to his little chess game was in the front seat.

"The best we can do right now is be hospitable. Show her that she's in the right place," Roman said before flashing a smile at Sami through the rearview mirror. "Ain't that right Sami?" he asked Sami in what has half a joke and half a threat.

Sami caught onto this and his lips curled up nervously. "Yes my Tribal Chief, definitely," he laughed nervously, earning a pat on the shoulder from Roman.

"Wiseman, get my door," Roman commanded while keeping his eyes on Sami. The moment Paul left the car, Roman leaned in to whisper into Sami's ear. "You and Miss Loreal Moore friends, Sami?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"She's been very kind to me my Tribal Chief," was all Sami said.

"I hope you've been returning the energy. After all, she might need a new friend around here," Roman whispered, sounding genuinely concerned for the lady.

"Oh, yes definitely, my Tribal Chief. I have shown Miss Loreal Moore nothing but kindness and I would be happy to be her friend if she allowed it," Sami rambled nervously. Roman moved back and smiled.

"Good, good. You're a good man Sami," he said, ending the conversation right before Paul finished announcing his presence and opened his door.

Right as he stepped out, Ms Loreal Moore's sharp gaze shot into his direction. "Miss Loreal Moore, you seem displeased-" Roman began to say, being cut off by his cousin's fiancé.

"I wish to go home. Now," she stated, her voice trembling as she struggled to hold it together.

Roman was taken aback by her demand. Her tone sounded to him like she had likely been angered or triggered by something Jey said. His neutral gaze quickly shifted into questioning glare towards Jey, who only scowled and turned away.

"I'm sure that whatever that happened to to make you wanna do that can be fixed. I don't know you well but you seem like a smart, mature and level headed woman. So let's just-" Roman began to say to calm her down only it be interrupted again. Which was beginning to get on his nerves.

"That thing you just did; attempting to soothe my ego to gaslight me into agreeing with whatever" solution" you were going to come up with? I hate it. It is an insult to my intelligence. And from what I can see, this family seems to be built on the foundation of insulting those they feel are lesser beings to them! I am by no means a fool! I know why that-" she took a breath to control herself mid-rant before continuing.

"I know why my father sold me to you people. I did not expect to be treated kindly or for this to be a fairytale of sorts, hell I did not even expect to be treated with integrity. But what I cannot take is being refferred to by obscene words, and then having my intelligence insulted less than 4 minutes later. If this is how it is to carry on going forward, then I would rather you put me on the next flight back to my home, so that I may live out the rest of my days in unmarried bliss," she finally finished before letting out a heavy exhale.

Roman clenched his jaw and nodded. He began to rethink every time he said Naomi was too stubborn for her own good. Compared to Miss Loreal Moore, Naomi was child's play. Even though she always gently kept them grounded, she had never outright called them out on their bullshit. Let alone on her first day on the island. As much as Roman appreciated this woman's strength, he also understood that she was going to be a nasty piece of work to mould into their image. Yet he found himself enticed by the challenge. Clearly he would have to break her and rebuild her in an image he saw fit. And one thing about Roman? He enjoyed playing God. But he would have to be smart about this. She had already seen through his first trick, which to be fair he hadn't even thought was one to begin with. He was just used to solving problems like that. Nevertheless, he was going to have to get far smarter than he ever had.

"I see. Wiseman, show them to their rooms. They've all had a pretty long day and are in no state to travel right now," he commanded, noticing the storm grow in Miss Loreal's eyes.

"Miss Loreal Moore, I shall speak with you tomorrow morning at 07:00 once you've had enough sleep," he added, hoping to quell her still rising temper.

Her eyes narrowed as she bit the inside of her cheek. It was as if she had realized that now that Roman had made his choice, there was no arguing. At least she held authority to a high regard to some extent.

➽──────────────❥

Skin illuminated by the sun rising, Lori took in the appearance of her room. The walls were a dull dull beige that contrasted poorly with the dark oak doors and large, arched windows. The curtains were a glaringly bright red, an irritating sight that drove Lori to open the curtains at the crack of dawn. They with the bedding sets and the velvet couch on the other end of the room. It was big, more spacious than the one back home. She hadn't bothered to check the size of the closet as she had no intentions staying long. The carpet and sheets were black, along with the blackwood vanity set. The whole room was dreadful.

And so was this family. Lori's mind had been flooded with predictions of how the Tribal Chief would try to coax her into staying. Having caught on to his tactic yesterday and with the understanding of the weight this marriage holds, she figured that Tribal Chief Roman would likely attempt slither his way into her mind to convince her that all of this was worth it in the end.

And maybe it was, but a few words dipped in caramel would not suffice in proving that to Lori. She glanced at the huge round clock on the wall next to the bathroom door, 05:30. Her maidens had insisted on making sure that they were at her side by five o'clock sharp, however Lori resisted. Insisting that she would much prefer if for the first time in a very long time, they rested. They deserved it. And her parents were not there to tell them otherwise.

After bathing and moisturising in complete solitude for the first time since she was born, she took the long-sleeved cotton sundress that. Minerva had picked out and ironed for her, and put it on. Lori then moved to sit by her vanity and frowned. She had never done her own hair before, and now with the bonnet covering her braided hair, the lack of experience had come back to bite her in the ass. From what she had observed in Willow doing her hair, her long, voluminous afro was no easy feat when it came to styling.

What if I just woke Willow up to help with my hair, then immediately after, she goes back to sleep? That would not be cruel would it?

Her pondering of her dilemma was interrupted by a knock on the door. Confused, Lori checked the time again, 06:30. Could the girls already be awake? She stood up from the stool and cautiously made her way to the door. The knock sounded again, right as her hand had touched the handle. Finally she opened, and on the other side was the last person she had expected to see.

"Sami? What are you going here so early?" she asked him. As nice as he was, and as much as she planned to utilise him if things went south, Lori was still guarded when faced with all the members of the Bloodline. After all, who was to say it wasn't an act?

He stook tall in her doorway with a boyish grin. He sported a black Nike t-shirt and sweats with sneakers to complete the ensemble. "Good morning Lori! Tribal Chief said I should swing by and check if you're ready," he explained cheerfully. His grin however faltered when he took note of the bonnet.

"What?" Lori said, noticing the change in expression. Sami grimaced in response and gestured for her to let him in. Hesitantly, Lori stepped to the side only for Sami to usher her back to the vanity. "Sami what is the meaning of this?" she demanded only for Sami to gently push her into the chair and smile at her through the mirror.

"You don't know how to do your hair do you?" he asked slyly, causing her eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

"How did you know?" she questioned, wondering what had given her ineptitude away.

"Educated guess," Sami shrugged as his hand hovered over her bonnet. "May I?" he asked, earning a nod from Lori which prompted him to remove it, revealing her hair. "Wow," Sami gasped as he felt the soft texture of her hair.

"What's wrong?" Lori asked in concern, not sure how to take Sam's reaction to her hair.

"Nothing, it's just-I've seen healthy, beautiful long hair before but this? God, your mom must love you," Sami said, still in awe of the sight before him.

Lori just wore a wry smile at the last comment. While she was sure that Sami meant no harm as he was unaware of her relationship with her family, he still struck a nerve. When speaking of her connection with her mother, Sami wasn't asking, but Lori had been for the longest time. And by the looks of it, she would never get an answer.

"Actually, Willow is the mastermind. Before that it was her mother. The two of them have been so kind to my hair in the way they have taken care of it. In fact, I would probably have cut it all off had it not been for them," Lori explained, notes of gratitude in the way she spoke. Willow and Mrs Graham had been taking care of her hair and keeping it healthy since she was born. They were the real heroes.

"Either way, they are hair goddesses," Sami chuckled as he began to braid Lori's hair.

That's when it dawned on her. "You know how to do hair?" she questioned, eyeing Sami suspiciously as his red locks were out and untamed.

"Yup, an old friend taught me," he replied, not seeing the way she looked at him.

"And where is she now?" Lori asked curiously as Sami kept unbraiding and gently detangling.

Sami glanced at her through the mirror, eyes gleaming with a hint of sorrow. "She-uh, got married," he said before clearing his throat. He was then quick to change the subject to how he barely saw the point in styling his anymore since the island's climate was never kind to it. Lori zoned out as he rambled on and on, watching as he carefully brushed and styled her hair into a simple low ponytail with a puff at the bottom, completing the look with sleek baby hairs.

A white man can do my hair better than me? I need to up my game.

Despite the huge favour he had done for her, Lori still couldn't help but be unconvinced. Apart from him, she had met two direct members of the Bloodline, and both of them have proven to be...unappealing for lack of better words. Why would she trust that Sami hadn't had the same ideals indoctrinated in him. After all, as much as he was "an outsider", he had still been there longer than her. And since he did not offer the family prospects of wealth as far as she understood, there had to be another, more sinister reason to keep him around. If only she had thought of this on the plane yesterday.

"Sami, why are you helping me?" Lori asked, her trust issues suddenly flaring up.

"Because you're cool, duh," he replied as if it were obvious.

"Cool?" Lori questioned, unsure what he implied with the term. Her father had always considered that kind of language to be juvenile and forbid it around the house, however Lori had heard it time and again at her old University and during the two years when Lord Byron had allowed her to go to a private high school to graduate instead of finishing with a home school education. Still though, she was not very familiar with the context of the word.

"Y'know, good, nice. Cool," he simply said. Although he was not clear, Lori understood just fine.

"Oh okay. Lovely." If Sami was acting, he sure was doing an amazing job at it. Either way, her oncoming talk with the Tribal Chief would determine whether or not it mattered.

➽──────────────❥

"The Tribal Chief requested that I escort you to his office."

Tribal Chief Roman's office was cold...fitting the stories she had been told of the man who inhabited it. Perhaps it was the intense air conditioning, or maybe it was the lack of a personal touch to it's decor. Either way, apart from the spread out red and black furniture pieces, it was rather dull. Lori doubted he cared to much about the aesthetics anyway.

She had been seated on the black couch situated next to the door, about 5 feet away from his desk where he sat, nose buried in his work. Her eyes followed the clock's hands as time slowly ticked by, foreshadowing her slow and agonising ego death, should she choose to stay here. It had been 3p minutes and the man hadn't said a thing aside from "Have a seat." Part of her felt like there was an angle he was playing at here. A psychological one that she couldn't quite point out. Perhaps he was asserting dominance by making her wait on his time. If that was the case, then the one he had hoped to present would not hold up too well.

Her eyes scanned the bookshelf to her left. The names on the spines of each book caught her by surprise. While some of the books were typical of what was seemingly his nature, such as The Art of War, the others were unbecoming of what she had noted about him so far. Romance novels.

The rest of the titles were in Samoan and Italian, two languages Lori had not an inkling of an idea about. Still though, the very idea that Roman likely not only spoke these languages, but also read them was somewhat attractive. An observation she mentally chastised herself from. The very reason she had let her sights roam around the office was to avoid settling her gaze on him. Lord knows how he would react to his cousin's fiancé staring at him.

Speaking of his cousins, before she slept, Lori had done everything in her power to cleanse her memory of her interaction with Jey yesterday. Better to pretend it never happened than to let it hold power over her. Her logic was faulty, but it worked. But that did not by any means imply that she would be thrilled about being in the same room as him. The last thing Lori wanted was to be executed for murdering her fiancé. Regardless of how satisfying it would be.

"I take it you slept well?" she suddenly heard Tribal Chief Roman say.

Keeping her gaze on the window behind him, she nodded. The room was ugly but the bed was comfortable. "Yes, my Tribal Chief."

"Good. As a future member of this family it is only fitting that the best is what you are offered," he said, causing her to scoff. His gaze narrowed at the action. "Why do you want to leave?" he asked her, tone completely neutral.

"I was quite clear about my feelings yesterday, my Tribal Chief. I do not appreciate being treated like a street urchin by your family," Lori responded coldly.

Tribal Chief Roman placed his forearms on his desk to lean forward. "What did he say to you?" he asked. His voice had dropped to a dangerously low octave that struck a feeling that Lori was not familiar with in her chest. It was a mix of two feelings really; fear that was all but expected, but more surprisingly, yet minimal, lust.

"Things I would rather not repeat," she said.

"Because you're afraid?" he questioned with an arched eyebrow.

"Because I am a lady who refuses to compromise herself by spewing anything unbecoming of me," she retorted with a scoff. Yes, Tribal Chief Roman himself was terrifying, but that was not a sentiment she held towards Jey.

He leaned back into his chair, firm gaze remaining on her. "Whatever it is that he said, does not reflect our views of you. He will be corrected-"

"You mean punished," she commented, cutting into his sentence. She noticed his jaw clench at her interuption and swore she choked on her breath.

"And I will make sure, that nobody else treats you like that again," he finished, patience waning with each word.

"Why go out of your way instead of allowing me to go home?" she questioned, knowing the answer but still wanting him to completely clear up his intentions.

"You said it yourself yesterday. You know why this engagement was arranged; political gain for my family in return of financial gain for yours," he explained with a shrug.

Lori slowly nodded, the sound of the clock ticking re-invading her ears. "Where is he?" she asked. She wasn't sure why she was curious, but she was.

"His house not too far from here. Sami neglected to tell you that you two will not be living together until after your wedding," he explained, causing Lori's eyebrows to shoot to the edge of her hairline.

"How come?"

"Tradition," he stated vaguely. "Some things I have no control over, although something tells me you don't mind," he said, subtly pointing out her already existing grievance with his cousin.

"Do you have control over how often we are to interact?" she asked half-jokingly.

"Don't push it," he responded in a tone similar to hers. "I would advise you not to worry too much about the personal aspects of your engagement. The moment you two are married, you can get your own place nearby and only have to interact during public appearances," he said, tone reverting back to serious.

She fought the urge to ask if that was his arrangement with his wife a she had not seen her yet. Unless of course the divorce rumor was true.

"Until then, I am to stay here with you and Sami?" she inquired.

"Are you comfortable with Sami's presence?" he asked. His omission of her comfort with his own presence did not slide past her though. But she would let it seem as if it had.

"Yes. He is good company," she acknowledged.

"Then he will stay here as well. Anything else?" he asked. An answer immediately came into mind.

"Yes, actually. Could one of your staff perhaps get an interior decorator on the phone?" she requested, taking him aback.

"I do not like how my room looks," she specified, putting him at ease.

"I'll have it arranged as soon as possible. Is that all?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"Good. I'm assuming Sami informed you about today's agenda if you stayed?" Lori shook her head 'no' in response as her features festered into a look of curiosity. Sami must have thought that there was no way in all seven variations of hell she was staying there. Never say never, they say. Tribal Chief Roman ran his hand down his face and sighed, attempting to quell his frustration at Sami omitting this information.

"Today is your welcoming ceremony. The day when you're being introduced to the entire family and our ancestors as Jey's future bride and as a future princess to the people," Roman explained.

Lori's stomach twisted into knots. If there was anything she hated nearly as much as being blindsided to marriage, it was large gatherings and parties. All of those eyes on her, perceiving her always sent her into a spiral. If the very people that conceived her saw her as inadequate, who was to say that these people who did not know her from a table spoon harboured similar sentiments. Not to mention the whispers of gossip that she found mind numbing. A fact that would be hypocritical if Lori herself was a gossip.

She preferred self-preserving journalist anyway.

Nevertheless, she had chosen to stay and become a part of this bloodline that many considered to be of high esteem. Lori had chosen to become Tribal Princess Loreal. No longer Miss Loreal Moore. She would finally be rid of the last tie to her wretched father. If anything, that just sweetens the deal. This ceremony was just the starting point, one she would overcome with poise and grace.

"Is there a specific dress code, my Tribal Chief?"

[chaos0pikachu]

so one of my favorite scenes in word of honor is after Zhou Zi Shu has bared his bosoms to the world like he spent time working at hooters revealing he's got eight nipples and a side dish of martial arts cancer leaving Wen Ke Xing to have Thee Only Gay Breakdown like it's raining (terminally ill men), the OST is going on in the background wkx is shaking and crying because his man, the love of his life, his soulmate, his moon and stars has eight nipples of cancer and eight nipples is totally something wkx could be down for he's from ghost valley he's seen weirder shit and more nips just means more to suck on and wkx loves to suck but NOOO the universe has to be against HIM SPECIFICALLY and how will he survive this pain, this torment, this agony????

meanwhile Gu Xiang shows up with an umbrella all like "master you're gonna die of martial arts pneumonia!!" and wkx is like "let me spit blood, let the streets be painted with the bloody bile of my broken soul!" and rips himself away from her b/c she wouldn't understand, no one understands!! and GX is like "is this an LGTV thing again???"

and just when GX thinks she's gotten through to her master BAM he smashes his flute against the bridge shattering it into thousands of pieces and everybody is like "not the phallic flute of metaphorical homosexuality!!!" and wkx is like "my dick is broken just like my heart!!" and GX watches him slink off like a raggedy ass wet cat in dramatic slow mo thinking "when he starts spitting up pneumonia blood I'm gonna have to clean it up fml"

[low-budget-korra]

The Legend of Korra Fancast

This one was hard to make. Specially the Watertribe that is based manly on the Inuk people but it physical appearance also resemble a lot other native people, like the Maori and other Native American people.

This fancast is based on appearance, ethnicity and vibes.

Korra- Devery Jacobs and Sydney Park

Devery Jacobs is a native actress who stars in Reservation Dogs, a show I haven't watched but it is on my watchlist. She is the first pick for the role, because she is native american, despite being light skinned in comparison to Korra.

The second pick is Sydney Park, I read she is mixed but I choose her based on her appearance only. I haven't seen none of them acting, but in those pictures I could see Korra in both of them.

Asami Sato - Havana Rose Liu and Kelsey Chow

I've Watched Bottoms and in the moment I saw Havana Rose Liu on screen I thought "that's Asami Sato" and, I mean, just look at her. She is gorgeous, sophisticated, charismatic, she even has those beautiful green eyes. And importantly, the acting is there.

I feel the same with Kelsey Chow, especially after watching clips of her in Yellowstone. Sure, she ain't asian or asian American (I've read that she has some native american background) but still, I think she is a good second choice even being too old for the role cuz like Devery Jacobs, who is also in her 30's, they look younger than they really are.

Mako - JJ Jr Mackenyu / Ludi Lin

I haven't watched One Piece but one look at JJ Jr Mackenyu and I saw Mako.

Same with Ludi Lin, sure he is also too old for the role but he has that "cooliness" , that "bad boy" aura that Mako has especially in book 1.

Bolin - Niko Hiraga // Kai Bradbury

I only saw Niko Hiraga in Booksmart and haven't seen any work of Kai Bradbury but look at those eyes, such sympathetic eyes man.

Tenzin - Donnie Yen / Ke Huy Quan

Ip Man himself as Tenzin is a dream and one of the most common fancasting of the character but I think Ke Huy Quan would be The Tenzin, I mean, in Everything Everywhere all at once he shows an heart and an light that justs would fit Tenzin so well

Lin Beifong - Michelle Yeoh // Ming-Na Yen

The same with Michelle Yeoh, I mean just look at her and her works. Ming-Na Yen would also be an amazing choice for Lin, if see her in clips from agents of shield and damn she seems so good in there.

Suyin Beifong - Maggie Q / Lucy Liu

Maggie Q is a baddie with such kind eyes and mother vibe (yes, I loved Nikita) that fits so well with Su. Lucy Liu brings the same as Maggie Q but with some swagger that would be fun to watch.

Amon - Meegwun Fairbrother / Adam Beach

No, Meegwun is not a white man but it is white passing just as Amon. I haven't see any of them acting, I'm going just by looks here. Adam would be the choice if they choose to make Amon look more like a Watertribe man.

Tarrlok - Tatanka Means // Matariki Whatarau

Same with Amon fancasting, Mataraki ain't native american but he is Maori(according to google) and yes, he is too young for the character and that's also why Tatanka is my first choice

Zaheer - Henry Rollins / Ron Yuan

Before y'all jump on me because I pick a white guy has first choice to play Zaheer, let's remember that he has a view of the Air Nomad culture and mentality that he considers superior even in comparison with the only Airbender master at the time, he also is a hypocrite since he let his friends destroy a millennial temple symbol and museum of the culture he said it's inspired him. This is the type of arrogance and disrespect that typically comes from a white man c'mon

I didn't know any of Ron Yuan work but just by his appearance I think he would be a good choice for Zaheer

Kuvira - Sonoya Mizuno / Natasha Liu Bourdizzo

Sonoya and Natasha , can't choose who I like best for the character, both of them has that damn penetrating powerful gaze.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

For Multi-May!!

I so desperately wanted to think of a really great request or suggestion but know that I have the opportunity all of my ideas have vanished.

So instead, I want to ask for Stu & Billy poly!ghostface with a plot or idea that you've always wanted to write but never got around to. It could also be any other poly!ship you have That One Idea for that you just never had the perfect opportunity to write.

I'm essentially giving you a wildcard! I'm super curious if you have any ideas like that - Ideas that for some reason you just never get around to even though they plague your mind. Because I sure do.

- 🦇

Well Batty! This is such a fun one! I have gotten in the habit of always writing whatever I want for myself all the time now but still, I have had this idea for a long ass time and have never gotten around to it so thanks for the excuse! Your request is the second entry for Multi-May, Billy loving lingerie and my assorted thoughts about that, so let’s go!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.5K. Billy Loomis X Stu Macher X FEM! AFAB! Reader. Poly!Ghostface. No Pronouns Specified. Warnings: Established Poly! Relationship. Could Be Read As TBABTO Compliant. Fear Play. Knife Play. Banter. Dirty Talk. Spanking. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Softness. Feelings. Mid-Sex Introspection Kind Of. Domesticness. Creampie. Slight Overstim. Sloppy Seconds. 

—

I Love You Best In…

—

Billy Loomis has always loved lingerie, ever since the first time he found out it was a thing when saw something lacy and pretty and soft in a catalogue. The thing was, he wasn’t picky, he loved it all, whether it was cotton candy pink and fluffy, almost like a cupcake; or something tight, with straps on straps, criss-crossing over each other and black, as if ripped right out of a trashy goth themed porno. 

He didn’t care, it was all good. He even preferred you leaving it on, would love to just displace it, pull particular parts aside to reach what he wanted to, something about that made it feel better, rushed, hotter for him. He loved you naked, naturally, but there was something so appealing with the lingerie worn askew, and framing your best assets as he fucked into you. 

As soon as you found out that he had this weakness you of course exploited it at every single turn. You would wear just about anything, matching sets, thigh high stockings, once you found an obscenely short dress that was made of nothing but black fishnet and that poor piece of clothing was ruined beyond recognition by the time he was through with it.

He would ask, make requests from time to time but much more often than not it wasn’t necessary, you’d play dress up plenty without him needing to prompt you. He has seen you in all manner of differently delightful and debauched attire and various states of dress, so why was this the thing that did him in the most? Coming into the bedroom to find you folding laundry, his eyes dragging up your bare legs to see all you had on was that big slouchy white sweater that Stu loved so much and judging by how high the hem rose while lifting your arms, seemingly nothing else. Billy isn’t able to just watch for long, before need overcomes and he is sauntering into the room, he doesn’t bother greeting you verbally, instead letting his hands rest on your waist. How you jumped in surprise was endlessly satisfying for Billy, he never got tired of getting the drop on you, scaring you.

Your head turns and upon seeing Billy’s face you soften, shoulders dropping back down, you roll your eyes and sigh, “Shoulda known it was you.” 

“Who else would it be?” He asked and your head turned forward again, focusing back on folding the shirt that was in your hands. He leaned in closer, his chin resting on your shoulder, his hands sliding forward, over your stomach, holding you. He could really appreciate the soft material of the clothing item you stole from Stu, now being so close he could smell his scent lingering in the white fibres. He inhales deeper but tries to keep it subtle, if you do notice you don’t comment on it, instead answering the question he posed previously.

“Oh I dunno, maybe the guy who’s sweater I’m wearing right now?” You ask and he says, “Stu doesn’t like scaring you as much as I do.”

“True, not in the same way that you do at least.” His hands start to move, sliding over you, enjoying the sensation of the top sliding over your skin, “And how’s that?”

A hum before you say, “You like doing it like you just did, sneaking up on me, making me jump, and sure Stu does sometimes too but he prefers making me really scared, making it real and intense.”

His head lifts and he leans over your shoulder, getting a better look at your face, “You want to share an example?” 

You give a small smile and with a shrug you pick up a pair of his jeans and start to fold them next, “Sure, like, last week, we were doing the dishes and at one point Stu picks up this big fucking knife I used to prep dinner earlier, right?”

He nods, his hands continue to wander, taking their time. “Mmhm, go on.” 

You do, “So he takes the knife and starts waving it around and bringing it close to me and it’s all fun and whatever but then he, like, pushes me into the counter suddenly.”

His hands move lower, the fingers on one of his hands catch the bottom hem of your sweater, starting to drag it up, and the other starts to run over the newly exposed skin.

You are still talking, “He’s got a hand on my throat and the knife is so close to my face and he is giving me that look, you know it, like he is hungry and manic, And he’s saying all these terribly threatening things in that low sweet tone with that big fucking grin and it’s-”

“Terrifying?” He asks, his own smile clear in his tone, as his hand slides between your legs and you sigh out, head tipping back, “Very.”

He starts to touch, slow and easy and he asks another question, “And then?”

Your eyes fall closed and you tell him, “And then he just stops, just backs off and laughs like it is some big joke and he’s back to normal and I’m left reeling and have to go back to doing the fucking dishes.” 

“Sounds like Stu.” He sounds amused. You are sure he is picturing the exchange right now and likes it, his fingers don’t relent, they become more focused, pick up the pace and the pleasant sensation starts to sink in and you nod with a soft moan, “Mmm, totally him.” 

You’ve abandoned folding the clothes, simply holding the denim in your grasp and just as you are starting to really sink into the feeling of Billy touching you, his hands are lifting up, instead he pushes you forward. You weren’t expecting it and fell onto the clean pile of laundry on the bed, his hands are back on you, resting on your hips, forcing them up, causing the sweater you had on to get pulled up in the process, exposing you to him. Turns out you did have something under Stu’s sweater but it is so small that only until now with you so spread and exposed can he see it properly. This is a newer piece, he’d been with you when you bought it, along with several other fun things, but he hadn’t seen it on you yet, sheer, delicate and white, matching the sweater with startling accuracy.

“Fuck, you look so good like this.” 

Oh you know that tone and know it well, guess this one is another winner, you bite back a smile, his hands are back to moving on you. One comes to a stop on your lower back, holding you in position, the other between your spread legs, touching you through the material and the extra friction it provides is good, you of course alert him to that fact with a quiet moan of his name. The touching you doesn’t last long, only until he sees the clear and visible wet spot spreading over and seeping through the thin white that barely covers your cunt. Soon enough he is pulling them aside, two fingers sink inside of you, curling and feeling, his thumb swipes over your clit and you clench around him. He groans at feeling your walls gripping at his fingers, he asks, “God, you’re this wet already?” 

“Mighta had a make out sesh with Stu before he had to get to class but we couldn’t do anything serious.” You admit and he praises, it sounded like he was smiling, “What a good boy he is, warming you up for me.” 

“Yeah he’s the best, isn’t he?” You agree with a small laugh that he returns and then Billy’s fingers are leaving you, his jeans are too tight, it is starting to border on painful and he needs you. The sound of his belt hits your ears next, unsurprising and you are not complaining. You had already been thinking about seeking Billy out for this very thing once the laundry was done, finishing what Stu started earlier, scratching that itch. 

He nudges you up the bed with a light smack landing on your ass and you do as instructed, you move up and he gets onto the mattress too, one hand on you and the other on the base of himself he lines up. He is rushing but he has to have you, about to fuck you on the clean pile of laundry with no care, he is in the right position and his hips press forward and he slides in easily. 

It’s dirty and it’s quick but it satisfies you both, the stretch of him feels fantastic with just that slight achy burn from him fucking you just a little too hard and just a bit too fast. He more than makes up for it, his chest to your back, hot breath in your ear, wandering hands and filthy words, broken praise among the strained sounds of pleasure, “God, so good, how-fuck-how are you, so, so fucking good?”

You loved when he was so into it, could hardly talk straight without letting out at least one moan or a curse, not like you were much better at the moment. 

Currently all you could seem to do was gasp out his name and your own series of swear words. He was obsessed with this, fucking you in this way, his treatment rough but the sweater you wore so soft, smelling like your shared partner, it’s like you were all wrapped up in Stu but still you. His favorite was sharing you with him but if he couldn’t be here then this was the way to fuck you, the reminder of his best friend, his confidant, his partner in crime unignorable. 

He loves this sweater, so many memories tied to it and just to Stu, his eyes closed and he is overrun with the times Stu and he were close enough that he could smell him, feel him, those precious first times that changed everything. Christ, why was this getting to him so badly? Making him so sappy and soft, seeing you, wrapped in Stu’s clothes, in your shared apartment, it’s domestic and sweet, honestly everything Billy has ever wanted. You in leather or lace is good, is hot, you in this though? It is a reminder that shit worked out, he has not just one but two people devoted to him, who love him for who he is, it’s stability and safety, comfort but still finding ways to keep things exciting even while feeling all of that.

It’s doing him in faster than he would like, he wants you to reach your end too, he rushes out, “Touch yourself.” 

He doesn’t need to ask twice, his hips snapping into yours, one of his hands reaching around, palming one of your tits through the sweater, the other still on the bed to help keep himself up right and your own hand shooting between your thighs. He cums before you do with a groan of your name, body tensing and him holding to the hilt inside but it doesn’t take much more for you to find your own end, nimble fingers stroke yourself just so and you cum with him still inside of you a minute after he does. 

Your walls pulsing on him post orgasm making him inhale through his teeth at the slight overstimulation that washes over him but he endures, it hurts so good. Your high finds its natural end and it leaves you both panting, trying to catch your breath, he pulls away first, sliding out and the amount of him inside of you spills out, that snaps you back to reality very quickly. You reach back, tug the underwear into place to try and stop the drip from making this worse, you sit up, look over your shoulder and you curse seeing the leaked mess of you and him on one of your favourite shirts, “Fucksake Billy, I just cleaned these clothes.”

He is tugging his pants back up and rolls his eyes, saying like it is obvious with a smile on his face, “So clean em again.”

Before you can get up to do that or protest further he is back on the bed and wrapping you up, pulling you down with him, you sigh, knowing that laundry is out till he is satisfied with cuddling you. 

You end up falling asleep there for a while and later on you find yourself back at folding the laundry. Billy was nice enough to wash and dry it at the very least before he had to go to a late class. Stu’s sweater needed to be cleaned, some of the hem got messed up and cum stained and it got pretty sweaty overall from how hard you were going at it, so you swapped out Stu’s sweater for this dark blue and white flannel shirt Billy favoured. 

Hearing the apartment door open and you call out that you are in the bedroom and in a minute Stu comes into the room to find you just about done with your task and he sounds delighted by what he sees, “Oooh well hello there.”

A look over your shoulder and you return his greeting, “Hello to you too.” 

“You still doing laundry?” He asked, clearly confused, “You were doing this when I left hours ago.” 

Laughing, you tell him as you turn back to his task, “Yeah, ask Billy about it later.” 

You hear him come closer, he leans down, kisses you on the cheek before telling you, “I’ll do that.”

“How was class?” You ask and he shrugs as he is telling you, “Fine.” 

He flops down onto the bed, the cleared space next to where the clean folded clothes are as opposed to on top of them, thankfully. He reached out and tugs on the bottom hem of the flannel, “I like you in Billy’s clothes.”

A grin spreads over your face and you joke, “Shocker.” The look on his face reminds you of the one back in the kitchen earlier that you told Billy. 

“I know, so predictable, right?” He reaches out, one hand locks on your wrist and the other tugs the shirt you were folding out of your hands, “How about we finish what we started earlier?” 

You sigh and toss the shirt aside, one of your knees comes down onto the bed, he rolls onto his back and you climb aboard to straddle him. His hands land on your thighs and as they run up the shirt is moved as well for you to be greeted with the clean pair of underwear you changed into after your post hook up shower with Billy, blue and not unlike the shirt you had on, you were in a matching mood today it seems. “Oooh, fuck.” 

A roll of your hips, grinding down, feeling Stu quickly getting hard in his pants your head lolls back the spike of sensation. You give into the moment with Stu, positive that once he has your panties off and sees how much you are leaking, realizing you fucked Billy earlier and he gets to have his sloppy seconds that it will be another fun and hot quickie. After all of that you are promising to yourself that after you ride him that you will finish this damn laundry, even if it kills you.