#patriot place homes

[dangoulains-devotion]

yuffie has many interesting elements to her but people refuse to move past "i find energetic kids annoying" and it makes me sad

[aaa-comics]

T'was the Week Before All Hallows’ Eve - Day 7

"No-one wants to play with me. :(" -a very angry undead man.

What pairing costume will these two wear? What was the Engineer working on on Day 4? Will Merasmus ever pay back his debt? (no.)

Stay tuned and find out all this and more on October 31st!

[oflgtfol]

i love new york so much. separated by hundreds and hundreds of miles, no matter where i go, i can always be guaranteed to see a random "I ❤️ NY" decal on the side of a major highway

[apoemadaykeepsthehoesaway]

Preface (Unfinished)

-Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

This book is not about heroes. English Poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, dominion, or power,

-

except War.

Above all, this book is not concerned with Poetry.

The subject of it is War, and the pity of War.

The Poetry is in the pity.

Yet these elegies are not to this generation,

This is in no sense consolatory.

-

They may be to the next.

All the poet can do today is to warn.

That is why the true Poets must be truthful.

If I thought the letter of this book would last,

I might have used proper names; but if the spirit of it survives Prussia,— my ambition and those names will be content; for they will have achieved themselves fresher fields than Flanders.

[sillimancer]

amazing how one shot of dopamine and a hot meal can do for one's spirit. I ate scalloped potatoes and went on a little drive and now I've got the pomodoro timer out. who is she.

[alwaysbewoke]

Jean-Baptiste Pointe DuSable was born in Saint-Domingue, Haiti (French colony) during the Haitian Revolution. At some point he settled in the part of North America that is now known as the city of Chicago and was described in historical documents as "a handsome negro" He married a Native American woman, Kitiwaha, and they had two children. In 1779, during the American Revolutionary War, he was arrested by the British on suspicion of being an American Patriot sympathizer. In the early 1780s he worked for the British lieutenant-governor of Michilimackinac on an estate at what is now the city of St. Clair, Michigan north of Detroit. In the late 1700's, Jean-Baptiste was the first person to establish an extensive and prosperous trading settlement in what would become the city of Chicago. Historic documents confirm that his property was right at the mouth of the Chicago River. Many people, however, believe that John Kinzie (a white trader) and his family were the first to settle in the area that is now known as Chicago, and it is true that the Kinzie family were Chicago's first "permanent" European settlers. But the truth is that the Kinzie family purchased their property from a French trader who had purchased it from Jean-Baptiste. He died in August 1818, and because he was a Black man, many people tried to white wash the story of Chicago's founding. But in 1912, after the Great Migration, a plaque commemorating Jean-Baptiste appeared in downtown Chicago on the site of his former home. Later in 1913, a white historian named Dr. Milo Milton Quaife also recognized Jean-Baptiste as the founder of Chicago. And as the years went by, more and more Black notables such as Carter G. Woodson and Langston Hughes began to include Jean-Baptiste in their writings as "the brownskin pioneer who founded the Windy City." In 2009, a bronze bust of Jean-Baptiste was designed and placed in Pioneer Square in Chicago along the Magnificent Mile. There is also a popular museum in Chicago named after him called the DuSable Museum of African American History.

x

[ovaryacted]

TIME CRUNCH

PAIRING: DBF! Joel Miller x fem! reader || WC: 2.7k

SYNOPSIS: The Miller household is hosting a neighborhood barbecue for the 4th of July with your father on the grill. While you're there, you steal a couple of minutes to get much more than beer and cooked meat.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. [NO OUTBREAK] SMUT. Age gap implied (Joel is 36, Reader is 21+). Kissing. Oral & Fingering (f receiving). Panty stealing. Bathroom shenanigans. Beer drinking. Allusions to secret established relationship/messing around. Joel is down bad & calls reader several pet names. Descriptions of reader wearing a dress & mini skirt. No use of y/n.

A/N: Hi hi. I don't know how this happened, but it just did. The idea came to mind yesterday and I sat down and wrote the whole thing in one sitting lol. Anywho, it's just some fun silly smut with DBF! Joel being a simp cause I love him like that. I imagined HBO Joel specifically for this one so this is a win for Pedro Pascal fans. Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! Not-beta'd cause I'm just real like that. Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

The sun scorched the streets of Arlington, and the heat wave warning issued across the state of Texas did little to reflect the overwhelming weather. Coincidentally, it was the 4th of July, a seemingly exciting day for most patriotic Texans and Americans nationwide. You didn’t care much for the holiday, but it was a great excuse to enjoy the day off.

Your father had other plans. He hoped to use most of the weekend to crack open a cold one and fire up the grill. His good friend and neighbor offered to host a celebratory cookout at his place with mutual buddies tagging along, and with the newly available free time, you didn’t have any excuse to reject the offer. 

You found yourself in the backyard of the Miller’s residence, a home you’ve grown quite familiar with over the past few years, and especially since coming back from the college semester in Chicago. Initially, you had travel plans for the summer with friends, but your luck struck out when you landed an internship opportunity in Dallas, and your father was more than glad to welcome you back home.

It has been a busy summer for you since the beginning of June, and the prospect of a four-day weekend was too generous to pass up. You didn’t expect Joel Miller to be a face you saw regularly when returning to Texas, but you didn’t complain. Actually, you were much more content than you should be, and his close friendship with your dad only served as a better excuse to have him around more often.

Nursing a bottle of beer, you brought the lukewarm tip to your lips, sipping away at the tangy beverage as it washed down the thirst settling in your throat. You watched from afar as your dad was in his element, operating the grill like a soldier would his post. He flipped the burgers and poked at the hotdogs with ease, the black smoke surrounding him as he continued to cook.

“Meat’s looking nice.” You told him affirmingly with a smile and a hand on his shoulder, passing him a fresh bottle of beer.

“Nothing I haven’t done before.” He said, graciously accepting the bottle and taking a drink, sucking his teeth at the bitter taste. Miller Lite, it wasn’t his preferred Budweiser, but it will do the job. “Sun’s beating down on my back, though. Not easy to grill in this heat.”

“You’re handling it well, bearing the burden for all of us.” He laughed at that, gently kissing the top of your head in paternal affection.

From your peripheral, you observed Joel coming into his driveway, returning from a pitstop at the grocery store for extra hot dog buns and more beer. His younger brother Tommy strode ahead, carrying the buns in one arm and a bag filled with chips and salsa in the other. Behind him, Joel carried a large box of beer in his grasp, your sight trailing down his forearms to peek at the veins that protruded his skin.

His long legs sauntered over to the coolers near the tables, decorated in red, white, and blue embellishments. Sarah Miller came scampering towards her father, dragging Tommy along to reiterate a joke he had mentioned, playfully teasing her uncle. The next time Joel raised his head, his brown eyes landed on you, prolonging his gaze for a second more and giving you a charming grin before you looked away.

By 2 pm, other residents in the neighborhood and long-time friends of the Miller household flooded through the backyard, busying themselves with eating your dad’s cooking and drinking more alcohol. Some of Sarah’s friends had stopped by, engaging in the girlhood tradition of exchanging gossip or whatever the young kids spoke about in this day and age.

Every few minutes, you’d glance over to Joel to see what he was doing. Whether he was refilling the cooler, jesting with his brother, setting up the stereo, or even reminiscing with your dad, your eyes followed him wherever he went. As elegantly as possible, you approached the pair, politely stopping your dad’s conversation with his friend.

“Going to the bathroom. I’ll be back, Dad.” You told him, darting to Joel and meeting his eyes again before turning your back and walking towards the kitchen.

Stepping through the yard door to reach the stairs, you quickly trekked up to the bathroom down the hall and locked the door. Freshening yourself up in the room, you glimpsed at your reflection to fix the cleavage of your dress, making your breasts more prominent. A minute goes by, and you find yourself waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

At the three-minute mark, you hear a knock at the door, two firm taps followed by three smaller ones. Before opening it, you hid behind the door, allowing Joel’s broad figure to enter the gap and step inside. The click of the lock broke the tense silence in the room, and your lower back was pinned against the edge of the bathroom sink with Joel’s rough hands on your hips.

“Took you long enough. Thought you wouldn’t come up.” You muttered to him, his lips quickly leaving a trail of kisses over the side of your neck and shoulder.

“Sorry darlin’, your dad wanted to have a chat,” Joel said hastily, his mouth occupied with tasting the skin of your collarbone as your hand rubbed the hair on his nape. “Been thinkin’ about you since the other night.”

You beamed at Joel’s comment, the genuine tone of his voice brought comfort after hearing his confession. You didn’t know how this “relationship” with Joel happened if you were willing to call it a relationship to begin with. He wasn’t supposed to be this close to you, to know you so intimately, but the way you’ve inhabited his mind since returning to Texas was almost too much to bear.

He drove you home one late night from a club downtown, not wanting to bother calling your dad or worrying about taking an Uber alone. Ever the gentleman, he kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel, trying his hardest not to skim at your bare thighs when your mini skirt shifted higher up your leg.

You thanked him with a drunk kiss on the cheek, drawing away only to have his thumb caress your chin, luring you forward to mesh your lips against his own. The memories of that night were fuzzy, but what you remembered most was the feel of his hand curling around your neck and his cock thrusting in and out of your cunt, molding you to the length of him until you ached and woke up in his bed the next morning.

That happened a month ago. It was meant to be a one-time thing, an accident after too many tequila shots at the bar. But the convenience of having a capable man like Joel across the street was something you wouldn’t find back on campus. It couldn’t be so wrong to fuck your father’s best friend, not when it felt like reaching a high every time he made you cum.

“If you don’t say anything, I won’t either, and your old man never needs to find out. This stays between us.”

He told you that after the second time you “accidentally” slept with him, and since then, you have been around Joel whenever your father wasn’t paying attention. Having to dodge your dad along with Tommy and Sarah on Joel’s end wasn’t easy, but it was doable. You’d usually meet him late at night when you were free, opting to have fun in the backseat of his truck. When you both had the luxury of time, you’d spend the day at his house when Sarah was having sleepovers or when your dad was out of the house.

Any time you weren’t at work, or Joel wasn’t busy juggling his job and caring for Sarah, you spent it with him. So far, your summer has gone much better than you expected.

“You just saw me two days ago.” The smirk on Joel’s face was infectious, his signature dimples poking through as he feverishly kissed you again.

“Still not enough, and your dress ain’t helpin’ my case.”

“What’s wrong with my dress? Thought you liked it when I got dolled up for you.” The lightly colored sundress was a simple addition to your wardrobe, throwing it on for the barbecue. Despite the tame silhouette that hugged your figure, the low neckline sent all the blood in Joel’s body rushing south the minute he saw you on his front doorstep.

“Oh, I like it very much. It’s just a shame I can’t fuck you the way I want.” He pressed his hips into your lower stomach, the dark denim of his jeans doing nothing to conceal the bulge hidden underneath.

“How much time do you think we have before they send over the search party?” You asked him, gasping when you felt a soft nip behind your ear. 

“Five minutes, maybe eight. Your dad’s busy makin’ ribs, and everyone’s occupied downstairs for now.”

Joel maneuvered himself down to his knees, playing with the hem of your dress and raising it to your hips. His fingers grazed over the panties you wore, placing an affectionate kiss on your sensitive mound before tugging them down your smooth legs. He helped you step out of them, discreetly shoving the damp cotton into his back pocket to save for later. 

“You said we had five minutes.” Your breathless voice began to betray you, and you felt him grip your thigh with a large hand to set it over his shoulder.

“That’s all the time I need. Be a good girl and stay quiet for me, yeah?”

That was the last thing he said before he licked a languid stripe over your pussy, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to stifle the mewl that threatened to spill out. One of your hands reached down to clutch at his dark tresses, keeping him in place as he feasted on you like a man starved. 

“Fuck, Joel.” You moaned under your breath, huffing out an exhale and tossing your head back in pleasure. He hummed in reply, spreading you wider and nuzzling his face deeper between your legs, the hair on his jaw scraping your inner thighs.

Joel quickly learned what you liked, how you wanted your pussy to be treated, whether it was by his hand, his tongue, or his dick. Precise circles on your clit, diligent sucks around the sensitive nub, and two thick fingers curling inside to hit the textured spot tucked in the very roof of your entrance. He paid attention to all the signs that would signal the best way to make your body convulse under his touch and excelled in doing so.

Nudging the bridge of his nose against your bundle of nerves, he tilted his head up to wrap his plush lips around it, pulling a suppressed whimper from you with a roll of his tongue. Your hazy eyes opened to watch Joel, maintaining his ravenous gaze and bucking your hips, greedily seeking more friction. 

“That’s right, baby. Take what you need.” He mumbled against your folds, increasing the flicks of his tongue and dipping two thick fingers deep inside you, bending them just right.

The warmth that simmered deep in your belly intensified, coursing through your veins and rushing to the center of your body. Your knuckles turned white from tightly gripping the edge of the porcelain sink, and your throat bobbed to stop yourself from crying out Joel’s name. You were so close, so fucking close, whining as you quickly reached your climax. He didn’t need a warning, already familiar with the cue of your walls clenching around him when you were about to spill over his hand.

Joel gave you a blunt suck and drove the tips of his fingers further inside with practiced precision, sending you tumbling over the edge. Your legs shook from the force of it, his hand on your thigh holding you steady as he coaxed you to ride the wave all the way through. With a gentle yank of his head, he parted from you, placing one last wet kiss on your oversensitive clit before standing up straight with a grunt.

The dopey smile plastered on your face said all that needed to be said, and Joel took it in with appreciative eyes. He brought the two digits that he used on you to his mouth, cleaning off the remnants of your slick without shame. If you two weren’t on a time crunch, you would be on your knees repaying the favor.

“You’re insane. You know that, right?” You expressed with a laugh.

“It ain’t my fault you taste better than the cool beer downstairs, sweetheart.” He kissed you then, the leftover taste of your arousal on his lips made your head fuzzy and your body pulse. “You should go back before your old man wonders where you went.”

He dropped the hem of your dress back down, smoothing out any creases while you adjusted the neckline and fixed up the rest of your flush appearance. The plan was simple: you walked out first, and Joel followed a few minutes later with some eloquent excuse to use for cover. Surprisingly, it usually worked without a hitch, you two had this down to a science after all.

“I’m still seeing you later tonight, right?” You almost didn’t want to ask him that, afraid you’d seem too eager for his attention. But he was always there with the reassuring answer you wanted to hear.

“Yeah, baby, you will. I’ll come by and grab you. Now go, I gotta take care of this.” Joel gestured to the obvious tent in his jeans, your hand reaching for it to caress him with your palm. The rumble of a groan vibrated through his chest, kissing him once more and moving to the door. He spanked your ass before you slipped out of his grasp, turning back to catch his cheeky expression and leaving him in the bathroom to tend to his own needs.

You strolled back into the backyard with a pep in your step and found your dad setting aside a fresh round of cooked hot dogs and burgers for the crowd. He drenched the ribs in a concoction reminiscent of barbecue sauce, closed the grill to leave them to cook, and saw you closing near him.

“You alright, hun? Got worried the beer hit you the wrong way for a second.” Your father’s eyes were full of concern, soothing him with a shake of your head. If only he knew where his best friend’s mouth had been a few minutes ago.

“Nah, the beer is just fine, promise. How about a bite to eat? I’m hungry.”

Munching away at your burger, Joel returned to the yard just as you expected, with no hard-on and more charcoal he was allegedly looking for in the garage. You eyed him as he spoke to Tommy, accepting a new beer bottle and taking an ample sip. He knew you were paying attention to him despite his face remaining neutral, but his eyes told you another story, something only meant for the two of you to understand.

A calm breeze swept through the backyard and up your legs through your dress, forcing you to remember that you were bare underneath the flowy material. The culprit had the evidence safely tucked in one of the drawers of his dresser, away from sight and probably already stained with his release.

You didn’t need to worry, you know you’ll get them back later tonight.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Mistletoe Kisses Part 1

Poly!141 x GN reader

Let's see which one of the boys can get the most kisses from you during this Christmas season.

Poly Masterlist

AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Words: 1.1k

The base has been weird for the last couple of weeks. It's unfortunate that not many people were given permission to leave and spend time with their families this holiday season. You and taskfore 141 had an upcoming mission to leave for right after New Year's day so everyone was stuck on base preparing. You've tried your best to liven everyone's spirits by decorating the common room and mess hall with lights and a Christmas tree. You had even managed to jokingly put some mistletoe in strategic places to get some of the recruits laughing. It was a little joy and laughter in an otherwise shitty situation. Gaz and Soap seemed to be having a great old time utilising the mistletoe every chance they get. It was endearing to see that they had such a close friendship.

Your friends back home were like that too. Kissing and hugging each other for laughs. It was quite nostalgic to witness it on base. You've seen The Captain and your lieutenant having fun with the mistletoe too. Giving each other kisses on the cheek or forehead. They did the same when they caught anyone else from the taskforce underneath it. You've been extra careful not to loiter around it. Though Soap and Gaz have tried but you just ended up scurring off before they could pull you underneath it. The base seemed a lot more festive and full of joy and were glad the effort you put into everything was paying off.

You had managed to also get small gifts for everyone, even the new additions to the base. It wasn't anything special, just small little gifts of sweets and chocolates. Though you did splurge a little with your teammates getting Price his favourite cigars and Ghost his favourite bottle of bourbon. With Soap and Gaz you were more playful with your gifts. Soap was going to receive some scotch and a scotch glass with the Scottish flag on in. You know since he's so patriotic. Gaz was a little harder to shop for but you ended up settling on hand knitted jumper. He had mentioned to you that his nan used to gift him one every Christmas. So an idea popped into your head to knit him the most god awful jumper anyone has ever seen. It was a poor looking jumper but you had tried your best. You wanted it to look tacky but in a cute way. Though you severely overestimated your knitting skills. It did look tacky but also poorly made. Who knew knitting would be so hard? You also got him his favourite alcohol. Hopefully by the time he opened your gift the alcohol would make it look a lot nicer than it was. Everything was prettily packaged and put under the captain's tree in his office.

You place the last of the dinner prep in the fridge. Everything was seasoned and marinated. All you had to do tomorrow was put everything in the oven and make the gravy and sides. You were glad the guys were warming up to you. For the longest time it felt like you were intruding on the tight knit group of theirs. They were very affectionate to each other more so than any other group you've seen. It made sense that they were cautious about you in the beginning. But recently you feel much closer to them. They were beginning to show you the same affection they reserved for each other. It was a surprise the first time Gaz had engulfed you in a bear hug after a mission had gone wrong. You both had barely made it out alive. Since that scare you felt they paid more attention to you. They always seemed to be on high alert when on missions with you. The casual hugs and pats were received more frequently now. They even started flirting with you like they did with each other.

You'd brush it off as military humour. A lot of the recruits did that too, it was nothing new. So you didn't really mind when their hands would linger jokingly while moving you to get something. Or when someone tried flirting with you at a bar one of them always had their arms wrapped around you. They also liked pinning you down during sparring sessions. They would laugh at you when you couldn't escape their hold. It was really frustrating sometimes. Then again, hand to hand combat wasn't your strong suit. But it was all fun and games between teammates so no harm done. The only thing that was getting a bit much was them trying to kiss you under the mistletoe. They were treating it as a competition. One you didn't want part in considering they probably made a bet on it. They did these stupid bets quite often since getting closer to you. You shake your head as you go to get ready for bed. You had an early start tomorrow.

You slide into your warm covers happy and content looking forward to the next day.

-

“How have none of us managed to get at least one kiss from them?”, Gaz huffs as he sits on the captain's desk. Price caresses his hips and thighs as he goes over the plan of the upcoming mission.

“You muppets probably scared them off”, He blows out a puff of smoke from his cigar as Gaz moves away from him annoyed.

“It doesn't help that they know where all the mistletoe is placed”, Ghost comments as walks behind Price's chair as he discusses his formation and position for the stakeout.

“Aye we only have till tomorrow. We should move the mistletoe”, Soap offers as he inspected the wrapped presents under Price's tree. Gaz comes up behind him smacking his head when he catches him trying to open his. “Come on then let's go move the mistletoe while they're asleep”, Gaz drags Soap by the arm who's rubbing his head. They leave to change the locations of the mistletoe you had placed at the start of the month.

“Sometimes I wonder how they managed to pass selection”, Ghost murmeres under his breath, managing to get chuckle from his Captain.

“Did you wrap the present we all got them?”, Price inquiries while writing something down on the file.

“It's under the tree with the rest of them….Do you think they'll like it?”, Ghost asks eyeing his Captain and lover. Price looks up from his file with a twinkle in his sapphire eyes.

“we'll find out won't we?”, He gives Simon his warmest smile, before giving him a tender kiss when he bends down.

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2023. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[deadpresidents]

On the cliffs of Normandy, in a small holding area, the President of the United States was looking out at the English Channel. It was only six weeks ago, on the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings, and President Biden had just finished his remarks at the American cemetery atop Omaha Beach. Guests had been congratulating him on the speech, but he didn't want to talk about himself. The moment was not about him; it was about the men who had fought and died there. "Today feels so large," he told me. "This may sound strange -- and I don't mean it to -- but when I was out there, I felt the honor of it, the sanctity of it. To speak for the American people, to speak over those graves, it's a profound thing." He turned from the view over the beaches and gestured back toward the war dead. "You want to do right by them, by the country."

Mr. Biden has spent a lifetime trying to do right by the nation, and he did so in the most epic of ways when he chose to end his campaign for re-election. His decision is one of the most remarkable acts of leadership in our history, an act of self-sacrifice that places him in the company of George Washington who also stepped away from the presidency. To put something ahead of one's immediate desires -- to give, rather than to try to take -- is perhaps the most difficult thing for any human being to do. And Mr. Biden has done just that.

To be clear: Mr. Biden is my friend, and it has been a privilege to help him when I can. Not because I am a Democrat -- I belong to neither party and have voted for both Democrats and Republicans -- but because I believe him to be a defender of the Constitution and a public servant of honor and of grace at a time when extreme forces threaten the nation. I do not agree with everything he has done or wanted to do in terms of policy. But I know him to be a good man, a patriot and a president who has met challenges all too similar to those Abraham Lincoln faced. Here is the story I believe history will tell of Joe Biden. With American democracy in an hour of maximum danger in Donald Trump's presidency, Mr. Biden stepped in the breach. He staved off an authoritarian threat at home, rallied the world against autocrats abroad, laid the foundations for decades of prosperity, managed the end of a once-in-a-century pandemic, successfully legislated on vital issues of climate and infrastructure and has conducted a presidency worthy of the greatest of his predecessors. History and fate brought him to the pinnacle in a late season in his life, and in the end, he respected fate -- and he respected the American people.

It is, of course, an incredibly difficult moment. Highs and lows, victories and defeats, joy and pain: It has been ever thus for Mr. Biden. In the distant autumn of 1972, he experienced the most exhilarating of hours -- election to the United States Senate at the age of 29. He was no scion; he earned it. The darkness fell: His wife and daughter were killed in an automobile accident that seriously injured his two sons, Beau and Hunter. But he endured, found purpose in the pain, became deeper, wiser, more empathetic. Through the decades, two presidential campaigns imploded, and in 2015 his son Beau, a lawyer and wonderfully promising young political figure, died of brain cancer after serving in Iraq.

Such tragedy would have broken many lesser men. Mr. Biden, however, never gave up, never gave in, never surrendered the hope that a fallen, frail and fallible world could be made better, stronger and more whole if people could summon just enough goodness and enough courage to build rather than tear down. Character, as the Greeks first taught us, is destiny, and Mr. Biden's character is both a mirror and a maker of his nation's. Like Franklin Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan, he is optimistic, resilient and kind, a steward of American greatness, a love of the great game of politics and, at heart, a hopeless romantic about the country that has given him so much.

Nothing bears out this point as well as his decision to let history happen in the 2024 election. Not matter how much people say that this was inevitable after the debate in Atlanta last month, there was nothing foreordained about an American President ending his political career for the sake of his country and his party. By surrendering the possibility of enduring in the seat of ultimate power, Mr. Biden has taught us a landmark lesson in patriotism, humility and wisdom.

Now the question comes to the rest of us. What will we the people do? We face the most significant of choices. Mr. Roosevelt framed the war whose dead Mr. Biden commemorated at Normandy in June as a battle between democracy and dictatorship. It is not too much to say that we, too, have what Mr. Roosevelt called a "rendezvous with destiny" at home and abroad. Mr. Biden has put country above self, the Constitution above personal ambition, the future of democracy above temporal gain. It is up to us to follow his lead.

-- "Joe Biden, My Friend and an American Hero" by Jon Meacham, New York Times, July 22, 2024.

[fancyfeathers]

God I just had the funniest idea after watching the tea party ova of Moriarty the Patriot…

Just picture their darlings there because they all are a part of the household now.

William’s darling, the shy little thing she is, is just clinging onto William’s arm or near his side the entire time. Half of the ladies present are glaring at her because she is a little street rat who took William’s heart before anyone else could have a chance that they didn’t even have in the first place. The other half of the ladies present are smitten with the adorable little wife of the mathematics professor, like the way a little girl would coo over their baby sibling or new doll that their parents bought them, they offer William to take her off of his hands for a day or perhaps a week, telling her how adorable she would look with a trip to her family’s country home and makeover, perhaps a new wardrobe and- While the ladies ramble on, she is just looking at William with pleading eyes to get her out of there.

Meanwhile Albert’s darling, who was born into nobility is taking the opportunity to visit with some of her old friends who are present, slipping away from Albert to fend for himself with all the ladies present. Many of those ladies she speaks to are the same ladies who have swept William’s darling away to fixate on her, and they are just talking to Albert’s darling while playing with her curls like did she do her hair? Oh she did, well isn’t that just adorable- oh and the earring and necklace she is wearing was a gift from Albert’s darling? Well isn’t that just the sweetest.

Louis’ darling has the most merciful fate because she gets to help her husband and the temporary staff in the kitchen away from all the commotion of the party, though if she does end up nicking herself once with a knife even once Louis will bandage it and send her upstairs so she can read or something, but chances are she will snag Von Herder’s darling from the basement where they are keeping watch over the things the others don’t want found and she will take her upstairs to read with her and people watch from the window.

Then there is Bonde’s and Moran’s darling who get to help out with the party, and by get to help it means they have to help due to all the pleading from each of their partners. The both of them stick close together, gossiping and making notes about the rich ladies at the party and asking each other what the other gets from the other’s partner in order to agree to do this and let’s just saw the answers they give one another they would have to hope none of the guests at the party overhear…

But of course by the end of the party those promises are put on hold due to everyone’s exhaustion. Bonde has his darling cuddled up next to him, his arms pulling the blanket around them both. Moran practically has to carry his darling up to bed because she is ready to fall asleep at any moment and run out the cramps in her legs from her heels. Louis’ darling cleans up the kitchen for him as the temporary staff is dismissed and her husband gets ready for bed. Von Herder’s darling has to pull him out of the basement so the two of them can go to sleep cause if she didn’t he would be down there all night. Albert and his darling go up to bed early and split a bottle of wine between the two of them before they pass out from exhaustion. William helps his darling get undressed and ready for bed and she quickly tells him as they settle into bed how she never wants to do that again and he fully agrees.

[fairy-writes]

Would it be too much to ask for a William James Moriarty x Holmes sister reader? Like she's a travelling archaeologist/anthropologist who's a genius in the field and has found many artifacts and lost cities and can be a bit of an eccentric looney like her older brother Sherly but she's also incredibly kind to those in need and often donates her treasures to the less fortunate and even helps Sherly from time to time which is how he meets her and is impressed by her smarts and sarcastic wits. Also, a bit of a parkour junky likes to wear mens clothes tailored for her measurements and often wears her hair in loose buns or ponytails and loves riding horseback much to Mycroft's displeasure🤭

A BUSINESS PROPOSAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Mildly sexist behavior from Mycroft? It is the 1800s after all.

Notes: So this was super fun to write! 

Fun fact! I took an archaeology class for my associate’s degree in criminal justice and highly recommend taking one to anyone in college! 

I actually took several anthropology classes (intro to anthro, bio anthro, and archaeology). I even considered switching my major to anthropology at some point! (I switched it to English lol)

PART TWO HERE

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Otis whinnies, and you reach forward from your place in the saddle to pat his neck.

“Easy, Otie, almost there.” You whisper to him and gently nudge him to turn down the familiar road of Baker Street. You could spot your brother’s flat from where you were at, an unfamiliar carriage parked in front. You frown briefly and then shrug. Sherlock could have whoever he liked over. 

But… he did promise to take you out on the town in celebration of your latest discovery. Did he forget?

No… He wasn’t the type to forget something like that. You had been exchanging letters for weeks about your coming home. 

A tall man was at the front of the carriage, tending to the horses. He had spiked black hair and a glove on one hand. He looks at you with skeptical eyes as you draw near and dismount your horse. The Cleveland Bay snorts, ruffling your hair as you smooth your hand up his snout and between his eyes. Then, you promptly tied his reins to the post outside 221B Baker Street and went up to the front door. 

The door knocker was more worn than you last remembered, with the shiny brass turning a glimmering gold color from all the hands touching it. You rap the door once, twice, then a third time, and wait, stuffing your hands in your trouser pockets. 

A young man opens the door, sandy blond hair combed neatly and brown eyes alight with curiosity. A grin breaks your face, and you step forward into his arms as he realizes just who is at the door.

“My dear John!” You shriek, and he chuckles, lifting you off your feet and spinning once in a circle before setting you down. 

“I thought you weren’t due back for another two weeks!” He replies excitedly, and you laugh gleefully. 

“We finished early! Anyhow, how’s Mary? Sherlock said you two were expecting!” You say and slap his shoulder good-naturedly. He ducks his head, a pink flush on his cheeks as he nods.

“She’s home at the mo. But yes, we’re expecting. The midwife thinks it’ll be a girl based on how she’s carrying.” He said, and before you could say any more, there was a noise at the top of the stairs. 

You turn, and your grin widens even more until your cheeks hurt. 

“Sherly!” You crow, and he bounds down the stairs to sweep you up in a bear hug. His boisterous laugh made your heart sing, and you buried your nose in his hair. He smelled like cigarette smoke and whiskey. He must have been on a case. He squeezes you tight and sets you down. 

“I thought you were coming back in two weeks!” He exclaims, and you roll your eyes,

“So John said, I told you we finished early!” You tease, and it is then that you notice that there is someone else in the flat. 

He was tall, probably around your brother’s height. He had blond hair and deep scarlet eyes that studied you with interest. He was dressed in a brown suit with a crimson tie. A lord. That much is obvious.

Sherlock notices that you notice his friend and gestures to the man at the top of the stairs. 

“This is Liam! A mathematics professor at Durham University and a friend of mine who helps me on my cases.” He says proudly as “Liam” descends the stairs and approaches you. 

You stick out a hand and introduce yourself. His hand is smooth like you expected, as opposed to your calloused one. You had bandages littering your fingertips from blisters from shovels and tools. 

“William James Moriarty. I’ve heard stories about you.” His British lilt is proper and endearing. You feel your heart flutter and your ears burn. But you smile warmly nonetheless and give his hand a firm shake.

“As much as I’d like to say the same, Sherly has yet to tell me about you in his letters.” You direct the last sentence to your older brother in the same teasing tone as before. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and punches your shoulder lightly while William watches on in amusement. 

“I got distracted!” Sherlock complains, and you break out into giggles. 

“I would love to hear some stories if you’re up to it.” William cut in gently before you, and Sherlock could start bickering. You brighten. A chance to tell stories of your work and not have someone get bored? It sounded like heaven!

That was how you got to where you were at the current moment. 

You were seated next to Sherlock at the Moriarty dining table, regaling them with a story of the most current dig you had been on.

“—and Egypt was absolutely smashing! It was so beautiful!” You say, waving your hands excitedly as you describe the tomb that had been uncovered. It had taken weeks to uncover everything, almost months. But oh so worth it. 

“Might I ask what you did with all the artifacts you found?” William inquires, and you hum as you sip at your wine. 

“Donated it all back to the locals. It’s the least I can do. Plenty of archaeologists steal their finds and bring them back to England to show in museums. I try and do the opposite.” You say and were pleased to see William nod in approval. 

At least someone shared your sentiment. 

You got a letter to your very old and very dusty flat a week after your return to England, summoning you to your eldest brother’s estate. You had been dusting and cleaning your furniture when the postman knocked on your door. You frown, brushing your pants on the seat of your trousers, and answer the door. 

The letter was short. 

Dearest sister, 

I have received news of your return to Egypt. I would like to have your company at the family estate for dinner to discuss business and your adventures. 

With best regards, 

Mycroft Holmes

A summons to the Holmes family estate that your oldest brother had inherited after your parents retired to the country. You look at the ceiling and groan, eliciting a funny look from the postman. 

This was going to be fun.

As soon as Otis realizes where you are, he tosses his head and tries to turn around. You tug the reins so he faces the right direction and nudge him into a walk down the road.

“Otie, I don’t want to do this either. But I’d rather not have Mikey send special forces after us or something.” You say to Otis, and when you reach the stables, Mycroft’s hired stable hand takes your beloved horse’s reins. “Take good care of him!” You nearly reprimand the stable hand who agrees and welcomes you back with ease. 

The maids welcome you in excitedly when you rap on the massive double doors, and you are ushered upstairs into the dining room. 

Mycroft was seated at the head of the table, where your father would be if he were here, and he stood to greet you. He offers a handshake, but you simply smile warmly and hug him tightly. He may have grated on your nerves, but he was still your brother. Mycroft stiffens and pats your shoulders awkwardly when you step back.

“As awkward as always, I see Mikey.” You said and took a seat at the table next to him like you did when you were kids. He clears his throat and calls for the kitchen staff to bring in the food. 

It wasn’t much, considering there were only two of you. But it was as extravagant as Mycroft always demanded it to be. 

“Would you like to change into dinner attire before we eat, sister dearest?” Mycroft says suddenly, just as you are about to dig into the delicious roast prepared by the staff of the household. You put your fork down and scowl.

“Don’t start with this, Mikey. You know I hate dresses.” You snap, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push the issue. 

At least… he doesn’t until you are done with your meal and in his study, talking about your travels to Egypt. 

You down the rest of your whiskey and set the glass whiskey tumbler on the table between you two. 

“More whiskey?” He offers, and you shake your head.

“I want to be able to ride home after this.” You say and hold in a yawn. The excellent food combined with the fireplace blazing with a crackling fire is lulling you to sleep. 

Suddenly, Mycroft stands and walks in front of the fire, setting his own glass down on the mantle and turning to face you. 

“Might we talk some business?” He inquires, and immediately, your mood sours. 

So this was his end goal? Get you sleepy and drunk so you couldn’t ride home and were subject to his pleadings?

“I don’t want to hear it, Mikey.” You say and stand, holding onto the back of the wingback chair for a moment as the dizziness sets in. 

He scowls, 

“You are of perfect age. The season is just starting. You could still join in and find a potential suitor!” He tries, and you scrub at your face.

“I already told you I wasn’t interested in courting! I’m interested in—”

“Your work, I know. But what happens when the digs dry up and there’s nothing else for you to do? What will you do when you get too old for this?!” He snaps, and you whirl, steadying yourself with the chair as your anger flares. 

“It won’t dry up! There are thousands of years of history still to be discovered! Hundreds of thousands of cities and archaeological finds!” Your voice rises to a shout, and you hear distant footsteps as maids scurry away from you and your brother’s anger. 

This goes on for several minutes until Mycroft a bomb on you. 

“Mother and Father have decided. If you don’t find someone to court, they will no longer fund your excavations, and you’ll be stuck here with me.” 

You freeze, hands wound tightly in your hair, and argument dying on your tongue. 

“B—But that would mean—” Mycroft cuts you off gently and approaches, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’d be stuck here until you find a husband—no more digs. No more artifacts. Not until you do as they and I ask.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you shrug off his hands violently and flee. 

Your boots pound against the hardwood floors, and you run outside where it has started pouring rain. Instantly, your clothes are soaked as you make it to the stables, dress Otis in his saddle and bridle, and swiftly mount his back. He tears out of the stables at a thundering gallop, and the stable hand barely dives out of the way to save himself from being trampled. 

Otis’s hooves dash against the cobblestone roads. You cling to his reins and hunch over his back as tears stream down your face and sobs wrack your body. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking away your funding? 

No one wanted to fund a woman on an archaeological dig! 

Much less one as young as yourself! 

You were screwed! Doomed to live as a housewife because that was society’s and your parent’s expectations of you!

Otis eventually comes to a halt, and you dismount, collapsing onto a bench, breathing hard as rain pours down your body. Your shirt sticks to your skin, and your trousers swim in water as you sit in a puddle on the bench. But you can’t bring it in you to care. 

A carriage rumbles to a stop before you, and you look up as the door opens. 

“Might I interest you in some shelter?” Comes a proper and endearing accent that you recognize. 

“William?” You sniffle, and he smiles, extending a hand. 

“If you’ll let him, Fred will handle your horse. How about you step inside the carriage, and we’ll take you back to the Moriarty estate.” He says over the rain. A young man with a blue scarf wrapped around his head gets off the front of the carriage and approaches. You hiccup and nod, handing Otis’s reins to the young man and accepting William’s hand into the carriage. He sheds his overcoat and offers it. 

It’s warm and heavy as you wrap it around your shoulders and sit down. Your boots squelch against the floor, and William knocks twice against the carriage's wall, and it starts moving once again. 

The Morairty estate is even grander than you remember, looming over you as the carriage stops by the front doors. You nearly slip in your haste to get inside and are taken up the stairs to one of the many bedrooms. 

“Draw a bath and get warm. I’ll have some clothes brought by. We can have a talk after you’ve collected yourself.” William says gently, and you nod, taking off his overcoat so he can have it back. He excuses himself, and you are left alone in the suite. 

The bath is nice and hot, and you let out a sigh as you shed your clothes into a pile on the floor and sink into the warm water. Your tears are drying, but your emotions are still raging like a rabid dog inside you.

How could they? 

Didn’t your family know archaeology was your passion? Your dream?! Of course, they did! You never shut up about it when you were but a little girl learning to play the piano! You babbled on and on about fossils and artifacts in between lessons until you were blue in the face!

It wasn’t long until you were done in the bath and dried off. As William had promised, some clothes were left on the bed. A button-down that looked like it might fit you, a pair of trousers that might be a bit too long, and a pair of undergarments. You tugged on the underwear and then the trousers, having to cuff them at the bottom so you didn’t trip. The shirt fit better than you thought so you pinned your hair out of your face and left the bedroom and down the hall. Hadn’t there been a sitting room just down the stairs? 

William was inside, stoking a fire with a poker, his back to you. He stood and turned when you rapped lightly on the entryway. His lips curled in a welcoming smile, and he gestured for you to take a seat. 

“Would you like some tea? I had Louis put the kettle on.” He said, and you nodded, sitting on the couch beside the fire.

“Thank you. For the clothes and… everything else.” You mumble, and he shakes his head,

“Don’t mention it. Sherlock mentioned you hated dresses.” He says and pours you a cup of tea.

It’s delicious. It warms you from the tips of your ears to the ends of your bare toes. You scuff them on the plush carpet as William sits across from you. His scarlet eyes are illuminated like glittering rubies in the oranges and yellows of the fire. They’re alive like a torch resides inside. 

“Now, might I ask why you were out in the rain?” William asks as soon as you’ve settled into your spot. You bite your lip and wonder if you can trust him with your problems. 

Sherlock trusted him well enough… 

Perhaps…

“I got into an argument with Mycroft. He said my parents will cut off my funding for excavations if I don’t find a proper husband.” You blurt, and he hums as he takes a sip from his cup. 

“I assume they’ve been funding your past archaeological escapades?” He says, and you nod.

“Correct. But that is going to change unless I get married.” You grumble, and he cocks his head to the side, setting his cup down on the tea table next to him and seemingly mulling something over. 

“This may be a bit forward, but I have a proposal. A business proposal, if you will.” He starts, and you narrow your eyes. A business proposal? You set your own cup down and cross one leg over the other. 

“Go on…” You say hesitantly, and he clasps his hands together as if working out a problem in his head. Sherlock did say he was a mathematics professor.

“I could marry you.” You inhale sharply and proceed to choke on your saliva. William half gets out of his chair to come to your aid when you finally get your coughing under control. 

“Why?!” You demand, and he shrugs, 

“I’ve done some research into you. You are spearheading the way in new archaeological techniques. You donate your finds back to the locals in need. And frankly, I find you fascinating. If we go ahead with this, you’ll have access to my brother Albert’s influence as well as the Moriarty name and fortune.” He says, and you sit back, stunned. 

“I could continue my work?” You say skeptically, and he nods. 

“Indeed. There’s no reason to stop you. I might ask for a lecture or two from you at Durham University. But that’s it. So…” He extends a hand for you to shake. “Have we reached an accord?”

You are speechless as possibilities run rampant through your brain. You’d be free from your parent’s influence as well as pleasing them. Though pleasing them was the last thing on your mind. Yes, you’d be married. But like William said… it was more of a business proposal…

You reach forward and shake his hand. His smile widens marginally as you speak,

“I accept your proposal.”

[mickandmusings]

felt good on my lips

part of the 'hangman & honey' series! (stand alone story)

summary: as the sun settles over the texas air on the most patriotic day of the year, honey and jake find themselves encased in a different kind of heat, the kind that had little to do with the burning star in the sky. that night, as fireworks erupt against the starry sky, a different kind of spark flames between the two.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: sticky sweet fluff, southern american traditions, a fourth of july special, some slightly suggestive thoughts from jake and honey's mind (nothing spicy)

*timeline: this takes place the summer after part III!

**i'm not sure if this is common knowledge anywhere outside of the southern US, so some explanation: window air conditioning units are necessary for most older homes (they get extremely hot), the 'pig' is a local grocery store aka piggly wiggly, and also, kids are always sort of everywhere at family get-togethers, and the closest adult will take care of whatever kid, whether they belong to them or not, lol. southern americans give their grandparents weird names.

-

Under the scorching rays of the Texas sun, Jake lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat dripping down his face. It's nearing lunchtime, and it's prime time for the heat index to reach its max temperature. He'd been outside for an hour or so now, setting up folding tables and taping cheap red, white and blue tablecloths to them. His extended family would be trudging down Seresin Farm Road in an hour's time, and the day's festivities would be off and away. His grandmother had all but stormed into his bedroom at eight that morning, startling not only him, but Honey who was sleeping peacefully between his arms. (They were both more startled at the fact that they weren't technically supposed to be sleeping in the same bed anymore, and that they'd been caught, but Janet had seemed more focused on the fact she had a dozen more people to feed.)

After he sets up the last table in the front yard, he sighs and decides to shed the sweat-drenched shirt plastering to his chest. He wipes his face with it and takes a moment to look at his work before he went to retrieve his next task from his grandmother. The tablecloths were uneven and more than a little wonky, but they would do good enough. He shrugs and begins to make his trek back to the farmhouse. Jake's bad mood had already begun to seep in, he truly despised most of his extended family. They only visited on holidays, despite only living an hour or so away in Austin. They never visited for any pure reason, they always came when they needed or wanted something-primarily monetary-from his well-off grandparents. They would come and complain incessantly about the heat or the simplicity of small-town life, and it drove Jake absolutely mad. As he walked up the porch steps, he heard Honey's boisterous laughter filtering through the screen door he was opening. Her sweet happiness made the tension fall from his shoulders, and his face broke into a small grin.

His eyes found her immediately-she's standing at the kitchen counter next to his grandmother, a pair of denim shorts adorning her legs and her his well-worn, thin white shirt on her torso, doing little to hide the red and white striped swimsuit top underneath it. Jake felt heat fill his blood, and he knew the Texas sun had nothing to do with it. Her hair fell in waves across her shoulders from the braid she'd slept in, and she stood barefoot as she stirred something in a mixing bowl. Neither Janet nor Honey had heard him walk in, so Jake stood in the door frame, a smirk painted across his face. He watched them work in perfect tandem-there's no chatter between them, they navigated the kitchen without having to say a word-Honey working on sweets while his grandmother seemed to be making something in a casserole dish. Country music filled the kitchen from the radio on the opposite counter, and the hum of the window air-conditioning unit sounded over it, providing the ambiance of Jake's idea of a perfect southern, summer day.

After standing staring at his girlfriend for probably far too long, Jake decided to make his presence known. He sneakily slides his hands around Honey's waist, causing her to jump and let out a small yelp. She turns around in his arms, her eyes wide as she looks at him, her mouth open like she has something to say but she falls silent when she looks down at his bare torso. Jake laughs and places a chaste kiss on her cheek, and she sends him a pointed look when she composes herself.

"You scared the absolute mess out of me, Jacob Thomas!"

He kisses her other cheek, distracting her long enough to snatch a cookie from the plate in front of her. Janet watches from the corner of her eye, smiling as she chastises and shoos Jake out of her kitchen. He shuffles up the stairs to his and Honey's room to get in his own patriotic swimwear, leaving Honey with a rosy blush on her face. Honey tries to swallow her visions of the sight of him down, focusing on icing the cupcakes in front of her with red icing and white and blue sprinkles, but her cheeks still flamed.

"You alright, Honey, need me to bump up the air in here? You're looking a little red," Janet's voice is dripping with faux sympathy, she's not stupid, she knows why Honey is blushing.

"Uh, n-no, I'm fine," Honey gives her a bright smile, focusing back on the desserts she was supposed to be finishing up. The sound of Jake's heavy footsteps come down the stairs, American-flag printed swim trucks on his tanned legs, a white and blue Cowboys shirt on his torso. Honey rolled her eyes, had she really fallen in love with the most stereotypical American dream boy known to man?

"Jake, dear," Janet's voice pipes up, turning to face her grandson. "Alice is bringing her grandkids along, the younger ones. I bought some water balloons the other day, they're in that Pig bag on the back porch. Why don't you and Honey fill those up, hm?"

"Yes ma'am," Jake nodded heading towards the back door, Honey right behind him. He holds the door open for her, and slides his hand across her waist and into the back pocket of her shorts as they walk around back. Honey looks over at her boyfriend, not surprised by his action, but more so his constant affections today. She uses the plastic bag full of water balloons to slap his chest playfully.

"You're touchy today, Seresin." Honey's voice is humorous, simply jabbing at him as a joke.

Jake's green eyes shine in the sun, his eyebrows furrowing as he shakes his head, his favorite Longhorns cap backwards against his head. Once they reach the back of the house, Jake (unfortunately) lets go of his hold on her, turning on the water at the faucet. Honey dumps the bucket full of rainwater next to it, making room for their tied balloons.

"Sweetheart, after you meet my asshole family members you might run like hell, got to hold on to you while I can."

Honey frowns, she knows all about asshole family members.

"Jake you've met my mother and didn't run, I think I'll be just fine."

Jake fills a blue balloon with water, handing it over for her to tie off. He lets out a dry chuckle, pausing his actions to look up at her.

"Take your mother, times her by like eight, and give her four kids a piece, and grandkids. Then, give them all better-than-you attitudes and lookin' down their noses at you. Honey, baby, they're monsters."

It was Honey's turn to feel heat wash over her, and, under the shade of the house, she knew it had little to do with the heat and the new pet name Jake had just used. She'd never say it, too embarrassed to admit something like that to him, but she certainly liked that one the most. She stands stock still, holding the completed balloon in her hand, only staring as Jake fills another one, this time red. He hands it to over to her to tie, and notices her not moving.

"You alright, Hon?" He ties off the balloon himself, noticing the flames painting her cheeks. "Damn, you're already red. Can't stand in the sun five minutes before your skin starts burnin'."

He slings his hat over her head, the bill facing forward now.

"That'll at least keep your face from peelin' tonight."

Honey could've told him the truth, that the red was from a blush, but she didn't. She simply smiled, tucking her hair into the back of the hat to fashion a ponytail as she helped him finish the task at hand. As Jake slung the bucket into his arms and the pair started walking back towards the house, the rumble of vehicles sounded down their gravel driveway. Jake stops in his track, using his spare hand to hold onto Honey's, his voice annoyed as he spoke:

"Fuck me! They're already here."

Honey only laughed and shook her head, pulling her dramatic boyfriend back towards the house as she spoke:

"Hey, look at this way, we hang out here for a few hours, and then we have fireworks out at Willie's family's place at nine, and we're leaving before then to swim with Brett and Willie, and then you won't have to see them again until Thanksgiving."

Jake sighed, pulling her into him by the waist. The backyard was secluded enough that they could have a private moment, so Jake leaned in for a deep kiss. Honey felt her skin tingle with goosebumps, Jake's hands on her hips sending them down her spine. They broke apart and he winked at her, walking around the front to greet his family.

-

After meeting Jake's family, Honey realized he hadn't been exaggerating when he thought they were the worst. The adults had a sort of holier-than-thou air about them, with the exception of his Uncle Danny who seemed to be relatively down to Earth. Danny's only downside was that he came with his overly judgmental wife, Yvonne, who sneered at the dirt on the bottom of her fancy-looking sandals, and his six kids. Jake seemed to like Danny, and the two carried on a conversation over one of the tables. Honey found herself off to the side, not wanting to interrupt. She nursed a solo cup of lemonade as she watched the Seresin family interact with one another-a perpetual wallflower in any social situation. Janet and Jacob Sr. sat with a group of older family members, swapping laughter and memories of those long gone. Honey felt herself pick at the skin around her fingernails, swallowing a set of tears that loomed behind her eyes. Even if Jake despised his family, with their attitudes and short looks, at least he had a family to see each other on holidays. Honey thought of her mother, likely at a party with her new boyfriend's family, before she shut the thought down completely, her bottom lip between her teeth. Without much thought, she went around to the back porch, overlooking the group of kids playing in the sprinkler. All of Danny's kids (all under ten, and completely wild) played with Alice's two granddaughters peacefully, and Honey smiled. She had a slew of cousins back home in Mississippi, and, in times like these, she missed them terribly.

When she looked back up at the kids, she saw the scene of disaster unfold before her eyes. One of Danny's older girls had all but barreled into Alice's youngest granddaughter, who couldn't have been older than two. The toddler hit her head against the ground hard, and it was obvious by the look on her face a round of tears were coming. Honey's instinct kicked in before her logical thinking, and she shuffled down the stairs of the porch and scooped the little girl up before her loud sobs filled the air.

"Hey, hey, you're okay, you're okay," Honey rocked her in her arms, the toddler now sobbing against Honey's shoulder. Honey looked down at her for any possible bruises or knots on her head, but she seemed fine, the fall had most likely just startled her. "How about we go get you a popsicle, yeah? That sound good?"

The toddler, whom Honey still didn't know the name of, nodded against her shoulder, and Honey sighed in relief. She brought the young girl onto the porch and wraps her in her Barbie towel, plopping her into the rocker on the porch. Honey slings open the freezer and spots the plastic bag of different colored popsicles.

"What color, little lady?" Honey smiles at the toddler with sopping wet pigtails. A grin forms on the young girl's face as she shyly responds. "Blue."

Honey smiles and retrieves the popsicle and hands it to her, popping it open and smiling down at her.

"You alright?" Honey speaks, sitting down in the rocker opposite her. "That was a pretty hard hit."

The toddler nods as blue begins to stain her mouth, her big brown eyes looking over at Honey. "I okay, thanks."

Honey laughs at the toddler babble and begins to look out at the other children again, the children still running through the sprinkler safely. It isn't until she feels a cold hand on her leg that Honey looks down, the toddler looking up at her with her arms raised. She wants to be picked up. Honey picks her up and places her into her lap, the girl looking at her with a blue, toothy grin.

"I'm Presley."

Honey grins widely, "Hi Presley, my name is Honey."

The toddler smiles again, getting more comfortable in Honey's grasp.

"You're pretty."

"Me?" Honey jokes with the girl. "You Miss Presley are so pretty."

Presley giggles and Honey finds herself laughing too. The two are so absorbed in conversation about Barbies and Presley's preschool friends that they don't notice Alice and Janet rounding around to the front in the search for Presley, Jake behind them, in search of Honey.

"There you are, sweetheart," Alice coos to her granddaughter. Honey grows shy, not knowing Alice well. When Jake spots her, his eyes grow wide, his blonde-haired baby cousin sitting in Honey's lap. Honey was relaxed, her body language comfortable. Jake stops in his tracks, another feeling coming over him that he couldn't explain. The sight of the girl he was in love with, sweetly comforting the toddler in her arms made his emotions stir.

Presley looks at her grandmother from Honey's lap. "I okay, Gigi. Honey gave me a 'sicle!" The toddler waved the partially melted treat in the air. Honey's sweet smile formed across her face as she looked down at Presley, and Jake's heart hammered. He'd never seen Honey so comfortable with strangers, but he knew his girl's heart, and she had a soft spot for babies. Presley launched into her grandmother's arms and Honey went to meet Jake down at the bottom of the stairs. His jade green eyes glimmered down at her, her sun-kissed face hidden under his baseball cap that still sat on her head. All he wanted to do was pull her in for a heated kiss, but he decided against it, given that their company was made up of children and his own grandmother.

Honey smiled up at him, "You alright? They annoy you that much already?"

Jake only shook his head, grabbing her hand and intertwining with his own.

Honey gave him a look, as if she didn't fully believe him. "Ready to head to Willie's place?"

Jake nodded, kissing her cheek. She smiled.

"Did you grab our towels? I can go get us some if not it's-"

"I got it, baby, go get in the truck."

Honey stilled in his arms. That damn nickname was going to kill her.

-

Later that night, Jake and Honey found themselves sitting on the sandbar of the river under the moon, Willie and Brett both drunk off of Willie's dad's beer he'd stolen. Jake nor Honey had been as brave, Honey had half of one before she'd tossed it to the side, and Jake had finished it. Jake laughed as Willie tossed Brett into the water, both of them mock-fighting one another. Honey had long since had her fill of swimming, her hair damp and a beach towel around her shivering body. Jake had one arm slung over her, pressing her against his side for more warmth. If he was honest, he'd spent less time swimming with his friends and more staring at Honey in her swimsuit. She lazily floated on her back as his stupid friends all but drowned one another. Now she sat next to him as Brett and Willie picked themselves up out of the water and headed back towards the cabin that Willie's family owned, getting ready to set off fireworks with his family.

Jake had appreciated their offer for he and Honey to join them, but Jake knew Honey would much rather enjoy the fireworks without Willie's entire extended family around. Selfishly, he wanted a moment alone with her anyways. She smiled up at him in the silence, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

"It always ends with just us, huh?" Her voice comes out.

"You complainin'?" Came Jake's retort.

She shook her head, leaning up to kiss his cheek, resting her head against his shoulder. Silence settled over them, and someone shouted in the distance before a display of lights burst across the black sky. Honey smiled as she watched the display, but Jake's focus was on her instead. They hadn't had a true moment alone since his 16th birthday a few weeks before, and he was going to savor every second he had. Her eyes darted at the lights in the sky, Jake's hand resting on the bare skin of her torso, the spot not covered by her swimsuit. His thumb brushed against her skin, and she smiled up at him again. When they caught eyes, Jake couldn't stop himself, his opposite hand coming to her chin to connect their lips. As a round of blue fireworks filled the air, neither of them caught the display, Honey's hands in Jake's blonde locks, and both of his now pulling her into his lap. She giggled faintly as they pulled apart, that kiss had been more heated than she'd intended. Honey feels brave, pulling him back into another kiss just like the last. Jake's hands move to her hips, his heart racing at her touch. He thinks back to Brett's comment about him already being 'whipped', and as Honey's lips meet his again, he knows he's done for. Soon it's messy, clashing teeth and fumbling hands. Jake gently pulls her back, his southern gentleman instinct kicking in. His eyes are dark, darker than Honey's ever seen them, and he's breathing heavy.

"We should probably slow down, baby."

She stills again, her entire frame encapsulated in flames. Her hands go back to Jake's hair. Their faces are close, but their lips aren't touching.

"I love it when you call me that," her voice is a whisper, and Jake almost doesn't hear her over the fireworks popping in the sky. His eyes dart between her own, his lips barely meeting hers before he mumbles.

"Baby," His lips crash against hers, and Honey, in an act most definitely unusual to her nature, let's herself go completely. There's no shy hesitation, she's unabashedly aflame for him, the name feeling ridiculously good against her lips.

As much as Jake wanted to let this progress, the logical part of his brain refuses to allow him to take her on the dusty sandbar of his friend's spot on the river. He pulls away and pushes the hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear, kissing her forehead and pulling her into his chest. He watched the rest of the firework show with Honey in his arms, placing relatively innocent kisses to the side of his neck as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear. When Brett and Willie had come back to retrieve them, they'd teased them relentlessly-kissing noises and snarky comments about the couple-but Jake let it roll of his shoulders as he carried Honey piggy-back up the hill and back to his truck, her head resting on his shoulder on the way home. His hand rests against her thigh, his thumb lazily rubbing against her skin.

The night is quiet, the country music in his truck at a low volume. When he pulls up to the house, Honey's fast asleep against him. He shakes his head fondly and slides her out of the truck, tossing their towels and wet clothes across the front banister of the porch. His grandparents had long since gone to bed, and Jake was thankful, he was too tired to try to sneak Honey from her room across the hall into his. He simply brings her straight into his room, and places her carefully onto their bed. He carefully peels off her shoes and chucks them across the room before falling into bed beside her. He pulls her close, and his eyes are fluttering shut before he can even remember to shut off the lamp on his bedside table. He only mumbles down to her before he falls into deep sleep:

"G'night, baby."

-

taglist:

@djs8891

@unattainablesillygoose

@psuedochakra

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

[lushrue]

cold beer on a friday night

heard "a little bit of chicken fried" in a white people anthems compilation the other day and i immediately started thinking of everyone’s favorite southern boy, phillip graves! so have some good ol’ cowboy smut for your weekend! (also did not expect this to be almost 4k words, but here we are)

afab!reader (she/her pronouns used), nsfw, minors dni!!

cw: drinking, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, creampie, heavy praise kink

the bar was pretty packed, but you expected that it would be.

living in a military town, you’d learned when the busy times were. weekends, most evenings after 8 PM, and holidays. this one was the biggest one of all in your community, fourth of july looming around the corner and bringing star-spangled festivity with it. the bar itself was adorned with an american flag banner that people would occasionally toast to before taking a shot. the string lights above the patio had been changed from their pale yellow to shine red, white, and blue. occasionally, as you sat there drinking your cheap beer, someone would break out in a drunken rendition of the star-spangled banner, causing everyone to either sing along or raise their glass in solidarity.

it was entertaining for you, if nothing else. watching men who’d made their country their whole lives celebrate it was its own brand of inspiring. the town felt the same around memorial day and veteran’s day too. you’d been pretty staunchly anti-military for most of your adult life, holding the belief in world peace that only someone who hadn’t experienced war could. but seeing these men who wouldn’t have known each other if not for their brotherhood of service expressing their love for their country, it almost made you want to believe in their cause. still, despite the atmosphere, patriotism wasn’t the foremost thing in your mind tonight.

you weren’t expecting to find the love of your life, not in a place like this. it was hardly the fairytale castle you’d envisioned as a little girl and the men here were certainly no prince charming. all you could ask for was someone to treat you right for a night. focus on you a little bit, take his time. if you got real lucky, maybe he’d even make you cum. the proverbial bar wasn’t in hell, but it was close enough to feel the flames. it’d been months since your deadbeat of an ex-boyfriend dumped you, and despite how bad of an idea your friends had told you it was, you were looking for a rebound. nothing serious or long-term, just a good fuck to set you right and then you could be on your way. it was hard to get anywhere in the dating scene with this insatiable ache between your legs.

you nursed your budweiser, the condensation leaking between your fingertips as you took a drink from the bottle. it tasted like piss, but like everyone always says, you don’t drink for the taste. weary eyes scan the bar and its patrons, looking for anyone who isn’t already fall-on-their-face drunk. it was slim pickins; almost everyone here had started their evening of debauchery hours ago with no signs of stopping. the sober ones were mostly grizzled veterans, watching the younger soldiers with a glint of something akin to nostalgia. you supposed that must have been them once, disregarding their livers for a night of fun with buddies that they could lose in an instant. they certainly wouldn’t be scratching your itch for you anytime soon, so your gaze moved on. 

finally, your eyes settled on a blond man sitting by himself at a high top. you’d seen him here before a couple of times. he was always alone, on the fringes of whatever drunken activity was going on. you’d never seen him so much as stumble while he was here, downing his couple of whiskeys in peace before closing out and heading home. he was handsome, you supposed. older than you, but not enough to make anyone clutch their pearls. muscular, scar on his cheek. still clearly military, but a bit more weathered than the twenty-somethings throwing back jaegerbombs.

little did you know, he’d seen you too. he’d seen how you came every weekend, like clockwork, looking like you were begging for company. it was sweet, he thought, how desperate you were for attention. you were like a puppy with those doe eyes of yours. just begging to be noticed, to be taken into someone’s arms and loved proper. he was sure you tasted as sweet as you looked. just as your eyes met his, you looked away with a blush. had he caught you staring? you couldn’t be sure. you cursed yourself for your bashfulness, clutching the neck of your beer bottle a little tighter. how were you ever going to get laid if you didn’t go for it?

luckily, your military man wasn’t one to wait around. he got up from his table, sauntering towards you with a confidence that was completely innate. this wasn’t born of liquid courage. no, he knew he had something you wanted. you clear your throat and look up as he lays his hand on the chair across from you. “this seat taken?” he asked, his voice slow and easy like he wasn’t in a hurry. nobody was around here, you supposed. you shake your head no and he takes it as an invitation. the chair pulled out with a squeaking noise drowned out by someone breaking out into “my country 'tis of thee.”

you take another swig of beer to loosen your tongue and give you some charisma that you wouldn’t have sober. the man held his hand out to you, his tumbler full of amber in the other. “i’m phillip. you can call me phil.” you take his hand without a second thought, shaking politely. god, how bad off were you if touching a man’s hand made you practically feral? you give your name in reply, withdrawing your hand before your mind runs off with unsavory images. the last thing you needed was to scare off the one eligible bachelor in the bar who’d seen fit to approach you. a cursory glance at his left hand revealed no wedding ring. you weren’t looking to add “homewrecker” to your long list of accomplishments.

“what’s a lovely lady like you doin’ all by herself?” he asked in a charming southern drawl that made your blood pump a little faster. it reminded you of those cheap cowboy romance novels that you sometimes indulged in. everyone had their guilty pleasures, after all. “enjoyin’ the atmosphere,” you quip back, sarcasm dripping from your words. you take another drink of beer. phil leans forward, his weight shifting to his muscular forearms. your eyes drop down, struggling not to salivate at the sight. it really had been too long. he tips a finger under your chin, guiding your gaze back up to him. “i think the atmosphere’d be better someplace else,” he said, his voice low so as not to be overheard. maybe it was just how pent up you were, but you could swear there was desire undercutting his words. “whaddya say, darlin’? how ‘bout you and me get on outta here?”

you have to stop yourself from replying too quickly. you didn’t want to show your hand and reveal your desperation just yet. he smirked when you nodded slowly, your muscles tense with the effort of holding back your excitement. didn’t you know he could smell it on you from across the bar? ever the gentleman, phil closed out both your tabs. there wasn’t much on yours anyways, just a couple of budweisers and one vodka cranberry that you’d stopped drinking halfway through. as you stood beside him at the bar, watching the bartender run his card, he wrapped his arm around your waist. his fingers dug into the plush of your hip with a subtle possessiveness meant to ward off any other interested parties. it sent a thrill through you, your panties getting more uncomfortable the longer you stood there.

thankfully, the cool night air outside the bar leveled your head a bit. not enough to make you think deeply about your decision to get into a strange man’s truck, but enough to keep you from jumping his bones the moment the door shut. you climbed up into the passenger seat, feeling for your pepper spray in your purse. just in case, you told yourself. handsome men could be creeps too. you barely noticed him getting into the driver’s seat, turning the engine over and pulling out of the gravel parking lot.

you two make it maybe five miles down the road before you have to stop. you keep throwing glances at phil, watching his concentration while he drives. you’ve never been able to explain it, but there’s something so sexy about a man with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. he keeps kneading into the fat, fingertips brushing the muscle underneath with how hard he’s squeezing. you’re soft, he thinks. plush, pliant, perfect. the air is charged, the silence comfortable but tinged with the anticipation of what’s to come. it’s when he feels your thighs clench together that he pulls off onto a little dirt road, the tires kicking up dust. on some level, you’re grateful for his lack of restraint. you weren’t sure you were going to last much longer either.

you clamber into his backseat, careful not to mar the leather with your stiletto heels. he climbs back there with you, settling into the seat and patting his thigh. “c’mere, pretty girl,” he says sweetly, and you maneuver yourself to straddle his lap. the heat of your cunt is right against him now and his hands clench around your hips. he can practically smell how needy you are. you bite your lip to stifle a whine, the firmness of him through his jeans providing delicious pressure on your clit. suddenly, you’re thanking god for little red dresses. phillip’s eyes flutter shut as he bucks his hips, pressing his erection against you a little harder. that elicits the sound he wanted and he chuckles, his laugh like rolling thunder.

“it’s been too long since that pretty pussy’s had any attention, huh, sweetheart?” he asks. you can hear a tone of condescension, but you don’t care. not when there is a warm body beneath you about to soothe the ache that’s been there since your ex moved out. you nod in response and he hums, tugging the straps of your dress down. “in a minute, darlin’. i’ll get to her later. there’s other parts of you i’d like to get acquainted with first.” you’re putty in his hands, mindlessly nodding along with everything he says. he could tell you he’s taking you out in the woods to kill you and you’d be fine with it as long as he fucked you first. the top half of your dress falls away as he tugs at the zipper, pulling it down just enough to reveal your chest. you’d made a good choice of bra that night at least: your favorite black push-up with lace all over and a pretty bow in the center. he sucks air in through his teeth as he stares at you. he likes it too.

“as pretty as this little number is, i don’t wanna ruin it,” he says, his fingers ghosting down your spine to the clasp of your bra. your back arches, pushing your breasts forward. he smiles and unhooks it with practiced ease, sliding the straps all the way down your arms and easing them over your hands. fire blazes a trail down your skin behind his touch, your face flushing a pretty shade of pink. the bra hits the leather seat to the left of you, but you don’t have time to see where it went. phillip’s hands are on your chest, kneading into your tits the same way he did your thigh. you moan, your head falling back as you lose yourself in the euphoria of being touched. “that’s it, baby. god, these tits are so perfect. fit in my hands so nicely.” he brushes his thumb over one of your nipples, making it stiffen. your nose scrunches, the thrill from the contact going straight between your legs.

before you can say anything in reply, the warmth of his mouth is latched around your breast, his tongue teasing at the hardened bud in the center. you swear you could cry as relief washes over you. you’d found what you were looking for, finally. god was real, and he came in the form of phillip graves. while he sucked at one nipple, he teased the other with his fingers, rolling it and giving it the occasional flick. already you could feel the pleasure tightening in your core, threatening to push you over the edge if you thought too hard about everything he was doing. your hips start to rock of their own accord, chasing friction against his lap. one of his large hands moves down to hold you in place, his mouth releasing your breast with a pop. “all in due time, sweetness. you’re not in a rush, now, are ya?” you shake your head, eyes wide as you stare back at him.

“good. ‘cause i intend to take my time and enjoy ya.” thankfully, he moves on from your breasts to other, more neglected areas of your body. he unzips your dress like he’s unwrapping god’s gift to earth, reverent as his eyes rake across every inch of exposed flesh. the glint in his eyes is primal, animalistic. he’d devour you if given the chance. despite the awkwardness, you shimmy your dress off, your heels falling off your feet with it. it all falls to the floor in a heap, leaving you in nothing but your panties. always one for fairness, phillip unbuttons his shirt, tossing it to the side before catching your lips. his hand snakes up your back to hold your head in place, the other winding around your waist to pull you impossibly closer. your chest presses against his and he moans into your mouth at the feeling.

slowly, that hand around your waist starts to sneak down, edging closer to the waistband of your underwear. you don’t notice, too enraptured by the taste of whiskey on his tongue. you feel it when his hand slides against you, though. the kiss is broken by your gasp, the simple proximity of his fingers enough to make your hips roll down in search of pleasure. the thunder in his chest rumbles again, the hand on the back of your head tightening. “that’s what you really wanted tonight, isn’t it? someone to give this pretty cunt what it’s been achin’ for.” words don’t come. your mind is too preoccupied with the warmth of his skin to string together syntax. phillip’s fingers wind around your hair, tugging at it roughly. your head jerks back and you whine. that shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. “gotta use your words, baby girl. gotta tell me what you want or i’m gonna stop.” no, you didn’t want that. “t-touch me,” you manage to stutter out, your neck bent at an awkward angle by the force of his hand. he lets go, rubbing his thumb over the scalp he’d irritated. “good girl. you follow orders well.”

his fingers run along your slit, gathering your wetness on his digits. he smiles, his voice dropping a register as he leans in closer to you. “so desperate, baby. i can feel how needy you are. just a bitch in heat, ain’tcha?” you keen, your head nodding of its own accord. deep in your subconscious, you knew he was right. some part of you wanted to be ashamed, but it wasn’t strong enough to fight to the forefront. all you felt was burning need coursing through your veins and leaking out between your legs. he pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices off of them. the sight of his face made you moan. he looked like a man enjoying his last meal, eyes shut and a content smile on his face. “delicious,” he said softly, bringing that same hand up to your face. he cups your cheek and runs his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling the softness of your skin under his calloused hand.

phillip guides your mouth towards his, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. it’s all tongues and teeth, desperate, messy. you can taste yourself on him, the salty remnants of you left behind on his tongue. while he has you distracted with his mouth, he lowers his hand between your legs, tugging your panties to the side. black and lacy, just like the bra. he liked a girl with a sense of style. without warning, two of his fingers thrust into you, making you see stars. you moan into his mouth as he scissors you open, preparing you for him. his mouth leaves yours, leaning to the side to whisper in your ear. “gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you, baby? gonna take it like the whore you are. so fuckin’ needy.”

his words made you blush, heat rushing to your core. he starts pumping his fingers in and out, holding you in place by the scruff of your neck. you writhe as much as you’re able, your body overwhelmed by all the sensations he was providing you. he chuckles lowly in your ear, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “i know you will, darlin’. i know you will. that pretty cunt is just swallowin’ my fingers. she’s a greedy little thing, ain’t she?” you couldn’t respond. it was hard enough for your brain to convert the sounds into meaningful words, let alone formulate a response. you were practically mute, save for the whimpers and mewls that flowed unbidden. he picks up the pace and your eyes screw shut, pressure building in your belly. “phil! ‘m gonna-” he cuts you off with another brutal kiss, his tongue bullying its way into your mouth.

all the while, you’re rocking your hips, letting the pleasure build. he pulls away, tilting your head down so that you’re looking into his eyes. “i’m gonna make you come on my fingers, then you’re gonna come on my cock like a good girl. understand?” his tone was forceful enough that you registered the command and you nodded along. you’d do anything he wanted if it meant he didn’t stop. he nodded back and focused in on you, his fingers curling right against that spongy spot deep inside you. “c’mon, baby. give it to me,” he said, his voice ragged as he watched your face. he knew you’d look so pretty falling apart on his lap. and you really did. the pressure released, setting your whole body trembling. you cried out, back arching. your mouth fell open, moaning as you rode out the wave of pleasure. as soon as you’d caught your breath, he yanked his fingers away, leaving you empty and dripping all over the seat. you whined at the loss, but you weren’t empty long. 

he freed himself from his jeans and underwear, giving himself a couple pumps before guiding his leaking cockhead to your warmth. you whine as he taps it against your clit, his ragged breathing the only reply. when you open your eyes and look at him, he looks just as debauched as you feel. feeling you clench around his fingers, watching your face, it had done something to him. without another word, he pushes himself inside. just a little bit at first, and you’re thankful for it. the tip of him is already stretching you wider than your biggest toy. he holds your chin in his thumb and forefinger, guiding your eyes down to his. “you’re doing so good, you pretty thing. need ya to give me one more. think you can do that for me?” you nod, letting gravity sink you a little further down on his cock. he hisses through clenched teeth, cheeks burning red.

phillip’s hands on your hips are steadying, easing you down until he’s bottomed out inside you. the moan you let out is a sound you’re wholly unfamiliar with. wanton, crass, loud to boot. he groans alongside you, his fingers digging into the plush of your ass. you give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness. he’s not longer than you can handle, but he’s thick, stretching your walls as much as they can take. the burn fades into something warmer, something softer, and that’s when you know you can give him another. you start to bounce up and down, slowly at first before picking up the pace. his head leans back against the seat, reveling in the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him. “fuck, baby! you take me so well, knew you would. this pussy’s so good, so wet. all for me, all fuckin’ mine.”

his words are slurred, his tongue heavy in his mouth as he lets himself get drunk on the pleasure. you’re not far behind, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot every time you sink down onto his lap. he presses his hips into yours, thrusting into you to shove himself deeper. you moan into his ear, bracing yourself as your shaking thighs try desperately to keep up. that’s when he starts helping, lifting you up and spearing you on his cock over and over. your eyes roll back in your head and the pressure builds again before you even know what’s happening. all of a sudden, you’re hovering right over the edge, breath heavy and head fuzzy. you must have tightened around him because phil makes an absolutely unholy noise, his head falling back against the seat.

“god damn,” he breathes out, a hand leaving your hip to tug at your hair. it was so attractive, the way he lifted you on his lap like you weighed nothing. your head falls back as he yanks at the roots of your hair, the jolt of pain threatening to push you over the edge. he’s moaning right alongside you, watching the way your tits bounce and your body jiggles as you bounce on his cock. “need you to come again, sweetness,” he says, tilting your head so you’re looking at him. “look me in the eye, don’t you stop lookin’ at me.” you obey, letting the pleasure build in you as he pushes himself impossibly deeper. his gaze is intense, unwavering. the pressure, the fullness is all too much and you tip over, your walls gripping him in a vice as you come.

that turns him into an animal, rutting into you with abandon as you ride out your orgasm. just when it gets to be too much, when you’re about to tap out, the warmth of his spend floods into you. you whine at the sensation, too lost in your own head to relish in the sounds he made. some men liked to talk through it, mumble out some incoherent praise or compliments. not phil. no, he moaned. the sounds fell from his lips as his hips stuttered, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. the hand in your hair tightens as well, causing you to hiss in pain. he doesn’t even register the sound, too lost in his own pleasure.

when his eyes finally meet yours again, they look much like your own. blissed out blues meet your cumdrunk gaze. his chest heaves as he slides himself out of you, pulling you down to lay against him. his spend drips out of you and you begin to protest, but he shushes you. “‘s alright, darlin’. i’m gettin’ the truck detailed tomorrow.” you settle, catching your breath as your ear presses against his chest. you can hear his heart thundering in his chest, threatening to beat right out of his skin. “you did so good for me,” he says, raking his fingers through your hair. “such a good, obedient girl.”

you smile at the praise, his words warming something deep within you. “same time next week?” he asks, and you nod. finally, you’d found what you were looking for.

[si1verghosts]

Hi!

3. A kiss on the forehead😌

helloooo dear anon!! i am sorry this took so long i could not for the life of me figure out to write but then ! i wrote this on the 4th and i realized it could work... maybe... sorta. this may not be what you were expecting/wanting but there's forehead kisses in there.... somewhere 🫡 also, if u are not american i apologize for giving you a july 4th fic 😭 but the holiday is relatively inconsequential here like theres no patriotism it's just a backdrop if u know what i mean.... anyway, i hope u enjoy <33

you taste like the 4th of july

di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.5k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking | tw: thoughts about death and dying

tags: established relationship; fluff (i guess??); slight changes to canon to suit author's headcanons

read on ao3

a/n: for the past few months i've been working on this very insane multi-chap post di leon fic 😵‍💫 this was written with that in mind But does not have a place in that story... probably.... idk!!! either way, i think it can be read as a standalone just fine

additionally, there is a scene in here where leon picks the reader up. i would just like to say like... he gets thrown into concrete walls on a biweekly basis and gets up and walks it off without issue so i think he can lift anyone no matter their size or shape!!

not beta read or proofread - sorry if any of it is gibberish i've had a wicked migraine the past few days... will maybe attempt to proofread once i can see correctly again 🚬🧍‍♀️regardless, all mistakes are my own

i do not own leon or any other resi character mentioned, etc etc, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chatbot and/or writing generator.

-----

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Leon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand over the patio table, cleaning up the abandoned plates and platters.

You hum. It was; a beautiful, cloudless July 4th, spent with Leon's friends in the backyard of your home. The only ones missing were Ashley and Ingrid; the former having a standing family commitment and the latter planning to spend her holiday on the beach, away from the country and your fiancé.

Typically, Chris hosted the Independence Day cookout, but Leon offered up your new home as this year's venue, citing your in-ground pool and the plenty of extra space you have for guests to stay. In reality, he just wanted the chance to out-grill Chris - he'd been preparing since Memorial Day; testing different spice and sauce combinations as well as stocking your freezer full of large cuts of meat.

He'd started before you were even awake, chopping and seasoning in the kitchen, slowly loading up the smoker. You'd joined him on the patio a few hours later, watching from your pool floaty as he poked and prodded at various things.

You don't even eat meat, didn't know the whole thing was so involved, but you did enjoy the view; worn blue jeans hugging his frame as he crouched to check a thermometer.

You had taken a short break from the water, tying up lights and setting a few little decorations around before your guests arrived. Rebecca was the first, tucking her jugs of pre-made cocktail and platter of deviled eggs into your fridge before joining you on the patio.

Chris wasn't far behind, unloading two coolers filled with beer and containers of homemade potato and pasta salads. He'd handed one off to you, grinning, "Claire made one just for you this year."

You'd thanked him, making another attempt to get him to share his family's recipes with you. It was futile, you probably couldn't even waterboard it out of either of them.

Claire had arrived on her motorcycle shortly after, pulling a bundle of fireworks out of her saddlebags. "Sorry I'm late," she said - even though she wasn't - dumping the pile on the ground, thankfully far away from the grill. "Had to stop for these."

Leon had crouched down to inspect them, listening intently as Claire told him about all the different varieties she'd purchased while you relaxed back into the pool.

Sherry arrived next, Jake trailing behind her. She'd left both him and her bags of chips at the table, giving Leon and Claire quick hugs before immediately joining you in the water.

She'd slipped in right beside your floaty, grabbing your hand to get a look at your engagement ring - she'd yet to see it, having been so busy with work. Her eyes widened at the ring as she pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, "Leon picked this out? Our Leon? Leon Kennedy? Are you sure?"

You'd giggled at her astonishment, "Ashley helped him out; took him to one of her favorite jewelers."

"I should've guessed," She nods. "For my 20th Birthday, he bought me this crazy cute pink tennis bracelet and I was like, 'no way you picked this out alone.' He fessed up that he got a little help from a friend named Ashley.

"At the time, I thought it was just some girlfriend - or hoped, I guess. Back then, I spent a lot of time hoping that Claire and Leon weren't just… working; I liked to think they were taking time for themselves, that they were happy," she had trailed off then, looking off to the tree line behind your house for a minute. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she shrugged, continuing on, "Anyways, I'm thankful to Ash for that bracelet, it was there with me though… a lot. And I'm thankful to you for making him happy, like I always wanted him to be."

With that, you slid off the float to give her a hug, holding her tight as you whispered your thanks. You had worked to bite back your tears - if she didn't cry, neither would you.

Luckily, Jill had walked in a few seconds later, providing a distraction in the form of the most ridiculously large watermelon. "Hey, Kennedy," she shouted, pulling Leon out of his conversation with Claire as she gestured to the melon tucked under her arm. "Can't burn this, can I?"

Leon had thrown his head back with a laugh - in previous years, Jill had always brought boxed brownies with extra crispy edges and Leon invariably had to make a comment about them. "I don't know," he had shrugged, "When it comes to you, Valentine, I'll never say never."

Jill had reared the watermelon back, acting as if she was going to throw it at him. Leon had thrown his arms up, shielding his face, causing everyone to crumble into laughter at the scene.

"It was nice," you agree, reaching to pick up the barong machete he had given Jill when she asked for a knife to cut the melon. "We do have kitchen knives, you know," you scold mockingly, gently waving the blade around.

"I know," he says, releasing you to reach around and pluck the machete out of your hand. "It's good to exercise these every once in a while, though."

You roll your eyes at him, "It's a machete, Leon, not a horse."

He waves you off, slipping through the patio door to wash the blade in the kitchen sink. You take the opportunity to speed clean, knowing it'll be a much harder task once he returns and wraps his arms back around you.

Thankfully everyone had taken care of their own plates and cups - they'd tried to stay and do more but you had ushered them out of the backyard, wanting Chris, Sherry and Jake to depart before the traffic picked up with the crowds leaving the city following the fireworks shows. Jill, Claire and Rebecca had taken up on your offer to stay, at least, piling into your guest rooms. You were glad to have them, secretly plotting to drag them to brunch once you all woke.

You finish piling the platters as Leon makes his way back outside. Before he can get his hands on you and derail your progress, you point to the stack, "Take those inside."

He frowns, "Can't it just wait until tomorrow?"

"We'll get ants; come on, five minutes and it'll be done."

He sighs, but doesn't protest further, carrying the heavy plates inside as you follow him with the utensils. You stack everything by the sink before turning to him, "Is there any of Becca's cocktail left?"

He cocks his brow, tilting his head, "You really want to try that again?"

It's a valid question - you had given it a go earlier and despite everyone's warnings to take it easy, you had thrown back a large mouthful right off the bat. You ended up wincing in pain, "Fuck, that burns. What'd you put in there, Becca?"

She'd shrugged, "Oh, you know, a splash of this, a splash of that. And," she teased, drawing out the vowel, "A bit of my own creation."

"Your own creation…" You had muttered, trailing off before it hit you, "Test tube alcohol?"

She had giggled, grinning, "Takes some getting used to."

You had tried another, much tinier sip. You were able to enjoy the sweetness of the juice for a moment before the burn kicked in again, causing you to curse once more, louder.

Leon had shifted his attention from Chris to you at your exclamation. Seeing the jug of Rebecca's cocktail in front of you on the table, he quickly pieced together what was happening, calling over to Rebecca from his place by the grill, "You trying to kill my fiancé, Becks?"

"Absolutely not; that'd be a stupid thing for me to do," she'd shot back. "She's the only one who can keep you in line, and we kind of like you like that."

"Well," you start, rolling the word around your mouth, "No. But yes - there's gotta be some sort of trick to it, right? Everyone else drank it just fine."

"The trick is," he starts, voice low, reaching out to grab ahold of your hips, "To not drink it. Let me make you some tea instead."

"Fine," you pout, relaxing into his grip, not bothering to argue - tea won't make you hate yourself in the morning.

He moves his hands from your hips, sliding his fingertips along your spine. "Go wait outside," he says, releasing you with a featherlight kiss to your forehead, "I'll bring it out."

With a brush of your lips against his cheek in thanks, you slip away from him, heading back out to the backyard and pulling off your shorts, settling onto the ledge of the shallow end of the pool. The air has cooled with the setting of the sun, becoming a comforting warmth instead of an overbearing heat. You dip your legs into the water, thankful you insisted on having a pool when you and Leon were house hunting.

Someone is still setting off fireworks; they're a few miles away, though - you can hear them more than you can see them. Resting back on your palms, you close your eyes, imagining what bursts of color may be accompanying each sound.

Leon joins you a few minutes later - just after the fireworks had died down - sporting his swim shorts and carrying your tea. He bends, setting the mug next to you with a kiss to your temple, nosing at your hair. "Earl Grey," he reports before drawling, "How terribly unpatriotic of you."

"You going to arrest me for treason, Agent Kennedy?" You laugh, reaching up to squeeze his thigh below the hem of his shorts. "You're the one who made it; they'd nail you as an accomplice."

He falls into a crouch, leg muscles bunching under the pads of your fingertips as he shifts closer to touch his lips on your cheek. "They can hang us together, then," he remarks, voice a bit too serious for it to be just a joke. "Side by side, off the same branch."

You sit back just enough to get your eyes focused on him, reaching your other hand out to thumb at his bottom lip. "Dulce et decorum est pro cor mori," you whisper, tacking on a hum in question.

He cocks his head at the unfamiliar words, nipping at your nail playfully, "English please, baby."

You consider him for a moment, the translation of the true phrase running through your mind; how sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country. The old lie, it's come to be known as - fittingly.

It's a similar sentiment to one that's grown to become your fear; that he'll die for the sake of the country, under orders from the government, believing it was his duty.

But you think your spin on it may be true; would be willing to find out.

You don't want to weigh him down with the thought, though, choosing to reel him in for a kiss instead. "I love you," is the answer you settle on, laying the words down right on his tongue.

He seems content with your translation - the method of delivery likely having something to do with it - humming into your mouth. He kisses you back lazily for a long, languid moment before he pulls away, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I've been wanting to get in there all day," he says, nodding his head towards the water.

"Go," you chuckle, giving him a gentle push away from you with the hand still resting along his face.

He lays another quick peck against your lips before standing, padding around the edge to the steps. He pauses for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, skin honeyed under the soft glow of the lights you'd hung around the patio.

A second later, he slips under the surface without hesitation; kicking off the steps, moving quickly to the deep end. He almost shimmers as he glides along the floor of the pool, the rippling of the gentle waves he'd created making him seem like some sort of mirage as he passes by you.

He comes up for air once he hits the far wall, tossing his hair back, smoothing the water from his eyes. He doesn't rest long, though, beginning to swim short laps across the width of the deep end.

You observe him, sipping your tea slowly, appreciating the way his back and arms work with each stroke. He continues long enough for you to nearly drain your cup, stopping short when another trio of fireworks set off in the distance.

Setting your mug down, you eye him, preparing to slip into the pool to soothe him if you have to, but he relaxes once he connects the sound to the flashes in the sky. The tension that had flooded the line of his shoulders drains into the water as he shifts to wade backward, moving closer to where you sit.

You finish off your drink as he starfishes out across the surface of the water, floating just a few feet in front of you. You wonder if you could use him as a floaty, pinning up a note in your brain to try it out sometime.

"I'm glad you insisted on a pool, sweetheart," he sighs, breaking your companionable silence.

You hum, pleased, kicking your legs out gently and causing the water to lap against his skin. More fireworks sound out; he doesn't tense this time, but he does get his feet back under himself, moving to where you sit along the ledge.

Sliding his hands up your legs, he pillows his head in your lap, wet hair fanning out across your thighs. You shift your weight back onto your right hand, laying the other along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as you brush your thumb along his cheekbone and the scar that runs beneath it.

He picks at the tie of your bathing suit absentmindedly, tugging at the strings when you slide your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Sherry said something to me earlier."

He makes a noise urging you to elaborate, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She told me that when she was younger, she hoped that you and Claire were living your lives; that you were doing more than just working, you know? She said she wanted you guys to be happy," you explain, working to keep your voice even.

He cracks his eyes open, picking his head up to watch you as you continue. "She thanked me," you swallow thickly, "for making you happy, like she always wanted you to be."

He smiles at your words, and it's a beautiful thing. You still get all twisted up inside with how gorgeous he is; neurons overclocking themselves with the thrill of being the subject of his attention.

"I owe you a thank you, too, baby," he starts, pausing to nose at your wrist.

"You don't owe me anything, Leon," you tug at his damp strands still between your fingers, highlights catching the yellow glow from the lights around the patio.

"I do," he says, the words sending a jolt through you. You never intended on getting married, yet here you are now, eager to hear the phrase on the altar.

He kisses the thin skin of your wrist, lips lingering as if he can feel the thrum of your heartbeat; knows that the pace has picked up under his affection. "All this," he pulls back, taking a hand off you to gesture to the pool; the backyard; the house; to you. "It's something I never thought I'd get.

"Sherry's right - you're behind basically every bit of happiness I have now, sweetheart; I owe it all to you." He reaches up, untangling your grip from his hair, thumbing gently at the ring he put there, "Thank you."

You can't respond verbally, will burst into tears if you do. In lieu of speech, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his insistently.

He seems to get the message; understands that the pleasure is all yours, that you'd give him anything and everything you can - knowing he'd do the same for you.

He gets his arms back around you, continuing your kiss as he lifts you from the edge of the pool and into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, safe and secure in his hold.

His teeth catch along your bottom lip and the neighbors down the street set off fireworks, the bright bursts of color painting your backyard in reds and blues and greens and oranges. The sparks reflect off the surface of the water as he slides his nose against yours and not for the first time, you think this may all be a dream. Maybe you died four years ago and this whole thing has been some sort of afterlife; you aren't sure you'd done anything worth this treatment, though.

Maybe it's more supernatural in origin; an intricate hallucination weaved by a Djinn that's got you chained up in some dark, damp basement as it feeds off your blood. Or maybe you just went crazy and the pool is actually a padded room, Leon's mouth against yours a product of your mind working to distract itself from your reality.

Whatever the case may be, it certainly feels real when he shifts his hold on you, hoists you up higher to get at your neck, laying kisses up and down the column of your throat, nipping at your jaw.

But before he can venture much further, the neighbor's fireworks show grows into an extravaganza, the relentless popping and bursting becoming a nuisance, shattering the illusion of your teeny-boppy movie moment.

"Jeez," Leon mutters, breath hot against the saliva cooling on your skin, causing you to shudder. "Did they buy out a whole tent?"

"Did you check that Claire actually went to bed?" You ask, shaking yourself free of his hold. "She could've joined them; brought everything I wouldn't let her set off here."

He hums, letting you down into the water, considering your words - even though you said it as a joke, it certainly is a possibility. You seem to come to this realization at the same time, eyes narrowing at each other as the spray of fireworks continues overhead. "We should…" He starts, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," you agree, already beginning to move.

You pause to grab your towels, wrapping your own around yourself, throwing the other over Leon's shoulders when you catch up to him at the patio door. Stepping inside, you hear someone knocking around your kitchen.

Luckily, it's Claire. She steps back from the cabinet she'd been rifling through to face you and Leon with a frown. "Isn't this shit ridiculous?" She remarks, pointing to the ceiling in reference to the fireworks.

"You're one to talk, Claire," Leon shoots back. "Didn't you just set off about five hundred dollars worth of them in my backyard a few hours ago?"

"Yes, a few hours ago," she reiterates. "Nothing should be set off after the show at the Capitol is finished - after that, you're done; you missed your shot; better luck next year."

"Exactly," you nod in agreement at her reasoning, "They should put you in charge."

She grins at your words, moving to continue on, but Leon cuts in before she can start; "What is it that you were clawing through my cabinets for?"

She sighs, displeased with his interruption, setting her hands on her hips. "Where do you keep the ibuprofen?"

Leon shoos her out of the way, padding across the kitchen to get the medicine himself. Claire relents without argument, attention immediately shifting back to you as she leans over the counter. "So," she wiggles her eyebrows, "It seems like that pool was a good investment, huh?"

You bite at your lip, ears burning with embarrassment that she'd seen you and Leon necking in the water like teenagers - even though you shouldn't be flustered; it is your house, after all.

Leon sets the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water down in front of Claire, annoyance evident with the way he uses a bit more force than really necessary, causing the items to clack against the marble.

"What?" Claire questions, glaring at him. "It was cute."

Leon huffs in response, unable to hide the flush that crawls up his neck at her words. You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you, enjoying the way they bicker like siblings.

Claire leaves Leon to stew, tossing you a grin as she collects the bottle and glass, bidding you goodnight once more before she leaves the kitchen.

You move around the counter to Leon, steps careful in an effort not to slip on the water that has dripped off him and onto the tile. The neighbors must've ran out of fireworks while you were distracted by Claire as it's silent when you wrap your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "Still a good day?" You ask, voice muffled against his skin.

He slings an arm around you, fingers fanning out along the small of your back, "Still a good day."

[mistydeyes]

miss americana: ghost edition

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series summary: The 141 has varying thoughts about Americans which range from finding them wildly entertaining to thinking they’re the worst people on earth. However you challenge their perspectives when you meet them. Something about you makes them feel a little more patriotic ;)

read gaz's edition here!

summary: Living in the UK has been quite a transition for you and there's a few things Simon doesn't mind pointing out (or making fun of you for)

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x American!reader

warnings: swearing

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the way you make tea is CRIMINAL to him.

“What are you doing?” Simon asked, startling you and causing you to lightly tip over your mug of lukewarm water. “Jesus, Simon,” you gasped, “I’m making some tea.” He did a double take as he examined the mug in your hand and the partially opened microwave.“You have the microwave open?” “Yeah to heat the water,” you responded as if he was asking a rudimentary question. At that moment, Simon could’ve had a heart attack. He quickly went over to you and dumped the water into a stovetop kettle. You crossed your arms over your chest, wondering what had gotten into your boyfriend. To your curiosity, you watched as he heated it until the kettle whistled. He poured it gently into your mug and placed a tea bag in it. “Here,” he said as he handed it to you, “that’s how you make tea.” “I don’t see the difference,” you mumbled before gingerly sipping on your tea and giving him a quick kiss.

He entertains the amazement you have when you see something that you swore was only distinctly “American.”

“You have hot dogs here?” you practically shouted seeing a stand with your favorite mystery meat. He looked at you bewildered as you stopped to stare at the stand. It was autumn and the leaves colorful leaves lay perfectly around the stand. "It's beautiful," you whispered as the sunset illuminated the bright red hotdog meat on the plastic sign. "It's a hot dog stand." Simon replied flatly, "You make it seem like it's the second coming or something." You shot a look back at him as your stomach slightly grumbled. Before you could say anything, Simon pulled you along with your hand firmly placed in his. "We're having dinner at Price's," he reminded as you pouted at his brisk pace. "But Simon," you began to plead before he cut you off. "It's the same thing you get back into America," he informed and you nodded at the commonality of the stand, "probably a little better though."

When you’re in public, he’ll be sure to let you know if you’re talking too loud.

"AND THEN" you practically yelled as you walked around the grocer's. Simon gave a death glare to the stares that met your loud mouth. "Mind just lowering your voice a little, love?" he asked politely as he continued to push the cart down the aisles. "Sorry," you sheepishly replied, "just used to everyone being deaf back at home." You sighed, missing the loud, noisy streets of your hometown and the boisterous laughter and comments from your friends. You just naturally spoke in a louder tone to compensate for it. "It's alright," he comforted, "people here can barely speak over a whisper." You shared a laugh as you continued your conversation without care. You could feel your homesickness temporarily wash away in the moment. It also helped that Simon met any judgmental eyes with a look of absolute menace. 

You initially thought him not smiling was only a characteristic distinct to him but you soon caught on to the British way of melancholy or blank stares.

"Why does everyone look so sad here?" you whispered to him as you sat on the tube. After a casual dinner, you looked around to see the other passengers silently looking at their phones or out the window. "It's like everyone has a perpetual frown on their face," you continued as you looked up at him. "Just the way people are," he replied in an attempt to answer your question, "you all are so smiley in the US." You looked at him shocked and put a dramatic hand to your heart. "Not my fault we're just so friendly," you mumbled as he pulled you back into his side. You continued to sit in silence as the train car screeched along the tracks and the train car began to empty. With a handful of stops left, you felt the need to continue the conversation. "You know, I thought it was just you, but I guess it's just a UK thing," you joked before returning to look back at your phone. As you sat there in silence, Simon couldn't help but love the little things you said that always kept him wondering.

Simon will never understand the beauty that is a bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel from a New York bodega after a night of drinking.

"Good morning," Simon smiled, slightly more chipper than usual. You looked back at him as he tussled his messy bedhead. You had gone out for a rare night of drinking with his team and it was clear that someone was feeling a little hungover at the moment. "What are you making?" he asked as he poured you both a cold glass of water. You smiled as you turned around with your masterpiece on a plate. "I made something special," you giddily answered as you pushed it towards him, "this is a New York specialty." As he placed the sandwich in his mouth, you continued. "Here we have expertly prepared strips of bacon, two eggs, and sliced, American cheese of the finest quality. Everything has been cooked to optimal temperature to burst in your mouth and it all lies on a bed of a perfectly toasted, everything bagel," you presented as you smelt the delicacy of your creation in the air. "It's a sandwich," he replied as he swallowed and you rolled your eyes. "It's not just any sandwich, Simon," you corrected, "it is essential to the morning after drinking." He nodded unimpressed as he continued to munch on his breakfast sandwich. "If you don't want it though, I can always take it," you began to say but you were met with his hands snatching it off the plate. "Mhmm that's what I thought big man." 

Despite always correcting you, he smiles a bit at your little phrases and terms.

On a slow morning, you walked over to the couch and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. "Got any plans today?” you asked and he let out a small grunt in response. “I’m thinking we go to the movies,” you suggested. “You mean the cinema?” he cheekily asked and you rolled your eyes. “Whatever, let’s get dressed.” When you arrived, you walked with Simon and saw the growing line to enter the theater. “C’mon babe, let’s wait in line,” you said, walking towards the back and you failed to see his shit-eating grin. “It’s the queue,” he joked, clear sarcasm in his voice and you groaned at his antics. 

Finally, the last straw was when you exited the movie and you wanted to relax at home with a good glass of wine. You put up with the teller, sweets, loo, and chips but you drew the line when it came to the next term. Simon’s arm was slung on your shoulder as you discussed the film when you remembered the lack of alcohol at home. “Si, can we stop at the liquor store?” you asked, innocently and you could see a signature smirk flash across his face. “You mean the off-license?” he replied and you lost it. “Oh shut up or I won’t have my parents ship those Costco jeans you love so much!” you replied and his snarky comments silenced. You knew how much he loved those bargain pants that were surprisingly sturdy. He nodded in response before placing a kiss on your angry forehead. “You’re a shithead,” you exclaimed and before he could interject with another term, you put up your hand to silence him, “not another word, London boy.” God, how Simon wanted to correct you and say he was from Manchester.

[lovezbrownies]

Divorce her. (Yandere!Military Chief x GN!Reader.)

Gen's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Your wife left to provide for you and your small family in a distant country years ago. Yet as you try to meet and surprise her, an obstacle appears and blasts you far from your wife's reach. Also requested here

Word count: 5,723

Warnings: Gen. Gen is the warning. Drugging, Kidnapping, Gen making Darling uncomfortable, I forgot, oh noncon touching at the end and Reina being cockblocked! Enjoy <3

Gen wasn’t one to travel often, mostly limiting her trips to diplomatic reasons tied to her job. Even then, she preferred staying within her home country, ever the patriot. Today was one of those rare exceptions—returning from a necessary trip. She stood in the airport, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, waiting for her chauffeur. The bustling crowd around her was nothing but noise, background static that her sharp focus easily ignored. She had no intention of blending in or being approached by anyone.

Suddenly, she was jostled to the side, forced out of her quiet stance by an unexpected shove. A collision with some frantic, careless figure. Gen turned sharply, already preparing to unleash a torrent of irritation. But what she saw gave her pause. You, the cause of her disruption, were a flurry of disorganized motion—papers scattered on the floor as you scrambled to pick them up, your backpack slipping over your head, adding to your disarray. You were a mess, yes, but a mess full of an odd, hyperactive energy that had her narrowing her eyes in curiosity instead of outright fury.

As you fumbled on the ground, Gen’s mind flickered between irritation and something...else. The adorable stupidity of the situation—your frantic attempt to gather papers and the way your backpack tumbled around your head—drew her interest in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Despite her irritation, the sight was almost endearing. Bending down, Gen snatched up one of the fallen papers, her curiosity spiking. A letter. She held it for just a moment, eyes darting to the sender’s details, but before she could read more, you yanked it out of her hand, clutching it tightly against your chest.

“Sorry for bumping into you, but honestly, you were asking for it standing next to a corner… Bye then.” Your hurried words tumbled out as you straightened up, clearly eager to make a quick escape, eyes darting in the direction of your next destination. You were on a mission, even if it was unclear what exactly that mission entailed. But something about your flustered state made Gen want to prolong the interaction, her natural predatory instinct to draw out the hunt kicking in.

Just as you were about to dart off, Gen’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “May I ask what’s got you in such a hurry? I could help you, you know. I’m a well-known Chief within the Court of Xelera.” Her voice softened, a calculated move to make herself seem approachable, as though the sharp edge in her demeanor had been momentarily dulled. And, as expected, your eyes brightened at her offer, a smile of hope lighting up your face. The shift in your expression, from frantic to grateful, tugged at something inside her, a soft crack in her usual stoicism.

“R-Really? That would mean so much if you could help me!” you exclaimed, your excitement palpable. Gen watched you closely, her eyes narrowing slightly. So, you were someone worth helping, were you? “I’m here looking for my wife!” The words left your lips with a mixture of pride and desperation, but the mention of a wife? That struck a different chord in her, though she kept her outward expression kind and interested.

You continued eagerly, “My name’s Y/n L/n! My wife sends me letters, but she never puts a return address or tells me where she is exactly.” There was a hint of frustration in your voice as you spoke, your grip on the letter tightening. “But! She talks about her favorite places sometimes, so I thought I could narrow it down and knock on a few doors! I noticed most of the places are in districts name The Gates, Talis, and Suriso… Strange names…” There was such sincerity in your voice, such an earnest hope that Gen almost found it amusing. Almost.

The Gates, Talis, and Suriso, huh? How strangely ironic and fateful for the locations you want to surround where Gen herself lives… Maybe you’re a spy? An assassin? But with how you look… Definitely not. Sure looks might fool you but even assassins cosplaying as the average civilians look so obvious to Gen’s watchful eye. So Gen decides to put her guards down, but not yet reveal that those districts contain all of the noble houses of Xelera as well as a majority of the most important people in Xelera. However the important people are more safe and protected within The Gates compared to the average noble in Talis. And Suriso is just a shopping district for the rich, yet still overly guarded.

Gen smiled, the expression widening as she listened to your story. She was intrigued, of course, but the mention of Dacos—the thought of helping someone from an enemy land—added another layer to her growing curiosity. Your innocence, your naiveté, was charming, if not utterly foolish. “I’m from Dacos, so I don’t know much about Xelera,” you admitted, your voice almost sheepish. “But if you’re willing to show me around, I’d be really grateful!”

Gen’s mind was already working, weighing the risks and rewards of getting involved with you. The Gates, Talis, Suriso—districts filled with wealthy officials, nobles, and diplomats. Did you really think it would be that simple? “Ah, yes, regular residency districts,” Gen replied smoothly, though internally she was already reevaluating her approach. “They’re quite far from here. I’ll book you a hotel and pick you up tomorrow afternoon. We can start our search then.” She smiled, but this time it was more controlled, less genuine.

Your face lit up again, completely trusting of the offer. Nodding eagerly, you agreed without hesitation, oblivious to any potential danger. Gen felt a small pang of something she couldn’t quite name as she led you to her car, instructing the driver to head toward a particular hotel. The conversation flowed easily as the car moved through the streets of Xelera, though Gen remained half-focused, her thoughts wandering between your naïve excitement and the way she felt drawn to you.

At the hotel, Gen flashed her military ID, securing you a room without issue. She handed you the keycard, her fingers brushing yours briefly, though she pretended not to notice. “Here you go. Don’t mess up the place—I use it often,” she teased, a sly wink accompanying her words. But, once again, her playful hint seemed to go over your head, as you simply beamed at her, offering another round of grateful thanks. She shook her head, watching as you disappeared into the hotel, her curiosity about you deepening with each passing moment.

After you disappeared into the hotel, Gen lingered for a moment outside, her fingers tracing the edge of the keycard she'd just handed you. There was something about the way you smiled at her, so innocent and full of trust, that stirred an unusual feeling in her chest. She wasn’t used to this—being genuinely intrigued by someone’s quirks, especially someone so... hopelessly clueless. Yet here she was, standing outside a hotel, thinking about a stranger from Dacos of all places. A potential enemy.

Shaking her head slightly, Gen turned and made her way back to her car, the faint sound of the hotel’s doors sliding shut behind her. As the driver pulled away from the curb, Gen leaned back in her seat, her sharp eyes watching the city lights flash by. Her mind was far from the bustling streets of Xelera, though—her thoughts drifted back to you. How easily you'd opened up to her, despite being in unfamiliar territory, was baffling. She couldn’t decide whether it was sheer naiveté or blind hope driving you. Either way, it intrigued her.

The next day came swiftly, and Gen found herself standing outside the hotel once more, dressed sharply in a tailored black coat, her military insignia glinting subtly in the daylight. Her patience wasn’t infinite, but she’d promised to help you—and, if she was honest with herself, part of her was curious to see how this search for your mysterious wife would unfold. You appeared from the hotel doors, a bit flustered but smiling as brightly as ever. You waved at her with that same innocent enthusiasm that made her wonder how someone so naïve had gotten this far in life.

“Gen! You’re early!” you greeted, your voice carrying that chipper tone she was starting to associate with you. You jogged over, stumbling slightly as you reached her, nearly tripping over your own feet. Gen caught you by the arm, her reflexes sharp as always, and she raised a brow.

“Careful,” she murmured, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Wouldn’t want you falling on your face before we’ve even started.”

You laughed sheepishly, pulling yourself upright. “Right, right, thanks. I’m just excited, I guess.”

Gen watched you carefully as you stood beside her, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your jacket. There was a nervous energy about you, but it wasn’t the kind born from fear—it was more like you were too eager to stay still. She couldn’t help but wonder if your excitement would fade once you realized how slim the chances of finding your wife were.

She gestured for you to follow her to the car. The ride was smoother this time, and as you both settled into the backseat, you started rambling about your wife again—how you’d met, the letters she sent, the little clues she’d left behind. Gen listened with half an ear, her attention divided between your words and the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Reina. That was the name you kept mentioning. Your wife’s name. Gen knew the name all too well, though she kept that particular piece of information to herself for now. The Reina you were searching for wasn’t just anyone—she was someone connected to Xelera’s underworld, someone who had connections that made even Gen tread carefully. But you, in your innocent excitement, had no idea what kind of person you were chasing.

As you spoke, your eyes lit up, and Gen found herself watching the way your face animated with every word. There was something almost infectious about your enthusiasm, and for a moment, she allowed herself to be swept up in it, letting you guide the conversation without interruption. But the moment was fleeting. Gen had too much experience, too much knowledge of how the world worked, to let herself fully indulge in your hopeful idealism.

Finally, the car came to a stop in the district of Suriso, one of the places you'd mentioned. Gen stepped out first, her eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced precision. The area was bustling with people, but none of them held the same energy you did. There was a heaviness to the place, an underlying tension that came from its proximity to the wealthier districts and the power that loomed just beyond its borders.

You, however, seemed oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, stepping out of the car with wide eyes as you took in your surroundings. “So... this is Suriso, huh? It looks... different from what I imagined,” you said, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. Gen watched you closely, her lips curling into a small smile.

“Welcome to Suriso,” she replied, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. “Not exactly the shining beacon of hope you were expecting, is it?”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “Yeah, not really. But it’s still got... potential, right?”

Gen shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes as she motioned for you to follow her down the street. "Potential, sure. But keep your eyes open. Not everyone here is as... friendly as I am." She smirked, watching your face fall slightly as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

You nodded, falling into step beside her, your gaze darting around as if you were trying to memorize every detail of the place. Gen could tell you were still clinging to hope, but she wondered how long that would last. You were too trusting, too quick to believe that people would always act in your best interest. It was both admirable and foolish, and Gen couldn't help but feel a strange sense of protectiveness over you because of it.

As you walked, the tension in the air thickened, but you seemed blissfully unaware. Gen, on the other hand, was fully attuned to the subtle shifts in the environment, her senses honed from years of experience. She kept a close eye on the people around you, making sure that no one was watching you too closely. Not yet, anyway.

You came to a stop in front of a small café, the sign hanging above the door slightly weathered but still welcoming. “How about we stop for coffee?” you suggested, glancing at her with that same hopeful smile. “We can figure out our next move after that.”

Gen considered the offer for a moment before nodding. “Sure, coffee sounds good,” she replied, though in truth, she was more interested in learning just how far you were willing to go for this search. This would be the perfect opportunity to probe deeper into your thoughts, to see what made you tick.

The first morning after your search for Reina, Gen arranged to meet you at a quaint café near your hotel. Despite her carefully crafted words and the subtle charm woven into her messages, you arrived feeling awkward and out of place rather than charmed. As you waited at the table, your eyes wandered nervously around the café. Gen's entrance caught your attention—calm, composed, and with an aura of control that made her impossible to ignore. But something about her made you uneasy.

She slid into the seat across from you, her smile polite yet calculating. You could tell there was something just beneath the surface, though you weren’t sure what. Her presence, while meant to be comforting, felt like a looming shadow, as if she was dissecting everything about you with every glance. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice sweet but with a tone that implied she expected a particular answer. You hesitated, feeling the weight of her attention. “Yeah… I guess,” you muttered, focusing on your coffee, too nervous to meet her gaze for long.

Gen’s eyes flickered as she tilted her head slightly, her smile widening. She enjoyed the discomfort radiating from you—subtle, but there. The power she held over the situation was intoxicating, though she masked her true thoughts behind a facade of gentle concern. “You still seem tense. Maybe I could show you a quieter place next time, somewhere more… intimate,” she offered. Her suggestion felt less like an offer and more like an expectation. You nodded, unsure of how to decline without making things more awkward, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup absently.

The conversation flowed in a way that felt controlled by her every word, and though you participated, there was an underlying sense of being led rather than sharing. Gen’s eyes never left you, calculating your reactions, savoring each time you fumbled with your words or nervously shifted in your seat. By the end of the meeting, she felt a stirring inside her—a deeper curiosity about you. You were no ordinary distraction. You were something she could mold, something she could control.

The second day was filled with promises of sightseeing and exploration. Gen picked you up in a sleek car, her demeanor as poised as ever. You climbed into the passenger seat, feeling an odd sense of pressure. She’d been incredibly insistent on showing you around, and despite your initial hesitance, it felt easier to agree than to push back against her firm suggestions.

As she drove, Gen talked about the city in a way that seemed almost rehearsed—every detail carefully curated for your ears. You didn’t feel at ease with her, but it was hard to pinpoint why. Her words were pleasant enough, yet you felt like every compliment, every smile was a move in a larger game you weren’t fully aware of. Still, you let her guide you through the streets of Xelera, her voice filling the quiet moments in the car.

When she pulled up to a small park, she insisted you both take a walk. As you moved through the paths lined with autumn leaves, Gen's eyes were always on you—studying how you reacted to her, to the surroundings. She would occasionally touch your arm lightly, guiding you in a direction that she wanted, her hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. Each time you tensed up, a flicker of amusement sparked in her gaze.

“I think I’m starting to understand you a little more,” she said at one point, her tone deceptively soft. You blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. You didn’t feel like you’d revealed much about yourself at all, yet she spoke as if she knew you better than you knew yourself. Gen’s smile deepened when she saw your confusion—it was exactly the reaction she craved.

By the third day, you had started feeling the weight of her presence more heavily. Gen invited you to dinner at an exclusive restaurant, claiming it would be a “more private” opportunity to help you with your search for Reina. Something about the invitation felt off, but you reluctantly agreed, unsure how to decline her without coming off as ungrateful.

When you arrived, the restaurant was dimly lit, the ambiance heavy with formality. You felt out of place immediately. Gen, however, thrived in this environment. She led you to a private booth, her hand on your lower back, gently pushing you forward as though you needed direction. Once seated, she leaned back with a casual air, while you sat rigidly across from her, trying to mask your discomfort.

Over the course of the dinner, Gen continued her usual dance of veiled compliments and subtle domination. She ordered for you without asking, brushing off your mild protest with a light laugh. “I know what you’ll like,” she said confidently, as though there was no question about it. You found yourself eating the meal in silence, uncertain of how to assert your preferences in her overwhelming presence.

Throughout the evening, Gen played her role perfectly, appearing attentive and interested in you, though you could feel that familiar sense of control seeping into every interaction. You realized then that this wasn’t just a friendly dinner. It was another move in whatever game she was playing. Her eyes, sharp and predatory, lingered on you as you fumbled through the conversation, but instead of pushing back, you tried to keep things neutral, unaware of how deeply Gen was becoming enthralled with the power she held over you.

On the fourth day, Gen arrived at your hotel without so much as a warning text. You heard a knock and, when you opened the door, there she stood, a smile plastered on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She stepped inside before you could even greet her, as if your space was hers to claim. “I thought we could spend some more time together today,” she said, her tone laced with sweetness that made the hair on your neck stand up.

You stared at her, momentarily frozen by the boldness of her entrance. No invitation had been extended, but she behaved as if she was expected. Your discomfort was palpable, but Gen either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. She began to walk around your hotel room, examining the small details of your life here—clothes strewn across a chair, a book half-open on the nightstand. “You should really try to keep things tidier,” she remarked lightly, her fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt as though it were hers to touch.

Her movements felt like an invasion, each glance, each touch calculated to unsettle you. You tried to form words, to question her sudden intrusion, but Gen’s control over the situation was absolute. She moved to sit on your bed, patting the space beside her as if beckoning you to join. The weight of the unspoken command pulled you forward, and despite the unease bubbling within you, you found yourself sitting, albeit stiffly, beside her. Her hand drifted to your knee, a light touch but one that felt heavy with meaning.

As she began to talk, her voice remained that same soothing, artificial sweetness. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she admitted, her eyes watching your reaction closely. The way she said it made you feel small, like you were a possession she was beginning to covet. “You seem so stressed. I could help with that, you know.” Her hand squeezed your knee slightly, her touch lingering longer than was comfortable. You shifted slightly, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened imperceptibly, as if reminding you who held the power here. The subtle possessiveness in her actions sent chills down your spine, her words no longer a suggestion, but an inevitability.

The fifth day began with an innocent enough plan—another café visit. This time, Gen chose a quieter spot, tucked away from the city’s hustle. When you arrived, she was already seated, waiting for you with that same deceptive smile, the one that never fully concealed her true nature. The café was warm and inviting, but you could feel the coldness in the air between you two. Today, something felt different. Gen was more focused, her gaze sharper, as if she had decided to push past the boundaries you hadn’t even known she had set.

As you sat down, she leaned in immediately, closing the distance between you. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said softly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. Her tone was calm, but there was an undercurrent of accusation that made your pulse quicken. You shook your head quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “No, not at all. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.” It wasn’t entirely untrue, but it felt like an excuse you hoped she would accept.

But Gen wasn’t in a forgiving mood today. Her smile tightened at the edges, her hand reaching out to brush against your arm. The contact sent an involuntary shiver through you, her touch feeling more like a claim than a comfort. “You shouldn’t lie to me,” she murmured, her voice deceptively soft. “I can tell when people are holding something back.” Her fingers lingered on your skin, and it felt like she was testing you, pushing to see how far she could go. The intensity of her gaze locked you in place, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the tension between you two remained. Gen’s words were carefully chosen, each one laced with subtle commands disguised as gentle suggestions. She asked about your day, your plans, but every question felt invasive, like she was gathering pieces of you to add to her growing control. The way she looked at you—hungry and possessive—made you realize that this was no longer just casual companionship. She was slowly wrapping herself around your life, tightening her hold. You could feel her drawing you further into her web, her obsession growing more evident with each passing moment.

By the time you left the café, you felt drained, her presence lingering long after she had gone. The weight of her fixation was becoming more than just uncomfortable—it was suffocating.

The sixth day marked a new level of control for Gen. You had tried to maintain some semblance of distance, but it seemed like she was always one step ahead, knowing exactly where you were and what you were doing at all times. That evening, she showed up at your hotel room once again, this time with no pretense of politeness. She knocked, but when you opened the door, she brushed past you without waiting for an invitation, her presence filling the room like a storm.

Her demeanor was different today—more demanding, less subtle. She paced the small space of your hotel room as if it were her own, her eyes scanning every inch as though she was sizing it up. “We’ve spent a lot of time together this week, haven’t we?” she asked, her voice casual but her tone heavy with implication. There was no real question there; it was a statement of fact, and you knew it. You nodded stiffly, unsure of where this was going. Gen’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.

Without warning, she closed the distance between you, her hand gripping your shoulder with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You need someone like me,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You’re too trusting, too… vulnerable.” Her words felt like a trap, a carefully laid snare that you had walked into without realizing. You tried to step back, but her grip tightened, her nails digging slightly into your skin. “I can protect you,” she said, her eyes dark and unwavering. “But you need to let me.”

The possessiveness in her tone was unmistakable now. Gen wasn’t just interested in you; she wanted to control you, to bend you to her will. The atmosphere in the room felt suffocating, her presence overwhelming. You could feel the shift in her—this was no longer a game of subtle manipulation. She was making her claim on you, her obsession fully on display. Every word, every touch was a reminder that you were no longer in control. Gen had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

By the seventh day, you were nearing the end of your rope. Gen’s constant presence in your life had become unbearable. She texted you relentlessly, her messages veiled in sweetness, but the underlying demand for your attention was always there. That morning, she insisted on meeting you again. You could feel the weight of her obsession pressing down on you, but you reluctantly agreed, hoping to somehow manage the situation.

When you met her, Gen was already waiting, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching you with a predatory intensity that made your skin crawl. She greeted you with a smile, but there was nothing warm about it anymore. “I was starting to think you didn’t want to see me,” she said, her voice dripping with a faux playfulness. But the accusation was clear. You forced a smile, trying to keep things neutral, but Gen was already pushing past your defenses.

Throughout the conversation, she grew more demanding, her words laced with possessiveness. “You can’t just avoid me,” she said at one point, her tone darkening. “I’m trying to help you, but you’re making it difficult.” Her eyes bore into you, daring you to challenge her, but you couldn’t. The power dynamic between you had shifted completely—any illusion of casual companionship was gone. Gen’s obsession had consumed her, and it was suffocating you.

The breaking point came when she reached across the table, her hand wrapping around your wrist with a firmness that made you flinch. “I don’t like being ignored,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “You need to learn that.” The threat in her words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, you realized just how deep her fixation ran. Gen wasn’t going to let you go—not easily, not without a fight. And as you sat there, trapped under her gaze, you felt the full weight of her obsession crushing down on you.

This was no longer about companionship or even control. Gen had crossed the line into something far darker. The week had started with her charm and manipulation, but now, you were facing the reality of her true nature—obsessive, possessive, and dangerous.

On the eighth day, the world outside felt like a distant memory as you slowly woke up in an unfamiliar place. The walls were a muted beige, adorned with expensive artwork that only served to highlight how out of place you felt. Your head throbbed with a dull ache, the remnants of whatever Gen had slipped into your drink the night before. Panic set in as you tried to move, only to discover that your wrists were restrained, tied to the ornate bed frame. A wave of nausea rolled through you, a bitter reminder of how easily Gen had taken control.

As you struggled against the restraints, the door swung open, and there stood Gen, her expression a mixture of amusement and something darker. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she purred, stepping into the room like she owned the very air you breathed. The sight of her made your heart race—not with excitement, but with fear. “I hope you’re feeling better. I prepared your first meal.” She held up a tray, the aroma of food wafting toward you, tantalizing yet nauseating under the circumstances.

“Let me go,” you demanded, your voice shaky but resolute. Gen merely chuckled, a low, sultry sound that sent chills down your spine. “Oh, but where would be the fun in that? You’re my guest now, and I’ll take excellent care of you.” She placed the tray down on your lap, the clatter of the plates echoing in the silence. You eyed the food suspiciously, knowing full well that Gen had no interest in your well-being. “You’re going to eat, and you’re going to enjoy it. After all, I can’t have you wasting away on me.”

Your appetite vanished as you pushed the food away, the act of defiance feeling more futile than empowering. Gen’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. She leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear, her voice dripping with a chilling sweetness. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?” Her eyes sparkled with sadistic delight, and you could feel the weight of her control pressing down on you, suffocating any lingering hope of escape.

Every meal became a battle of wills, Gen meticulously serving you while you tried to resist. With each passing moment, the reality of your situation sank in deeper. You were trapped in her home, her possession, and no matter how fiercely you fought back, Gen was always one step ahead, her grip tightening around you like a vice.

A week passed in this twisted cycle, and every day felt like a struggle for survival within the confines of Gen’s control. You had learned to adapt, finding ways to please her in hopes of avoiding her wrath. Her laughter would ring out when you complied, a sound that should have brought joy but only served to remind you of the chains binding you to this life. Each time you did something to make her happy, a part of you died inside, but you had no choice. Displeasing her meant punishment, and you were terrified of what that might entail.

In this new routine, you had become more pliant, like a puppet dancing to her tune. Gen rewarded your compliance with moments of kindness—short-lived and always tinged with manipulation. She would occasionally loosen the restraints, allowing you a moment of freedom, but only to remind you of how easily she could take it all away. “See? Isn’t this much better?” she’d coo, her eyes alight with a wicked gleam as you shifted uncomfortably in her presence.

You learned the unspoken rules of her household: don’t question, don’t resist, and above all, please Gen. The fear of her disappointment hung over you like a dark cloud, forcing you into submission. Each day became a lesson in survival, your mind slowly warping to fit the confines of her expectations, and though you fought against it, a part of you began to wonder if this was all you would ever know.

Finally, the day came when Gen announced you were allowed to leave your room, albeit under her watchful gaze. “I think you’ve learned your lesson well,” she said, her voice silky smooth. “But don’t get too comfortable; your freedom is still mine to grant.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The world outside felt foreign, and you hesitated, dread pooling in your stomach.

“Let’s go to the living room. I want to show you off,” Gen ordered, her tone brooking no argument. You followed, heart racing, acutely aware of her presence behind you, the heavy weight of her obsession clinging to your back like a shadow.

You stepped into the lavish living room, decorated with expensive furniture and art that screamed opulence. It felt like a gilded cage, and as you took a seat on the plush couch, you felt the familiar pressure of Gen’s gaze on you. She settled beside you, her arm draping casually over your shoulder, claiming you in front of anyone who might walk in.

Just as the atmosphere began to settle, the door swung open, and there stood Reina, her eyes wide with shock. “W-What are you doing here…?” she stammered, panic flooding her expression as she took in the scene before her. The moment felt like time had frozen, and you could feel Gen’s grip on your shoulder tighten slightly, a warning of the tension building in the air.

“I work here,” Reina replied breathlessly, her voice tinged with confusion and concern. She turned her gaze to you, desperation etched across her features as she asked, “Why are you here too?” The question hung heavily between you, an unspoken understanding that something was horribly wrong. You felt your heart race as you searched for words, but all that escaped your lips was a weak, “You—You work for her…?”

Gen’s lips curled into a smirk, relishing the unfolding drama as if it were an entertaining play. “Oh, yes,” she drawled, her voice dripping with condescension. “You see, I’ve found another…” Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as she leaned closer, her voice low and mocking. “Unless you want to share, Reina?” The suggestion sent a ripple of tension through the room, a twisted game unfolding as you watched Reina’s expression shift from shock to a mixture of anger and disbelief.

The air thickened with unspoken words, a confrontation brewing as you glanced between them, caught in the crossfire of their conflicting emotions. You were the pawn in Gen’s twisted game, and as you sat there, the realization hit hard—you had lost more than just your freedom. You had become a trophy in Gen’s obsession, a pawn in a game you never wanted to play.