#hes made of oil pastel

[freakytague]

my itllt witlt boy hes a lil disfigured but is till love him❤️❤️

[smolsadred]

gib birdie

[banterspam]

kon w the cat smirk

[moth-spiderling]

Things do get better.

Life can be cruel and unforgiving, like a writer killing off the most beloved characters and making everyone suffer through a lot. Yet every bad moment eventually shall pass.

We don't stop reading a book, just because the writer made things seem grim for a bit. We shouldn't stop living just because we're afraid it'll get worse.

Things can go badly, sure, but they can also turn out for the better. You can also survive.

Even giving up for a day, a month, a year, does not mean your life is not worth living.

It doesn't mean you're gonna be stuck here forever. It just means that for now, maybe for a long time now, things have been rough.

And you need a break, and a hug.

And someone to tell you, that you are very much loved, even if Life (as the most bitter and inspired writer) has decided to take it out on you.

You are loved, you're not weird, and you deserve good, beautiful, lovely things.

[hashipebbles]

I'm a little obsessed with jazz right now-

[cyncerity]

content dip so here’s a little oil pastel doodle of epic au Tommy i made in art class 💖

[iplayghoul]

let the light in

xx: cowboys! eren & onyankopon x reader . .

9.9k words — life on a ranch, porn with plot, tension, feelings, eventual sex, fucking in.. mud & rain, reader is referred to as 'she', 'girlie' etc, use of 'daddy', lots of spit & being dirty, reader is a country bumpkin, light arguing, thumb in ass, pussy spanking, spitroasting, cunnilingus, crying, some squirting & creaming, lots of shortened words & punctuation (country dialect duhh), not proof read sorry, awkward moments.

notes: been writin dis since december 2023... enjoy u guys :] rbgs appreciated

“hiya mrs. brown!”

worn out boots of marble cake pink and brown swirls, graze the dirtied gravel near the elderly woman's cottage as you slip from the horse. mary-lou, you affectionately call her, dusting her pinked moist nose with a pat before hobbling onto the stone path. over the horizon, the pastel orange and yellows of the sun threaten to melt into your skin, kissing it golden as the morning begins and so do your deliveries. 

golden-blonde, french curl braids woven into your roots fall past your lower back ending in thick, loose curls, some held together by bows and others hair clips. they bounced with every step. mrs. brown was the first on your list of deliveries today. on cool mornings like this when spring teases its approach, you often bake little treats for the other villagers. apple tarts, blueberry jellies, cherry pies with freshly picked fruits, warm buttery honey-milk breads and healthy breakfast muffins: all made with ingredients grown at home! but, we'll explore the garden later.

calling this a village was a bit of a stretch, realistically, a happy delusion at most. acres of farm property was shared by each of the residents whose homes were nearby, despite the farm areas creating distances of land behind them. tok, tok, tok! the haste below mary-lou's hooves pulled you back to your task as you rearranged the goodies and stepped onto the wooden plank. mrs. brown sat atop her rocking chair, crocheting a blanket you'd commissioned. a chuckle, “ [  ] , dearest, always in y’head, aren't yuh?” mrs. brown softly muttered, deep brown skin crumpled besides her lips, short pastel curls tickling her ears. hands busied with the neapolitan coloured yarn. her countryside twang was a pleasant aerated tone, reminding you of your own parents. 

you huff and offer a smile. “mrs. brown I've—”, “must I remind you, dearest, eleonora,” the playfulness in her voice offers it a quiver. “and let me guess . . . cherry pie?” thin, quivering lips stretch to a smile, your plump ones mimic hers as you nod with a sweetened expression. “yes, eleonora, I know how much y’love cherry pies n’–”, “and my grandson does too, y'know!” you stop to stare at her as she wears nothing but a smug look on her face, her head bobbing side to side with a ‘you know damn well’ manner. 

eleonora lived mostly alone. when her daughter married, giving her a sole grandson they'd moved to the city. luckily for her, and you, her grandson moved back on his own to the country. he fixed cars, motorcycles, tractors– you name it, he's got it covered. she said his name was onyankopon or, ony’. to be honest, you spied around one time to catch a glimpse of him. back when you first moved in and eleonora became immediately smitten with the idea of you and her grandson as potential lovers, you snuck around where ony's ranch was, peaking at who the man could be. you barely saw him really, the small flash of him you saw all greasy with engine oil was so far away! but infatuation always grew in you from a small bud, slowly growing before flower petals started spilling out your throat.

“are ya’ stoppin by him too, darlin’?” she pries further, “I ‘dunno els’ . . . y'know I haven't actually met ‘em right?”, “oh I know dear,'' she breathes, “ he's strong, he's tall, he surely is handy ‘round the house and- and he's not ‘onna dem toxic masculine things i hear ‘bout on the Internet! I think he's had a boyfrien’ b'fore, that must count!” she relieves your hands of the heavy treats while speaking, “eleonora . . .”, “c'mon darlin’, you've got t'get married someday, n’ imma’ be the flower gal!” 

all you can do is shake your head and accept the sweet kiss to the cheek she offers you before trotting back to your horse. mary-lou grew rather impatient! settling her brown and white spotted body to the ground awaiting your return. to be completely honest, you craved love. the partying, sex and relationships of college got old and moving here right after left you high and dry with the weight of ‘unlovable’ bearing down on your shoulders. the lack of men your age was . . . a troublesome dilemma but who were you to complain? you hiked yourself back onto mary-lou and continued your journey to the next cottage home. 

looking over the blueberry skies and whipped cream clouds kept you in grandiose delusions of a love so pure and sweet, like powdered sugar that you could indulge in, maybe one day.

♡

“down girl, down!” 

The rough, deep voice shakes the silence near the upcoming ranch. after your deliveries, you'd end up with a few apple-cherry tarts remaining, sometimes the neighbours are vacationing in the city, or insist you keep some! by this time, the sun shone fully now, its warmth tingling your skin. “awe, shucks, man!” another voice caused your brows to furrow, peering up ahead at the ranch . . . the one in which eleonora's grandson resided. from what you could see without the sun in your eyes, two men of tall statures– roughhousing with gorgeous horses. the one in the cowboy's hat was doing a terrible job of trying to calm one of them. their manes were a beautiful silky white, shining healthily under the sun as they lifted their front legs to the air before trotting around the . . . shirtless men again. mother would scold you now if she could see you openly ogling at the two, you push that thought to the back of your mind.

mary-lou slows on your command beside their ranch gate, huffing and happily shaking out her mane as she watches the other horses play. something possesses you to hop off with the remaining tarts, awkwardly shuffling to the fence– your pink-brown boots were worn mismatched to your strapless white lace top and similar mini-skirt. “uh . . . howdy there fellas!” both men turned to your direction, blocking their eyes from the sun and beginning to stroll over.

the closer view made your breath catch in your throat. the one on the left, you assume is el's grandson, his skin was a dark mahogany brown, he glistened slightly with sweat in the sun, deeply defined muscles prelude veins below his belly button then covered by bright blue jeans and black cowboy boots to match his hat.

he had a handsome face. 

thick two-toned lips spread to reveal a bright smile, a few teeth plated with gold caps as he teased the man to his right. this man had dark, black, shining curls that rested atop his shoulders, two eyebrow slits decorated with piercings, matching ones on his . . . pretty lips. his skin was a dusted tan, sunkissed tone and he wore black jeans atop his brown boots. You couldn't miss the tattoos that crept up the side of his abdominals, you were curious.

“how c'n we help ya’, miss?” the left spoke up and your cheeks felt hot, it's been a while since you heard that pet name, you chalked it up to the blazing sun. “well, uh, you're eleonora's grandson, right?” you nibble on your nails nervously, he nods, “I just . . . thought it’d be nice to give y'all these extra treats i baked.” pushing the basket in their direction and allowing the dark haired one to peep under the cloth, he had a mischievous look to him and he elbowed the other in the ribs with a slick smile, “wass ya’ name, pretty? ‘m eren, dis is ony’,” he pointed between them, “ n’ y’made these y’self, ma’?” eren pulls out a tart, staring down at you through long eyelashes, “oh! uh I‘m [  ], n’ yes! I did n' I grew all'em fruits m'self too!” you bounce on the heels of your boots, nervously.

ony’ stays mostly quiet you've noticed, taking in your outfit as well, his eyes raking over you. eren warmly feeds him a bite of the tart as their horses trot over to mingle with mary-lou. “how long ya’ been livin’ ‘round here, sugar?” ony’ speaks up soft and mellow, grabbing himself his own tart to taste. eren reaches out to pet mary-lou. “i guess it’s been a about a year now! y’see i moved out ‘round here after college.” you nibbled your shiney bottom lip, “what ‘bout y’all? your grandma talks ‘bout you all the time, but, i ain’t really seen you round here?” you turn to eren who makes a kissy face at mary-lou before turning to you. “i mostly tend to the farm ma’, as y’can tell, ‘m better with the animals than ony’ here.” he flashes you a smile and props his arms against the fence biting his lip and lowering closer to your eye level. ony’ playfully smacks his arm, flashing a gorgeous smile with his gold teeth sparkling in the sun, “shut up, man.”

you look away quickly, catching yourself staring at his lips, he certainly doesn't miss it. you totally push the basket towards eren’s arms, “y’c’n have the basket y’know i always weave more, i’ve gotta get goin, now,” you rush, “wait– take m’ number, pretty,” eren offers before reciting it a couple times so you’ve got it down. “n’ which onna’ these ranches ‘s yours, mama?”, you're mounting mary-lou once more, “it's not too far! it's the ranch with the blue fence n’ the pond out front!” 

♡

the days after that remained uneventful, with no deliveries of any kind, you preferred to remain on the ranch tending to the animals and house work. you'd never texted eren, only saved his number and stalked his contact profile . . . and opened his chat section many-a-times without saying anything. taking a liking to someone new is hard. you don't forget the many times a partner toyed with you, assuming innocence and naivity of you based soley off your appearance, then doing whatever they'd wanted behind your back. you were past that now, hopefully at least; the concrete walls you used to block others out wasn't something you'd liked to be reminded of.

padding out the back door, the coldness of the stone path chills beneath your bare feet. your toes painted with the cutest design within your artistic range, accompanied by the musical arrangement of your anklet. you pick up a dirtied bucket with the many things you'd needed to complete your chores for the morning, taking a long look at the expanse of the ranch. 

a deep breath of clean air, healthy green fields relieve your eyes of their stress; partly cloudy skies was the forecast! weather for hanging outside, the cumulus clouds indicated it to be the perfect day for fishing too! the pond was still, the little lambs were just waking up in their pen, the gardenias were blooming; the white dexter cattle mulled around, seemingly bored behind the fence. just as you begin to walk by with the bucket of feed, the cows behind let out soft, deep ‘mooooo’s’: a ‘good morning!’ greeting in their own way. each receiving gentle pets to their fur.

your mental list of duties was shorter today: pet the cattle, inspect the lambs & brush their fur, throw feed for the chickens & clean their coupes, feed the dogs, feed the fish.

you couldn't help but wear your best little dress to do the tasks today, a simple white thing that cupped your breasts just right. “oh, how are ya’ buttercup!” you squealed in delight as the silky white wolf dog rushed up to lick your feet, his opposite onyx counterpart, bentley offered a short bark to show her delight, sitting peacefully and obediently. she'd recently fallen pregnant with pups, confusing as you'd given both animals the proper precautionary procedures! while filling their food bowls, you couldn't help but be reminded of eren and ony’. your toes dug into the grass a bit, excited at the idea of . . . sharing your home with someone else again. both men seemed pleasant, highly attractive, but feelings always confused you. perhaps they were only being decent human beings to you, nothing more.

to be honest, you hadn't had the best history with relationships. it's part of– it's one of the main reasons you'd decided to move out to the countryside. casual sex was fine, yeah, whatever, you enjoyed it. however, when it comes to your relationships, you refuse to believe you attract shitty people. from making fun of how excited your are by things, to the way you dressed, wore your makeup, your hair, how you cry— the whole works had been used against you. there was only so much of it you could handle. moving away meant . . . fresh start, new people, new experiences. and most importantly, a place where everyone did as they pleased. as much as people think gossip goes around in small villages, the country area was mostly pleasant. neighbours traded crops for items, enjoyed each other's company and minded their own business.

sitting beside the pond, bentley and buttercup eagerly cuddled up at your side; the joy this life brought you was comparable to hot chocolate at the end of a winter day. now you think about how long its been since you could cuddle someone on a cold day. it probably hasn't been since your mother was alive. now was a good time to visit eleonora.

♡

a raspberry lemon loaf warmed your hands as the weather began to cool. the trudge to eleonora's ranch was tranquil, pleasant animals, butterflies and chirping birds kept you occupied for most of it. that is, until your boots dragged to a stop in the dirt, noticing a familiar face in el's front yard. 

onyankopon's hair was short, brushed into smooth waves atop his head and faded on the sides, revealed by the lack of cowboy hat. he was shirtless, once again, knee deep in the dirt of his grandmother's yard where he dug the soil for new plants. you swallow, nibbling a plump lip that made your mouth spring from the strawberry flavoured gloss. a colder breeze blew up under your thighs, blowing your simple little dress slightly; furrowing your brows with concern as you peered at the beautiful bright sky, you force yourself to walk up to the gate and begin to unlatch it. 

eren's grassy green eyes meet you first, his hands busily feeding a plump cherry into his mouth. pretty pink lips sucked them in, unwelcoming to the juicy red droplets that escaped the cherry. he licks his lips to pull them in. you take a deep breath and focus on not dropping the raspberry lemon loaf. “h-hiya everybody!” you greet, noticing eleonora seated in her usual spot on the rocking chair of her porch while observing the two men. 

you hold the loaf somewhat close to you and swallow hard, walking along the stone path of which both men were at either side of. ony’ in the dirt and eren manspreading on the front steps. you held eyes with the ground. “howdy ony’, eren, nice to see you two ‘gain,” you say in a pleasant mumble as you make way up the stairs to eleonora. “brought you this raspberry lemon loaf els’!” you look at her smiling slightly, caught off guard by that signature smug look she held. what insane thoughts about your love life could she be brewing now? the silence from the two men was noticeable too, you were sure they'd turn to look at you as you presented the treat for el’, “my, my! well doesn't this just look lovely!” she claps clammy hands clad in flower themed rings and laughs jolly. “ony’, son, could you get us some tissues n’ forks? oh- n’ eren darlin’ why don't you bring out the pitcher ‘f lemonade with s'm glasses.” the two men stand as she calls upon them, uttering out their deep ‘yes ma'am's’ as they towered above you in walking by. your eyes trailed them slightly before turning back to eleonora who never (not once) misses your silent pining.

ony’ wore his jeans low on his waist, the band of his boxers showed off its maker's name. eren, on the other hand, wore a white wife-beater below unbuckled blue overalls, leaving them hanging over at his waist. “so, have ya’ found y'self a boyfren’, honey?” eleanora asks somewhat loudly as the two men shuffle around the kitchen bearby and your eye widen. “now what kinda’ question is that els’?” you sputtered, “you know I haven't got one.” eleonora giggles like a school girl. you take a cool seat onto the steps. eren and ony’ share small smiles as they return with lemonade and dishes. ony’ takes a seat in a chair opposite eleonora, elevated above you whilst eren makes himself comfortable back in his spot across from you on the steps. raspberry lemon loaf is shared around with the cool glasses of not-too-sweet lemonade to wash it down, eating brought silence besides low groans from the two men who seemed to enjoy your baking. their groans were not sensual, but pressing your thighs together was still a must as a reaction to the unexpected sounds of pleasure. fuck, you felt like a creep. eleonora complimented your skills, asking, “[  ] , did ya’ grow these in the box gardens y'made?” you nod and swallow quickly, all attention to you as eren mumbles ‘box garden?'. ``yea els’, the box gardens ar’ doin’ great, but I've got some extra wood around I think I'mma try to make a few more like the boxes I bought from the market!” eleonora smiles as if she were expecting to hear you randomly bring up your recycling duties. 

“ony’, can't you n’ eren build those boxes f’[  ]? I strongly believe lil’ ol’ her shouldn't handle all dat’ wood . . .” you internally blush deeply at the innuendo and take the final bite of your slice of the loaf. eren speaks up, “y'sure right on we can, els’ . . . y'okay wit’ us helpin’ y'out ma?” he takes a quick glance up at ony, locking eyes with him who also lets his stare above you burn into your scalp. “s– sure, I don't mind!” you mutter out lightly and eleonora gives a jolly clap, “well ain't that just darlin’! the day's young, y'all can get started right now!” you have to hold your breath to avoid your last sip of lemonade going down your larynx. the two men mentioned how they're not busy the rest of the day and wouldn't mind before you can even collect yourself. somehow, coming over to eleonora always results in you being roped into another scheme of hers.

and just like that, you found yourself on a quiet . . . and awkward walk back to your ranch with the two young men following closely behind you. anxiety bubbled in your stomach, clamping your lips shut to avoid letting the insecure feeling from escaping your lips. the nerves were getting to you with every second that passed by. “s-so, uh– wassup wit y'all ‘round here?” they both walk up to match your pace. “oh, well, ony here prefers to do all the technical shit like– fixin’ cars n’ all'at.” eren shoves his palms into the pockets of his overalls, walking up ahead where he could look back at the two of you while talking, he maintains glances with onyankopon that you just don't seem to understand. “I prefer to stay on the ranch n’ watch the animals– y'got any besides that horsie?” 

“oh– yea i've got m’ horse, mary-lou, two wolfies: bentley n’ buttercup.” a sweet smile stretches on your face, tummy warming a bit. “oh! and I've got names f'all my fish in the pond, my little lambs– oh they're just the cutest! a–and my fluffy cows! they're lovely,” you clasp your hands in excitement, eyes following your footsteps, sputtering happily over the animals. “gosh, n’ I'm tryin’ out a little butterfly area in my front garden, but m’ not the best at it, can’t tame butterflies y’know— they pee on ya’ too! that's fuckin’ crazy,” you reveal with a giggle. as you look up to ask the two a question, you can't help but blush, embarrassingly at that. eren and ony stared at you with pleasant smiles, deeply dimpled too. “oh my, m’ sorry for my ramblin’ how rude of me–”,”no. no, keep talkin’ pretty.” ony's deep voice encourages you and you peer curiously at him: trying to figure him out. he turns away from you licking his lips and spares eren a look before he starts walking again. it urges you both to continue onto the ranch as well, eren shakes his head with a chuckle; he thinks he’s got a handful on his hands. 

“y’got a boyfren’ ‘round here, [  ] ?” eren brushes hair over his shoulders, asking the question calmly whilst maintaining a look up the path, ony’s arm brushed yours as he walked close by. “well– no, what about you?” you melt your lips together before stuttering out,”wait, not– i mean, girlfriend . . . well– i don’t care–!” ony barks out a laugh while eren turns around to give you a bright smile, all three of you burst into giggles. “nah, no girlfren’ or boyfren’, ma’.” ony speaks up gently, “but, uh– me n’ E’ might be lookin’ for a third to make us official, i dunno.” your eyes widen but ony gives a nonchalant shrug, handsome face glowing with a smug smile like he didn't just drop #thebomb on you. it reminded you of his grandmother, you look to eren who’s looking back at you and onyankopon with just a slight grin and your breath catches in your throat. “oh! there’s the ranch just up ahead,” you blurt out and skip past eren, scurrying over to unlatch the gate to your front garden as the two followed you in.

now your heart felt like it could melt. like– like a huge strawberry ready to burst! what did ony’ mean by that?  oh, how you felt like a dizzy little dove. luckily the dogs rushed up to you, excitable and ready to meet the new visitors who they eagerly sniffed. ony’ and eren were happy to roughhouse on sight laughing with the dogs and complimenting the patch of primula's you were trying to grow, the pretty pinki-ish flowers were just beautiful. you lead them through your home, overly conscious about each step you took while they surely eyed every nook and cranny of your decor. “um- y'guys need anything? I've got some snacks . . .”, “nah, we're good,” eren mumbled, sounding obviously distracted by their nosey observations of your living space. you hear the tone of your dryer going off just as you unlatch the netted back door that served as another layer next to the already opened wooden one. 

“holy shit,” ony’ whispered, your organization of the backyard was impeccable. clean and solid fencing around the cows, plants on the left with storage on the other. you left the two to walk out into the cold breeze that passed by as they observe the surroundings and the pile of wood waiting for them; all while you quickly rushed to the laundry room nearby to dislodge your clothing and stuff them into a basket. you hurry back out to join them.

“so, here's one of the other boxes i made,” you gesture to the dirty box filled with planted Spanish thyme, “i know it looks kinda wonky but, hopefully you guys can do better,” you offer an awkward laugh and sit on the back steps, legs crossed. 

eren and onyankopon share a look, then grab some planks bringing them more into your line of view with some of the tools nearby and sitting in the grass. even in your own home, you felt a little out of place. in silence, eren and ony’ shared alot of chemistry you didn't understand. despite this, what ony’ said on the way here never left your mind. “y'guys got alot ‘f experience . . . relationship-wise?” you scratch behind your ear. they worked separately lining up wood and nailing them into place, muscles working diligently. “mm, yea. ‘guess y'can say that ma',” eren glances at ony who hums low and offers you a small smile.

“it's jus’ that– ‘m thinkin’ ‘bout watchu said earlier . . .” you blink, fumbling, “unless that was like a joke ‘r somethin’—”

“i wasn't joking.” onyankopon confirms calmly, his jaw tight. you allow the silence to continue for a few beats, eyes flickering back and forth between the two and your hands petting the dogs that came to lay beside you. “we don't expect ya’ to jus’ trust us like that, missy,” eren offers gently, shoving his curls into a small bun and you nibble your bottom lip. 

ony's brows furrow and he's hammering the last few nails into his box before he speaks up. “how c'n we get to know you ma’? me n’ E’ been . . . chillin’ for over a year. since college, actually, n’ we been watchin’ y'too. w’dont expect you to feel the way we do in 10 minutes or even in a day. let us get t'know you.” you squint a little.

“y'serious?” your chest feels a little hot and you're praying to the gods you don't fuck this up. “c's i don't intend on gettin played wit’ ‘specially not out here, y’hear me?” and you don't mean to raise your voice a little, the sounds just flow out. “hey, hey now,” eren pushes his finished work aside and stands, tugging his overalls up, hands resting on his hips. “we don't got no bad intentions, sugar, chill wit’ us,” and you blink up at him, unmoved.

“m'kay, let's just say i decided to ‘chill’ wit’ y'guys,” you stand up, fold your arms and start, “what exactly are we g'nna do, hm?” you look back and forth between them, not missing the way your buttercup whines on the steps where she lay, evidently fed up with all the chatter. “y'got 3 seconds n’ don't say sex. one,” 

“who said anythin’ ‘bout sex?” ony’ joins you two as he puts the tools down, “two,” “yea, y'better shut that shit up. let's bake sumn together, show us around y'day, hang wit’ us at our ranch, talk about shit. fuck y’mean sex?” you stubbornly stay silent and stare. eren’s jaw bone pokes out with the way he clenches it. “we're not lookin’ for sex. if we wanted sex from you we coulda seduced you a long time ago, sugar,” he shrugs with a smile and you lick your lips, sighing. “okay, ‘m sorry. I’–I'm such a bad host,” you mutter out, “y'all want anything to eat? or some water.” you hear a low ‘okay’ from ony’ so you shuffle away to the kitchen to grab some bottles for them.

you tried to focus on the coldness of the bottles on the way back as a way to cool your temperament. “i moved out here wit’ intention ‘f startin’ fresh n’ shit.” you start, tossing them bottles before plopping yourself beside buttercup who nuzzled her cold nose into your thigh. the two men were sitting once again, evidently having spoken to each other in your absence.

your voice was shaky as you took a deep breath, garnering the courage to speak up for how you felt, “i'm tired of gettin’ dogged out, n’ played wit’ n’ allat bullshit.” you pout.

“‘m not exactly sure how gettin’ involved wit’ two handsom’ fellas is gonna help me figure out to– to i dunno, regulate m’ emotions.” you frown and shove some braids back behind your ear, “s’ like i damn near avoided it– i moved back t’the country damnit.” a sigh, “i cant just figure out how to adore n’ love– people again or if i'mma be able t'dish it out as much as before.”

“you get what i mean?” your ramble ceased as you finally look up from your focus on your knees and look back and forth between ony and eren. ony chuckles softly while eren offers you a smile and speaks up.

“we'll take it slow, you'n gotta ‘love’ anybody yet, mama,” ony nods at his words, “gotta build a friendship wit'chu first, we not playin’ ‘round.” 

♡

a week or so passes in which life goes by as normal. you spend your days busying yourself with gardening and grooming your animals, baking treats and new concoctions. the only exception is eren and onyankopon have somehow easily squeezed themselves into your life.

on your deliveries you hear, “howdy, ma',” they chase across their lawn and hop across the fence to drag you inside and sit you down in the warm house where the two eagerly pester you to try the . . . ‘shrimp alfredo’ they whipped up. 

thus, the two would end up in your kitchen, breathing over your hair whilst you instructed them on the proper technique. “naw, i don’ told E to do all'at,” onyankopon protests. so too do they pester mary-lou and your dogs, roughhousing and giving them baths much to their dismay.

through many experiences you learn, onyankopon isn't particularly fond of being tickled, or of wearing shirts. he stays shirtless almost all twenty-four hours of the day and you can only avert your eyes. eren is obsessed with overalls and has an array of them: gray ones, distressed ones, short ones, and he never buckles them properly.. on the ranch, the two gorgeous white haired horses were named armin and reiner, two friends they shared from college. sparkling like diamonds as you're given the opportunity to ride them each around the boys’ ranch in the golden sun. you'd also learned that the two were sexually . . . fluid, they'd called it. vaguely, they'd mentioned their sex lives and based on what they said you couldn't help but assume they were talking about each other. who else was there out here except you?

“yeeehaw! can't catch up, can'ya’?” eren howls and shouts as he trots across the ranch on his horse, ony lagging behind in the chase. here you sat on a wooden little bench near the steps of ony' and eren's ranch; clad in a simple white cropped tank and blue jeans with a chunky belt, your cream coloured cowboy hat sit pretty atop your head. a pretty calico cat licked at your bare feet and nudged you for pets. 

at this point, you felt yourself slipping. it was obvious by now you'd grown to enjoy each other's company and serious conversations were imminent.

what were we, how will the dynamics work, what would they expect from you? just then you felt a tap to your forehead.

“heya, girlie,” eren squats down before you to grab your attention, “watchu, thinkin’ ‘bout,” ony’ mumbled, toying with a toothpick between his teeth. 

you smack glossy lips together, “jus’. . . ‘bout us three y'know? how- like, where do we go fr'm here huh?” your eyes flutter, cheeks warming. you feel the silence actually, eren and ony’ are doing that stupid thing where they talk to each other with their eyes. 

butterflies flap their wings about, joyous as ever. it makes you smile a little, as you're beginning to grow nervous. “let's talk inside ma’,” onyankopon suggests, stepping past you into the house where eren follows. 

“me n’ ‘ren c'n take care ‘f each other n’ you, know that?” 

you all shuffle onto the dark gray couch in the living space. ony’ and eren's ranch had a deep modern aesthetic. dark oak accents adorned both the outside and inside, complimented by gray and brown shades of furniture. 

“i know that . . . ,” you pout, 

“so wassup,” eren stares you down, the emerald swirl of his eyes warmed your belly yet you couldn't maintain eye contact with him for long, eren just had that kind of stare without realizing it himself.

“‘m g'nna be frank, ion wanna impose on nothin’ y'folks got . . . n’ my past relationships ain't been the best.” you huff and continue, “‘m jus’ puttin’ that out there. i feel like we've been talkin’ for a while n' I'm fond of y'all.” 

“i jus’ don't wanna be the one to mess things up,” you finish in a whisper. 

onyankopon hums low and eren plays with his lip ring, “n’ das’ all, girlie?” he asks and pursed his lips, dimple deepening at that. you give a nod and a small ‘yup’ while intertwining your hands onto your knees that were pressed together. “y’ talk to us, we talk to you, got that? if it's an issue y'got: don't hesitate to let us know,” ony’ iterates.

eren makes a noise of agreement, “y’communicate everythin’ wit us, sugar, we're serious,” and you nod slowly. “‘kay . . . i get that,” your eyes feel a little wet with emotion, ones you're not too sure of yourself.

you were happy to hear them affirming their commitment yet still anxious for the future. regardless, you couldn't help but lurch forward, you grab the back of eren's neck to press a sweet strawberry jelly flavoured kiss to his cheek, leaving a baby pink glossy print on his cheek along with a loud ‘mwah’ as you smiled. similarly, you crawl over his lap to do the same to ony’ who only bit back a grin, gold capped teeth glistening in the light much like the glossed smudge on his face.

♡

inevitably came the days you'd call the ‘honeymoon’ phase in a relationship, except it lasted what felt like forever.

these days you preferred to be cuddled up in your bedroom, legs being warmed by a black, gray and white blanket you were committed to crocheting. with a couple dark, gloomy days where the usual creamy clouds frowned down on you, the animals often retreated to their pens and little beds of hay to seek warmed from stormy weather. buttercup and bently invaded each others personal space in their dog beds down at the living room, you smile a little at the thought.

“yeen gotta be like that, ony’,” you hear eren groan in a mischievous pout as the two men exit your bathroom smelling of your bath soap. onyankopon mumbles something of ‘’s a stupid idea’. you giggle under your breath, hands hard at work weaving and looping the thick yarn for the blanket. 

“ [  ] , watchu’ think, sugar?” eren plops himself onto the bed, “hm?” still fixated on your progress, ony’ huffs from his seat on the ottoman, lotioning his chest and arms then turning back to rub some excess onto eren's foot. “i told ony’, let's take the horses f’ a ride, ma’, he talkin’ bout ‘oh it's rainy’, i think it'll be chill,” he smiles big and winks expecting something of an applause for his great idea of fun.

“ion mind whateva’ y'guys wanna do, jus’ once we shower ‘gain after, ‘fore we get sick,” you shake your head at the thought. ony’ smacks his teeth, “c'mon, don't support him.” 

“what, playin’ in the rain is fun, baby!” you chuckle, eren simply props his head on his palm, enthralled by your meticulous work. regardless, he nods mindlessly in agreement at the discussion.

just like that, cowboy hats and boots were thrown on and you head down to the stables to round up the horses. ony’ and eren raced each other down to them before you could even get a word in. the thought reminded you of buttercup and bently who currently settled and slept with one's head atop the other.

the fresh rain smell hits your nostrils quickly, smelling of the humidity off the grass and pitch of the street. you could audibly hear the wind bristling about the bushes as it cooled your skin. all you wore was a thin white tank top, jeans along with your classic pink-brown boots to match your hat. eren and ony’ warmed up the horses, encouraging mary-lou to shake out her mane and trot a little. onyankopon was seated by reiner, rubbing at his legs to warm him a bit and doing the same to armin. of course, you stare unabashedly, his muscles (unclothed) bulged with each motion, waistline visible amid his jeans.

you stare so much so, that you don't even notice eren come up to your side to press a wet kiss to your neck, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives your ear a kiss too, “starin’ at my man, girlie?” he laughs boyishly and you swat him, “dat’s m’ man too, freak,” he gasps falsely at the insult and you speed off to grab the harness for mary-lou; ony’ pretends he didn't hear the bickering and mounts his horse.

“s’ not rainin’ all too much now, see?” eren comments, scooping his hair back into a low bun under his hat. the three of you clicked and clocked through the damp grass and onto the street, letting the drizzle of rain moisten your skin with each speckle. you gnaw at your bottom lip, lost in thought as you trail behind the two men. at the same time, another cold gust would brush past you three, drying your skin again. yet, as you flinch when a particularly large droplet mands on your cheek, the rain picks up again and you smile.

sometimes moments like these felt so good, connecting with nature and taking in the beauty of the weather. it didn't stop you from being distracted, eren's white wife-beater was getting soaked. the tattoos creeping up his side peaked through the material and stared right back at you. you bitr back a groan and cover your warming face with your palms, wiping it clean of rain, while eren and onyankopon fall back on their horses. the peaceful silence with nothing but the ‘tock’ of the horses’  hooves kept your mind wandering. 

now drenched, you could only imagine peeling off these clothes, a strap of your flimsy little tank top blew off your shoulder, and you felt the material sticking to the bulge of your breasts nestled in your black bra that now stood out ten times as much. god, you felt like a fuckin’ pervert. you couldn't even bring yourself to look down at your own chest, feeling scandalized enough. something about thinking of yourself in . . . near erotic situations such as this made your clit thump like a sweet little rabbit's nose.

nonetheless, you ignore it and allow the rocking atop mary-lou as she walks to distract you. onyankopon rides his horse nearer to yours and eren does the same, you gasp under your breath when ony’ nudges you. “wassup,” he murmured, “nothin’ ‘m jus’ distracted.” you comment plainly and eren huffs out a laugh beside you. 

all you do is stare down at mary-lou and pet her mane, the pulse between your legs pushed to the back of your mind. “y'so bad at lyin’, know that?” eren laughs, you blush and groan, “no ‘m not, shut up,” 

“chill, chill,” ony’ whispers, in his stupid, sexy, amazing, deep voice and you let out a big shuddering breath. as you're riding you feel ony's wet bicep brushing against yours. this had to be the end of you.

ony’ reaches an arm behind you, stretching to meanly pinch eren's shoulder. you're not sure what that meant but you didn't care to know. “where we ridin’ to?” you ask, rubbing glossy lips together. “mm, let's jus’ head to me n’ ony's ranch,” 

“kay,” you settle with that, sweet n’ soft.

“wanna race, jaeger?” ony’ slips in lowly, pulling ahead and looking back at you two with his. . . stupid handsome smile, “h- hey now, let's not–” and you're interrupted by shouts, “let's go!” eren pulls off.

you groan softly, hiking up mary-lou’s harness a bit as you begin to gallop behind the two men. the raindrops stung against your skin and you whined trying to catch up to the two and your breaths harsh. with each hard breath you let out you couldn't help but let it bubble up into laughter, you just felt so good. 

you felt giddy, blinking away raindrops that attacked at your eyes and racing past the two men, who yelled and called out to you, “yo, ma’ we gon' catch up,” ony's cowboy hat flies back behind his head, held up by the string beneath his string as he pulls the white horse forward chasing after you.

the three of you speed past grunge fencings and rosey bushes all bowing their heads now from the deluge. your tank top was completely soaked, and you imagine so was eren's when you pulled in the gates of their ranch and headed around back where you could free mary-lou to run around in the fenced horse enclosure.

you sit on the ground and linger near the side of the house by some plants, boots kicking about scattered hay and picking up sticky mud. eren and ony’ pull in the same time, wet chests heaving and eyeing you as they quickly hop off and lead their horses to the enclosure. “you win, watchu want?” eren huffs out, swinging his hat off and tossing it to the side, letting the rain seep into his curls. “hm?” you moan while rain kisses you, “i get a prize?” 

he nods and slumping down against the wall next to you and propping his arm on a plant. you take the time to stare at his pecs . . . light brown nipples peaking through at you. eren catches you staring, it forces you to look away quick and brush a wet braid out of your face just as ony’ arrives.

“yall chillin’?” 

“yea . . . mama's chillin’ alright,” eren smiles up at ony who lays in the grass beside you. “she baskin’ in her– win,” eren laments, reaching forward to tickle you and you bark out laughter lurching at him. his fingers pet your ribcage and you grab eren's shoulders, “what the– fuck! eren!” you squeal and wrangle with him. ony’ sits in the wet dirt beside you guys with his hands resting behind his head, basking in the rain and ignoring the shoves and pushes nudging him.

“i swear t’ god ‘ren, you– ack!” eren flips you on your back and you land hard with your head on ony's thigh while he wrangles your hands above your head. digging your feet in the ground for leverage couldn't help with the mud slipping beneath you. onyankopon only hums in amusement, watching you stop struggling beneath eren, your chests bouncing with gasps of air.

“you . . . y'know that's not fair, eren,” “i know what's not fair, sugar?” he stares you down, grip on your wrists tight with his chest pressing against yours. the swell of your breasts popped out of your tank top, glistening and sticky when it touched his skin. “mmm, you want somethin’?” he sucks his lip rings into his mouth teasing you, eyes wide and glossed over, throat drying. you lick your lips and slip from his grasp, sitting up and leaning your back onto ony's chest. just as you make that decision you swallow hard feeling his wet chest through your thin top. you wipe some wetness off your forehead evidently applying some mud that was on your arm to the spot.

you catch your breath, rubbing dirtied arms onto your shirt to clean them as best you could. you felt filthy but god, your fat little cunt ached laying in the dirt. 

“onyan'” you call out to the man behind you with your eyes trained on eren who simply sits back smiling impishly at you, “yea, sugar?” 

“wan’ m’ prize,” it comes out in a whine.

“yeah? ‘n what's that gon’ be,” he murmurs low in your ear, eren still hears him. you let out a ‘hmph!’ deep in your throat. then, you drag dirty hands against your tank top before peeling it off you and above your head, tossing it into some grass elsewhere.

crawling on your knees, ass arching in ony's direction, you gesture to eren with a finger, “come here, c'mon,” and you grab the back of his neck, kissing up his sweaty wet throat licking and sucking up anything your mouth touched. you press your lips to eren's, cold wet metal between you two when you let his tongue into your mouth, sucking it up when your lips lock hot.

eren groans into your mouth, hand gripping at your ass concealed by your jeans and he falls back into the mud. you reveled in the slick sound of your lips separating from each other, tuning out how soaked your jeans were getting in the rain. the ambient pelting sound on the rooftops only edged you on further, sitting in eren's lap.

“fuck, you're nasty,” eren mumbles against your lips when you pull away for a second, fingers toggling with the buttons on his jeans. he resists a big smile, elbows resting in the muddied dirt to hold himself up while you roughly tug his jeans down a bit. just enough room for you to reach his dick.

“see how she treatin’ me, ony'?” eren wipes rain off his nose, locking heavy-lidded eyes with onyankopon then down at you, “she roughin’ me up ‘cause she won,” he grumbles and you pull his cock out.

eren flinches when his dick is exposed to the rain, tan-brown tip oozing pre mixed with droplets. your knees dug into the mud beneath you, ass arching up. you stare shamelessly at eren's dick, letting the saliva build up about your tongue while you press a few kisses to the tip. his breath shudders above you, leaning his head back for the rain to fall on his face. “c'mon, pretty, do watchu want,” you grip him tight, feeling like your palm could memorize the girth and veins that popped out. then, tugging him up slightly, you slot your mouth in the gap between the bottom of his dick to his balls. sucking on the skin, you let you built up salivation drip down his balls, slurping the heavy sack onto your tongue.

you suck eren's balls into your mouth, swirling your tongue around mounds and his mouth drops open revealing his tongue ring. he grins, giving you a loud shameless groan, he was certainly showing off for ony’ who sit behind you watching. “suck it like dat, yea,” eren mumbles to you, licking the rainwater off his lips. he lets you have your way a bit more, focused on your features: the way the rain made your eyelashes clump together, the droplets sliding down your nose, to the spitty goop around your mouth all over his balls.

“c'mon, c'mon,” he pulls your mouth off him with a hand gripping the base of your hair, licking the splittle off your chin then kissing it into your mouth and swallowing your whines. “y' fuckin’ nasty, jaeger,” onyankopon mutters lowly behind you and eren bites back a smile. “filthy ass, take that shit off,” you up off your knees, flopping back on your ass where you fiddle with the buttons on your jeans. 

your cheeks burned, both eren and ony's eyes grilled into you and everywhere you touched got streaks of mud in it after having your hands dig into the sopping ground. on your arms, your boobs, eren's shirt. slowly, you shucked your jeans down, slipping them past your ankles along with your boots. your panties were stuck up your ass when you sit in some wet patches of dirty hay, tossing the jeans aside realizing you wore significantly less than the other two men with rain beating all over you.

eren and ony’ share a look then eren's the first to lurch forward gripping your legs with his muddied hands, pushing you back to lay in the dirt and kissing about the clear parts of your belly. he nips at the swell of your breasts in your bra, sucking and kissing wherever he saw fit. “er– eren,” he's prying your legs apart, pushing them ‘till your knees were besides your ears. “eren, stop–,” then he's plucking your panties out your ass and sliding them up your thighs, he stretches the thin little things beyond repair to sling them off your ankles. “what the fuck,” you whisper, eren's fucking unreachable n’ you're both staring at your fat puffy cunt. he takes a second to look to the side at ony’ before returning his attention to your pussy, sprinkles of water sliding down, yet the blubber of slick collected between your lips was noticeable.

the pretty thing was so fat your hardened clit could barely peak through. eren dips his tongue deep, digging at your hole then dragging his tongue through your folds illiciting a low gasp. the cold metal bar in his tongue nudged at your clit. he curled his tongue around the bundle of nerves, giving it a few flicks before spitting and licking another strop up your cunt. “feels– fuckin’ good, eren, oh,” you whimper, his gentle motions paired with the ambient beating of rain against your skin had you on a high. he shakes his head side in your cunt, arousal making sticky strings beside his cheeks as his nose nudges the fat of your pussy. “holy shit,” you press your head into the soft ground beneath you, eyelids fluttering shut when eren suckles softly on your clit. you hum and moan, licking your lips and feeling your head spin, “‘ren . . . oh my god,” he slurps noisily suctioning his mouth over your pussy, sucking hard over and over and over again relishing in the throb of your clit against his tongue.

“he knows, baby,” ony’ murmurs and your mouth drops open with a loud moan, his voice just did something for you. you felt the muscles in your legs twitch, itching to close them with each swipe of eren's tongue and swirling pleasure in your tummy. your hands dig into the dirt behind you, legs quivering.

“tastes fuckin’ good don't it?” he's mumbling and eren's groans into your pussy sends shockwaves against your clit, he nods vigorously. “ohh– shit,” you sit up on your elbows digging in the mud, hair soaked and heavy and your legs only spread wider; your eyes trained on eren's tongue making sloppy circles around the fat mound in your pussy.

eager, you slip your hands into eren's wet curls, stuffing his face into your cunt, “eren, eren– yea-ah!” his groans rumble in his throat and here came the fucking waterworks. your climax comes hard along with several slick kisses to your clit, beads of sweat and rain slipping down between a furrowed brow and a guttural moan ripping from your throat.

eren's mouth releases its latch onto you, your legs flopping into puddles of dirt beneath you. “prepped her f'you,” eren licks his lips and looks to onyankopon who sits there with a fat bulge beneath his jeans although unbuttoned.

“mm yeah?,” you both shuffle over to the wet patch of hay ony’ sat in, slightly less soaked albeit equally as muddy.

onyankopon gestures to eren with two fingers as he lifts himself up, brushing water from his face and allowing eren to take a seat against the wall. your eyes flicker between them, sitting with your butt resting on the heels of your feet feeling exposed. it doesn't help that eren reaches behind you to unhook your bra, your cheeks feel hot. nevertheless, you slip them off your arms.

onyankopon shucks down his jeans just below his ass,  “ [  ], come right here,” walking on your knees you shuffle forward to ony’ who puts a hand above the swell of your ass, pressing his bare chest to yours. ony's gaze is something serious, he bends his neck and clasps his lips to yours. it's slow, methodical and hot. onyankopon breathes deep and groans into your mouth. your body goes limp a little: drooping in his grasp and relaxing against his body as his tongue gently guided yours against his own. “mhm, okay . . . okay,” he presses a few kisses to your lips with a squeeze around your throat as he weans you off his mouth.

“turn ‘round,”

you whine, “w'nna look at'chu,” 

ony's unmoved, he swallows, “look at ‘ren, baby,” and he guides you as you turn in the slippery mud to arch your ass up to him, his palm glides down the small of your back deepening that arch while your head rests on your folded arms before you. the position makes it hard for you to focus properly on eren, you peep at him through your eyelashes.

your cunt is sticky, swollen lips bound together by the white film of your arousal after the orgasm eren gave you, and you feel ony's hands kneading your ass. he spreads them, watching your pussy lightly spread open with it. you hear his belt buckle jingle slightly as his hands continue to massage your back right along with the downpour. ony’ grips his cock in his hands, tugging the thick thing lightly a couple times. he catches eren staring as he pumps it harshly before pressing the fat tip against you. 

“fuuuck,” ony’ slaps his cockhead at your entrance letting it get coated by your arousal before slipping the first inch in slowly and already you're speechless. “holy– shit,” your cunt stretched to accommodate the girth and ony’ grips the curve of your back for leverage, letting out a guttural groan while slowly inching into you. 

he sits in it for a moment, allowing you just a moment to familiarize yourself with the fat pipe he just lay in you; then, he's pulling out slowly and pushing in again and you whine. “what the fuck,” you feel ony’ lean his weight over you, and you gasp as he starts smacking his hips to your ass.

paired with the wetness of the rain, his hips leave a stinging slap against you and you're faltering with your tits mushed against the mud. eren left your pussy sloppy, your cunt whipping up loads of cream slick around ony's cock and your mouth is just ajar. jaw tightening with shallow, whiny moans cascading past your lips, ‘ah's and ‘oh's are all the men hear. “mm, ony’,” you try to murmur, body giving way fully to the mud beneath and ony's grip on your tightens,”watchu’ want, hm',” he grumbles.

oh how he knows nothing of the way your clit throbs everytime his heavy balls slap against your cunt.

“wan'— wan’ it deeper, please,” and you gasp hard when ony’s hand comes up to your ass, digging his thumb into the curled rim of your butt before bringing a foot to the ground for leverage; his ankle beside your ear, you eagerly grab onto it. “got fuckin’ good manners, don't she?” he grunts out, and the other man nods. 

onyankopon gives you two warning strokes, pressing his cock to the hilt and curling his thumb inside your ass and you feel overwhelmed. then, you gasp in a loud sob  as ony’ starts drilling his cock deeper into you, his hips smack you hard and his weight presses you everytime he drives his cock in. “fuck, fuck–,” you're squealing, hands draw digs into the mud as you can't help but writhe against the mud. “feel good?” you all but whine in response, “feel fuckin' good?” “ye- yes!” you mewl out. ony’s muscles contract and you can see it in his leg, intent on keeping you from sliding away from him under the soaked muddy slop.

the noises are . . . obscene. pornographic bursts of air shooting out amidst the stirring up of your melting cunt and your cheeks burn with embarrassment along with fresh tears streaming but you're breathless. “so fuckin’ loud,” ony’ mumurs,  his lips curling into a smile when he hears the noises you make.

“m’– fuck, m’ sorry,” you weep and your walls squeeze ony’ tight. you feel a glob of slick collect at the tippy top of your cunt, the fat bulge of your clit and stickily drip down onto the ground with each rock of your bodies. “takin’ m'shit fuckin’ good, sugar,” onyankopon drawls low and you sob.

you hear him whistle above you and with  a quickness eren's pants come into view. he sits, legs spread with his groin in line with your face against the ground. he scoots forward enough so he can lift your head and replace the mud beneath your nose with the musk of his balls. “‘ren, ‘ren, ren,” you're chanting, itching for your orgasm approaching with each quick and sloppy drag of cock in you. “m” right here, girlie,” ony's pummeling you from behind and your drooly mouth now has eren's pretty tanned cock slapping against it. “holy– fuck, hng- shit,” you mutter out before you're latching your lips onto eren's tip, inviting him into your mouth. he controls it, gripping your braids and rocking your head onto his dick.

“c'mon, c'mon, takin’ that shit s'fuckin’ good,” eren praises when he starts to snap his hips into your mouth, matching ony's strokes. he strokes your soaked hair gently, juxtaposing the nasty aggression each rock of his hips brought. you gagged, muffled, globs of spit streaking down your chin as you relaxed your throat for eren's dick. in the same way, you're making a mess on ony's cock, coating his length in hot creamy release that trickled down your own cunt. “she's fuckin’ creamin' on it, E',” and you moan when eren laughs cruelly above you, “cream on y’fuckin’ cock, ma’,” he grunts.

each drag of cock against the ridges of your cunt, the slosh of your mouth had you moaning in a frenzy. “was’ ya’ problem, huh?” eren groans out, and onyankopon knows exactly what your problem is.

“mama's bout to fuckin’ nut, huh?” he can feel the extra squeeze around his cock and rolls his neck to let some rain coat his face and distract him from his own ache. they listen to how you squeal around eren's cock, hands grabbing at his jeans and ony’ pumps his thumb into your ass consistency. 

“mmm, fuck,” onyankopon hums, angling himself so the curve of his cock digs at you just right, and he smiles: satisfied when you start to squirm and fuss beneath him. eren pulls you off and you sob, coughing a little to clear your larynx. you whimper as eren all but ruts against your face. “keep her right fuckin’ there,” ony’ groans and you grasp onto eren's jeans, cunt twitching with each movement yet eren forces your shoulders back to keep your body where ony’ wants you: daggering his cock into you with a forcefull quickness that eren's rutting mimics. 

“ohmygod, oh!” you blubber out, chanting ‘shit, shit, shit's

“gon’ leave you fuckin’ gapin’, quit playin’,” and you weep.

your hips twitch and you feel the knot in your stomach stiffening, “wan’ you're cum, want y'all's c–cum, fuckkk,” wail into eren's skin and take his cock back into your mouth just as your cunt spurts and your ears feel clogged from the rush of blood to your abdomen. “take it, take it, take that cum, baby,” eren groans. you felt light-headed, stars twinkling at you around the edges of your vision as your eyes rolled and soon you were forced to blink away the brain fog to swallow the thick loads eren gushes into your mouth. 

he whines, unabashedly and onyankopon gives you a couple more strokes before his cock is digging into you to bury his surge of cum into you with a hiss.

eren falls back, letting you catch your breath and stroking rain away from your face. ony’ pulls out quick before you start to get sore, giving your cunt a few wet slaps before eren's pulling your limp aching body onto him to give you some relief. “gotchu’, gotchu’.” he consoles.

“c'mon, E,” ony’ rushes, “huh?”

“gotta’ get out the fuckin’ rain,” he puffs out a laugh before he's lifting you off eren. they both try not to slip in the mud, hurrying off into the ranch for long hot showers.

[jj-one]

HOW JUNGKOOK WOULD TREAT HIS BIMBO GF 🍥

pairing: established relationship, bf!Jungkook x bimbo!fem!reader genre/tags: smut, dumbification, degradation, praise kink, breeding kink, piv, unprotected sex, an*l, oral (m receiving), t*tty f*cking, drooling, use of the word daddy (only once)

**old repost from my deleted blog (05/24/23)

- Having a drop dead gorgeous girlfriend was a given for Jungkook, he loved the fact that y’all were both smoking hot and turn heads everywhere you go

- The stark contrast between your appearances drove him insane

- His aesthetic was more dark and mystique, is also heavily tattooed while you always wore pink and pastels, having bare skin

- Is so enamored with the idea of you being the total opposite of him, he always feels like he’s corrupting your sweet innocence

- Kinda treats you like you’re his eye candy anywhere he goes, has you wrapped up on his arm like it’s a leash

- He’s been debating getting an actual leash for you since you constantly trip and fall whenever you’re out with him

- You were just so ditzy and clumsy… it was your character flaw yet Jungkook saw it as an endearing quality

- Also loved that you were an airhead, clingy, and always wanting his attention ;( makes the joy of him coming home to you all the more thrilling <33

- Always buying you pink and girly thingsss

- Whenever he sees something hello kitty or barbie related he instantly thinks of you and buys it

- CONSTANTLY wants to spoil you, omg this man would spend every dime he could on you just to make you happy

- He looooves taking you out shopping because that’s your favorite activity !!

- He splurged on you the other day, buying you any color of that Dior lip oil that you were obsessed with, it was worth it since he’d be the one taking it off your lips afterwards

- Jungkook enjoys watching you try on skimpy outfits for him, the shorter the skirt the better— don’t get him started on the way your hardened nipples peek out the fabric of your shirts…

- Likes to play dress up with you like you’re his personal doll

- He’ll put you in a pink lace slip dress one night and the next he’ll have you wear white see-through lingerie for him; that is only when you two are in private of course

- Frequently teaches you new things so you keep up to date with current news and other events, he knows you aren’t the brightest but you have a heart of gold and do your best to comprehend everything he tells you !

- When watching movies you often pause to ask questions about the film because you don’t get it

- Jungkook made you watch ‘Inception’ with him one time and it absolutely rotted your brain

- He enjoys explaining the movie to you in a babying way, dumbing it down for you to understand it as your mind is blown away by all the knowledge he drops on you

- Laughs at your inability to comprehend the plot and pats your head while teasing you

- “Awww, you poor little thing…can’t even understand the simple concept of a movie.”

- It really really really turns him on when you wear high heels, the higher the heels the higher the tent in his pants grew

- You wore the sexiest 6-inch stripper heels for him and he fucked you out completely while you had them on, he thinks he might have a heel fetish or something

- Absolutely adores your bright & bubbly personality !! Will praise you any time he hears you say something smart

- “Did you know that Sloths can hold their breath longer than Dolphins???” You would ask him randomly.

- “No I didn’t, but thanks for the fun fact babe. You sound so cute when you talk about things you’ve discovered.”

- “It was on the back of my Snapple cap, how cool is that?! See look!!”

- He will never not be impressed by your lack of awareness, you lived in your own little bubble and he wanted to shield you from all harm and scary things

- Is sooo completely obsessed with your body

- Your bouncy tits, your curvaceous hips, and your cute plump butt was the perfect sight to send the blood rushing to his cock

- Loves. To. Fuck. You. So. Dumb.

- Uses your hole like it’s a fleshlight and loves cumming inside you repeatedly

- Dumping all his cum into your little bimbo cunt was the only thing he needed in his life

- Often catches you drooling at him, when you do this he scoops it up with his finger and puts it back in your mouth

- His favorite part of sex with you is seeing your fucked out face

- The stare you give him while you deepthroat his cock was enough to make him combust

- “Look so pretty with my cock stuffed in your mouth, such a pretty little slut for me..”

- The way he would degrade you but praise you in the same breath confused you in many ways yet you enjoyed every minute of it

- Your makeup would be all smeared, mascara would be runny, the Dior lip gloss he bought you fully transferred to his cock now

- Can never choose between if he likes doggystyle or cowgirl more since both positions he gets to look at your assets with a nice view

- Lots of titty fucking, loves having your big round tits around his cock, making a mess all over your chest once you milk him clean

- He owns all your holes, he likes to use your tight little ass from time to time

- After lubing it up nice and gently, he would go to town on your ass just pounding into your fuck hole viciously

- “What a fucking whore you are, gonna keep fucking your tiny hole until I pump every last bit of my seed in you.”

- Turns him on so fucking much when you start babbling and unable to speak proper sentences

- You’d whimper and hiccup with frustration from the way his cock made you feel

- His love language will always be making you feel so low. So small compared to him that you don’t even feel worthy of his presence at times

- “Can’t stop drooling all over yourself? Already too dumb and fucked out to continue, hmm?? Oh never mind, you’re already dumb…just shut up and take daddy’s cock like the good little slut you are, you were made for taking cock anyway.”

[ataraxiaspainting]

The Floor is Breathing.

Yan Overhaul x F Reader. 

Synopsis: You feel like both the witness and the victim in an uncommitted crime.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, stalking/non-consensual recording, mentions of binge eating, and some infantilization.

Word Count: 1k.

*~*~*~*

You can swear that these white walls blink.

Something, somewhere here, has eyes that look you up and down – you feel its breath on the back of your neck when you fall asleep facing a wall, the only decorated wall you have ever seen in this facility, actually. 

You’re not crazy. You have to remind yourself day in and day out of that fact, but you’re not crazy; you know another living being is in here with you, watching attentively.

Overhaul – no, “Kai” is what he forces you to call him now, says that there are no cameras in your room, but your gut screams otherwise.

You asked if he was sure, once, two days or four days, or six days ago – it should still be recent as you did not feel as isolated as you do now – and he responded by saying if he really wanted to keep a closer eye on you, he would just become your new roommate.

You’re unsure as to if that was a threat. He seemed happy when those words came out of his masked mouth, so perhaps it was just some unfunny gest. He made those sometimes, especially when he tries to coax you into taking vitamins every mealtime. Those jokes were as dull as the light brown and white pills piled up in a little cup meant for dipping sauces. Perhaps it was repurposed or Kai had ordered some from somewhere or he has some restaurant under his control somewhere.

Somewhere so dirty and filled with sugar and oils and artificial coloring. You’d die for just a sniff of pizza being served at an all-you-can-eat buffet or deep-fried cakes being served at a pop-up carnival. If health inspectors didn’t approve of such spots, or at the very most give them a C rating, then Kai wouldn’t go within two blocks of them. Much less let you. You’d stuff yourself to the brim like it is your last meal and compared to the boiled chicken and rice and broccoli you were given daily, chips and cookies may as well be.

A call of your name makes reality come back faster than a slap to the face – and hurts just as much.

“I asked you something, sweetheart. What do you want to do today?” Kai asks.

He didn’t seem angry or irritated as he repeated himself. His voice was still soft and the way he taps his foot against the pastel pink heart carpet reflects that. Times like these almost make you wish you were deaf. The words feel rehearsed but also feel as though they are straight from the heart like the actor was passionate enough in reciting their lines or was grossly in love with the story of the show. 

“I don’t know,” Unlike Kai, you forget your script quite often – aside from that one saying.

“You don’t know?” He’s still smiling. You know it.

“No.” You murmur. He puts an elbow on the small white table, stabilizing his head with his gloved hand. “I don’t.”

“I have some ideas,” The feeling of dread makes your stomach drop. Or was it your heart? Lungs, perhaps? You don’t know how to breathe right now, after all.

“I… don’t know, Kai.”

“You said that already.”

For your sanity, you choose to look at your freshly remade bed instead of his eyes. The rabbit plush you were given on your third or so day here lays alone on top of your singular pillow. The bars surrounding the sides reminded you of a crib. You’re only allowed to put your legs over the railing when Kai comes to your room in the morning and you’re not allowed to get out by yourself; he grabs your hand to assist you.

“Do you want to know what my ideas are?”

You’re not allowed to say no to anything Kai suggests. It’s an unspoken rule, unlike the ones for your room. “Um… okay…”

“Well,” Kai begins, his other arm being laid out on the table. His palm is facing upwards and you know what that means.

Your hand moves towards his – you try your best not to flinch this time in response to his slight grip, but you fail.

Kai chooses not to notice it for now. Just a small treat for this morning’s hug.

“I was thinking we could go to my office. Just for a change of scenery.” His thumb moves back and forth across your knuckles. “We could bring your colored pencils or your book if you’d like. It’s still noon, so we have some time before your daily check-in.”

“Okay…”

*~*~*~*

You had opted for your book in the end, although you regret your choice now because two of the four walls in Kai’s office have windows, and just outside of them were uncrowded streets that lead up to small hills on either side. The hue of the grass was off – a dull brown – but considering it was about time for autumn to roll around, you didn’t judge. Not that you could, anyway.

Could you ask to go back and get your colored pencils? You attempt to dismiss the thought by imagining future possibilities. Kai seems to be working on his computer right now though, and the guards outside wouldn’t let you leave by yourself anyway.

To hell with it, you think. It’s fine. He won’t get mad. 

At least… you hope so.

You walk over slowly until you are nearly touching his left shoulder. “Can I please get my colored-”

It’s you, from different angles and at different times of day ��� even some videos of you before you were kidnapped. They are of you sleeping, of you eating, of you looking under your bed. They are of you putting on socks, of you microwaving dinner after a long workday, of you talking on the phone with friends for hours. They are long and short – you can see some of them even repeat. Oh fuck. Is there a camera in this room too, or-

Before you can continue analyzing, Kai slams his laptop shut.

“Go back to reading, sweetheart.” It’s an order – you know it from the way he does not blink and the way his arms cross. He didn’t want you to see his screen; that fact is as clear as a cloudless sky. “You can color another day, okay?”

[kyleemm2]

Art Supplies I'd Give to JJK Characters [Protagonist Edition]

My credentials: I make art and I can do what I want.

Yuji Itadori: mechanical pencil- easy to use, easy to manage, forgiving, but he always forgets to bring extra lead and erasers. He'd draw cutesy things and anime characters.

Megumi Fushiguro: charcoal pencils- intense and moody, somewhat forgiving, but you reach the end result faster, less rendering required in comparison to pencil, and much more artistic and professional-looking end piece. He'd make abstract pieces that no one understands but he doesn't care that no one understands.

Choso Kamo: acrylic markers- not always easy to get the hang of, but once you do, you’ll create pieces that are rich in color and texture. I feel like he'd like the big chunky Krink markers. You'd KNOW he'd draw stylized portraits of his brothers!

Nobara Kugisaki: gouache paint- trendy, fun, easy to use, always reliable. Despite their popularity, they're still a viable medium! I feel like she'd paint a lot of Studio Ghibli screenshots.

Satoru Gojo: sumi ink- a classic medium that is always fun to use that yields a classy, minimalistic look. He'd definitely draw Digimon characters in classic Japanese style.

Suguru Geto: willow charcoal- soft and also minimalist, easy to use but can get a little messy when not handled properly. He'd make a lot of soft landscapes and simple still lifes.

Maki Zenin: ink pens- can’t go wrong with ink pens, they’re versatile and deliver beautiful results when used properly. She'd probably draw portraits.

Toge Inumaki: spray paint- unassuming at first, but when in use, they cannot be ignored! He'd do pop art and graffiti-styled works.

Panda: finger paints- do this really need an explanation? Fun, easy to use, and can pack a punch when taken seriously. He'd make self-insert drawings, no matter what the project would be.

Yuta Okkotsu: collage art- when done right, collages can evoke intense visual appeal while also reducing waste. Given that his CT is mimicry, using pieces already produced seems fitting. He'd make abstract stuff that tells a story or expresses his feelings.

Utahime Iori: oil paint- arguably the classiest fine art medium around, requires patience and technique but yields the richest and more alluring end results. Landscapes, portraits, anything beautiful.

Shoko Ieri: photography- why make something out of art supplies when you can capture the beauty of the world in real time? It’s always good to snap a memorable photo before it’s too late. She'd photograph her friends and herself and anything she finds interesting.

Kento Nanami: dry pastels- while they tend to require some skill to produce quality pieces, the technique is worth it. And if you’re a fellow pastel fiend, you know how pricey Sennelier is. Nanami uses the high-quality shit. He'd do still life art of things in his home for the sake of convenience, but he'd probably want to do seascapes if he ever made it to Malaysia :c

lmk if u agree or disagree. i have an antagonist edition coming as well

[n3kk1tty]

"Imagine being the adopted Daughter of the Sinclair brothers showing up in Travis county one day after buying a piece of land and a home to start a new life for you and your fathers. "

Thomas Hewitt x Reader

Ambrose burned down that night and you were lucky to escape with what you did. Your twin father's clinging to life as tears streamed down your face tearing out of there before the cops could show ripping your family from you. You made sure you wouldn't be followed. No one would find your family and take them from you. You had grabbed what you could in the hours before departure after pulling your father's to safety and killing one of the survivors. You and Lester filled two cars with what you could before setting the whole town ablaze in a finale good bye. Your family home and town in mass flames as nothing would survive. Too many bodies to determine if you all had died in the fire or not.

You were a smart girl and had dreams of one day leaving the nest you just didn't think this is how it would turn out. When your fathers Vincent and Bo came to you were already across Louisiana state lines into Texas with your father Lester following in his truck. In the aftermath your family had found another ghost town to set up in. You were happy your years of prep for a life on the road had paid off as you had a lot of money to spare to help start this new chapter. You were practically tossed the keys to the house and land for cheap as everyone was abandoning this town, happy to sell for nothing. Bo took long to adjust to the change, getting into fits at having nonstop maintenance to do on the house and new garage. While Vincent lamented at the tragedy of what happened and how all his art was gone.

You had managed to snag only a small box of your fathers tools and art journals in the fire but had made sure on a trip to pick him up new art mediums when you went towns over for supplies one day. You remember how hard the quiet man hugged you when you awkwardly showed up in his basement room with a box of different art mediums. Signing to your father while you spoke. " I know it doesn't replace what we lost that night. But maybe it's time to try new mediums just like our new beginning. I love you dad." After that day Vincent would dive into new mediums every time you brought him some. He quickly took up wood carving and mask making to replace his wax prosthetic while using his oil pastels to draw the texas sunsets.

You and your father Lester were the most positive of the family about the move. You did your best to make the house a home and to keep the family together while Lester got work a ways out picking up road kill just like he used to. The only piece of mind with him having such a long commute was the fact Jonesy was always with him and he was just a call away. Your family lived in the quiet town for a few months blissfully unaware of your cannibal neighbors lurking in the ghost town as well. That was until you started frequenting the corner store for goods. Things like nails, cigarettes, and beer became a regular on a trip for you to do as Bo was always asking you to pick up things while he stayed home mumbling to himself.

It wasn't till your third trip did Luda Mae start questioning you. You brought the beer to the counter pointing to the cigarette brand your father liked. " A husband at home who likes to drink and smoke missy?" You let out a small laugh in response to the older woman. " No, no. Sadly not Married nor dating Ma'am these are just for my father. He's been working on our house and having me go fetch him things. " The woman perks up behind the counter. " Working on a house you say. That wouldn't be in this town would it. Ain't hardly anyone left let alone new comers. " You lean across the counter the sweetest smile you could muster in your face.

" We actually like the quietness of the town. Haven't had time to meet our neighbors though after moving in a couple of months ago. We've been too busy trying to get the house in order. I think I have already lost count of the days with how much I've been in my garden or kitchen all day. " The older woman pulls in a seat motioning for you to sit with her at the counter as she interrogates you. " So you like keeping yourself busy? Is it just you and your father and mother in the house, I know I'll be losing track of days myself keeping up with the three boys in my house. "

You laugh as you shyly scratch your head. " No ma'am. Never had a mother before. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it but I'm adopted by three brothers. They kinda found me abandoned when I was younger in this roadkill dumping ground and when they brought me home none of them could decide who the father would be so they are all just kind of my dad's. Now I know that must be a little strange and off putting to most but I sware that's my life. Though I guess legally my Pa Bo is my father as he took me to appointments when I was little. "

The woman could feel her maternal instincts fluttering in her chest as she schemed a way to make you her daughter. Luda Mae was determined to be the mother you never had, or even mother in law. " Oh that sounds like something silly three men would do. Must have been tough growing up with no mother. " You sigh to yourself as you think back to the home you can never return to a sadness hurting your heart. " I mean my father's certainly struggled teaching me to be lady-like. If it wasn't for my dad Vincent I'd probably still be running around in a baseball cap and boy clothes being a wild child. He used to fuss for hours learning how to style my hair like all the other little girls and make me dresses to wear since sometimes money got tight. "

" Oh you poor thing. What brings y'all to Travis? Planning on staying long or are you gonna set out on your own eventually. " Your smile drops as you half heartedly try and smile again at the woman but she can tell that question hurt you. " No, I think I'll stay here with my dad's. Our last home was burned down thanks to burglars and we barely made it out alive. I'm just doing my best to hold my family together. They are all I've ever known and I wanna keep them safe. I should probably be heading back before the beer gets warm."

Luda Mae walks you back to your car patting your back as you finish your chatting. " Well you know men. If you don't tell them to take a break they will work themselves ragged. My old man Bo is probably fiddling in his garage or in the house again. I'd love to come by for a visit, Miss Luda and give a proper introduction since we're neighbors. Maybe I should bring some dessert for your boys. " The woman smiled as you started the car up. " Oh (Y/n) I think my Tommy would fancy meeting you. " A blush and a nervous laughter arises as you remember back to the last time you attempted romance and how Bo and Vincent nearly made him a wax figure in Ambrose.

" I'd be charmed to meet him. I'll be seeing you around ma'am don't work yourself to hard. " After that day Luda Mae became determined to hook Tommy up with you. You were the perfect candidate for her son. The list of womanly house chores you could do was phenomenal and you were a sweet family oriented girl who was pretty to boot. The next visits to the shop you brang the old woman all sorts of things while you two spend the time chatting away. Like homegrown veggies, or fruit you snagged outta town, you even brought her some embroidery you did while learning with Vincent. All things Luda Mae appreciated and shown how you were the perfect daughter in law for her. She brought the things home showing them to Tommy talking his ear off about how she found him a bride finally and the man was excited just to get a look at you.

Hoyt caught wind of the newcomers in town and decided since he was the sheriff he might as well introduce his authority. Luda Mae almost took his family jewels though stating that you were Tommy's and Tommy's alone so to keep his hands off her future daughter in law as the man got ready to drive over. It took the whole Hewitt family to stop Tommy from hopping in the back of the car to catch a peek. Luda Mae had to assure him that you'd meet in due time but she was buttering you up for your new position.

At your house you had snagged bees to add to your new little farms addition so you were attending to your helpers. There wasn't much food out here and you and Lester were the only ones bringing in money so you figured homesteading was good enough to keep your family fed and happy. Trips out to town were long and tedious like Ambrose but you made do with selling things at the farmers market to help bring home ends meat. Your little farm had rabbits, chickens, and bees for wax now. You beamed in pride up at the window as Vincent signed to you. " Bees ? For wax ? Bee- careful not to get stung. "

You laughed at your fathers joke as you smiled as you signed back to him. " Very funny Dad. " Suddenly a cop car came rushing down the pebble road to your home. You freeze in fear as Vincent takes notice of your face rushing to grab Bo and his tools as your brain rushed with the thought that your family had been found. You were panicking. How did they find you. There was no way anything survived that fire or the victims could pin point you. Your eyes darkened as you grabbed the knife in your apron pocket. No one would take your family from you without paying with their life first. The sheriff hopped out the car standing in the driveway to your porch as you stood in your gardeners outfit and sunhat before him. " Well hello sheriff what brings you all the way out here?"

" Well I sheriff Hoyt would be surprised that we have newcomers in town who haven't even met their local police officers yet. Luda Mae has been chatting up a storm about you missy and I figured since I'm the sheriff of our small town it only makes sense to get to know who I'm protecting. " Your grip loosens from the knife in your apron as you let out a relieved sigh. " Well my goodness sheriff what an honor it is you drove all the way here to meet us. I'm sorry I would have been dressed a lot nicer if I knew someone so important was coming. Why don't you get outta the heat sir. That uniform must be blazing in this heat I'll go grab my father and some lemonade to cool you off. " The man's ego felt extremely boosted by your demeanor as he took a seat in the rocking chair on the porch.

You rushed inside in time to stop your twin father's from rushing out the door to mangle the sheriff. You push your hands on their chest signing out with your hands what's happening just so you know no one can hear. " It's just one of Luda Mae's boys. The lady from the store said her son was the sheriff. He isn't here for us, just to introduce. " Bo stares down grumbling as he wipes his hands clean of car grease. " Guess we should make peace with our neighbors. Stay outta it if things go south though. Understand. " You smile at him as you go to the kitchen Vincent following behind as you shout to the man. " I will Pa. You want beer or lemonade?" You laugh as Bo replies back lemonade is fine as he doesn't wanna share his booze with the sheriff just yet.

The front door swings open as Bo towers over the man on the porch. His face switches to a smile as he walks over to the sheriff sticking his somewhat cleaned hands out. " Well hello there sir. How kind of you to stop by. I'm Bo Sinclair the man of the house. Sorry about the car grease, was working on my truck. " The sheriff shakes his hand as he looks the man up and down. At least they weren't bikers or hippies he thought as the pair sit down making small talk as you bring drinks out. The two spend hours shooting the shit almost bonding over there disdain of the bikers in town. They talk about the town and its history while Bo eventually offers to fix up the sheriff's car as it looks like it could use a look under the hood.

By the time the old men are done chatting and taking a look at the car discussing Bo fixing up cars for the sheriff and splitting profits off of car scraps Lester and Jonesey are making it up the drive way for dinner. Hoyt ended up meeting the whole strange Sinclair family that night as he stayed for dinner. Fresh veggies and beautifully seasoned food with dessert and beer. The man almost didn't want to leave and agreed with Luda Mae your family's would be best together through you and Tommy's future wedding. Though Hoyt wouldn't tell your fathers as the twins were built out of brick and Lester was proud to show off his roadkill job so winning the Sinclair's favor was the Hewitts plan.

That night Hoyt went home with a full stomach and plenty of leftovers as your rabbits were well multiplying like rabbits. The sheriff tossed the leftovers plate to Tommy as he patted the boy on the back saying he was lucky. " We found you a good one boy. Gonna have to marry that one so me and my future business partner can keep bringing good meals like this home. " Tommy nearly licked the plate clean as the cucumber salad and roasted rabbit were heavenly on his tongue and when he got to the Mississippi mud pie on the plate he almost wanted to run over there now and officiate the wedding. Tommy was even more excited as Hoyt told him not to worry about his face as your father Vincent had a birth defect to his face as well. Talking about how if Tommy asked he would probably make him one of those fancy prosthetics to boot.

The first time you met the giant guard dog of the Hewitts was on the faithful day you invited them all over for dinner. The Summer heats had been rough but you Sinclair's had made your new home finally to your liking and it only took half a year. Hoyt and Bo were thick as thieves in their car business. Your garden was flourishing as you did wonderfully at the farmers markets selling off eggs, rabbits, and flowers. On rare occasions you'd sell art that Vincent made. All the Sinclair's had pulled together and were now financially stable again and adjusted to their new lives. The past may have burned down but the new peace you had you wouldn't trade for the world.

Maybe Ambrose going up in smoke was the blessing you all needed as it took with it the past bad memories as well as the good. Along with the Sinclair's doing good that meant the Hewitts got to thrive off of your generosity as well. Luda Mae spent hours making Tommy scrub off blood and dirty from his body to be presentable for your first meeting. You had brought the woman many fancy soaps from your trips to town and she was currently doing her best to make the man smell like roses. She even went out of her way to trim back his hair and freshen his clothes. With the last spray of stolen cologne the Hewitts were piling into the new fixed up car they had fixed up by Bo.

When they arrived the porch was lit up with fairy lights and the old Texas farmhouse was now as beautiful as it ever was. New paint and many maintenance later with your adding of decorations and dried herbs on the porch the Sinclair's property was the prettiest in Travis county. How either family never broached the topic of murder was a mystery as it wasn't like Bo wasn't making people disappear for car parts and cash when they wandered into your property. Can't have his new sheriff friend being crossed with him but the Sinclair's weren't going to let anyone take their new home from them. While the Hewitts kept with keeping their freezer stocked.

Both families stood in front of each other smiling while their dark secrets made them even more similar than they thought. Tommy nervously handing you a bouquet of wild flowers he picked while you tried talking to the behemoth. The Hewitts made themselves comfortable in your living room while they talked your fathers up. The same fathers who kept glaring down the Hewitt boy any time they thought he was stepping out of line with their beloved daughter. You two were watched like a hawk as Tommy nervously fiddled with his dress shirt while you softly talked to him trying to get him to look at you. Gentle hands felt his forearms as he tried to communicate back but couldn't as he was unable.

The Sinclair brothers watched like guard dogs around their daughter as you sat with Tommy on the couch teaching how to use sign language to communicate with you. Jonesey sat by you getting pets as you taught him how to sign dog. You liked the sweet man you did. He was shy and big but he was a gentleman to you as electric shot through your heart every time you touched. The Hewitts plan was working and you and Tommy were just in the beginning stages of your love story they thought. The two family's after that night became thick as theives. You and Tommy were paired together most days then not afterwards as the boy would get so excited he would happily do the long walk to your property just to see you.

Even if his help wasn't needed he would be there for an hour so you could teach him sign while Vincent worked away on a better prosthetics for your boyfriend to be. Every time this boy lumbered up the porch he'd bring you a gift and be as clean as possible while happily making noises at you. You even started sneaking off to the Hewitts under the guise of helping Luda Mae in her own garden and home just to see Tommy. Under the Texas heat love bloomed in the air and the families grew closer and closer together. You were so close it was becoming harder to hide each other's secrets.

It all came out in the open one day though when one of the victims came out of the basement when Bo and you were over to help. They came running out covered in blood begging you for help in the kitchen with you and Luda Mae in the middle of pickling. They yanked you away while swinging the knife at the old woman shouting for everyone to hear that the Hewitts were monsters and you should leave. The old woman panicked begging for you not to leave coming up with excuses as the victim lunges at her. With a swift wack of a cast iron they were slumped in the floor as you made work to cutting the vocals cords and Achilles tendon in the poor thing.

Luda Mae stood in shock as her sweet gentle future daughter in law was blankly using a knife to finish the girl off making sure she wasn't gonna be causing a fuss anymore. You stood above her as you looked at the old woman, blood smearing your face as you laughed. " Guess our families are a lot more alike than I thought Luda Mae. " Bo and Hoyt came sprinting into the room noticing the blood and girl on the floor as Hoyt was prepared for the worst of having to fight his friend before the mechanic gave an approving chuckle. " That's my girl. Quick and effective. Well come on Hoyt the ladies can't keep pickling with this bitch on the floor so let's get it cleaned up. I'm hungry for some lunch too. Would y'all ladies mind making us men something. "

After that the families solidified a friendship between the two Travis County quickly became a place for people to disappear and die. The Sinclairs did not partake in the cannibalism like their friends but they would gladly help lure victims or finish people off. The families were always at each other's places to help and soon we're even helping fix up the corner store and the Hewitt home. Life was peaceful and eventually Tommy got the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. Through the little sign language he did know under a southern live oak tree Thomas Hewitt asked for you to be his girlfriend.

You gleefully said yes as you tackled the man down to the ground placing a loving kiss to his face. You two hid under your tree from your prying families as you spent the evening in each other's arms giggling away as you exchanged kisses and bated breath. Your life in Ambrose may have been destroyed in that fire that night but you wouldn't trade your new beginning for the world. A fire could destroy the past but it also could warm your heart to the new future to come.

This was an idea in my head after I rewatched both movies. If y'all want more of Thomas Hewitt X Sinclair daughter make sure to let me know or if you want more Sinclair Daughter posts in the future.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 27 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-“I have a surprise for you.”

Hearing this fills you with what is perhaps a disproportionate amount of trepidation.

However…consider the source.

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t going to give it to you yet, but…I think I’d better.”

You are not sure what to think about this, so you remain silent.

He takes your hand, leading you up the stairs.

As you walk down the hallway you are filled with more and more apprehension, convincing yourself that there is some trick he’s pulling around the corner. He has been disappearing on and off, refusing to tell you where he was going, but vaguely hinting that he was cooking something up for you.

You fear it’s something you don’t want at all, like a red room fully fitted with racks and restraints and hooks hanging from the ceiling. If he frames that as a gift you swear you will pull a Bertha, and burn this personal version of Thornfield Hall to the ground.

You do not like it, when he insists on covering your eyes as he walks you through a door close to your bedroom upstairs. By the time you take three steps into the room you have damn near worked yourself into a lather, a fine trembling running through your limbs.

“Shh, baby, you’re going to like this,” he assures you, which is no real assurance at all.

Five more steps before he stops you, removing his hands with a flourish.

Your heart leaps to your throat.

Floor to ceiling windows let in a flood of morning light to the room. There is a big table, and copious shelves, and…an easel.

You realize he has made you an art studio.

Your feet move forward of their own volition, taking in the various boxes stacked on the table and the shelves. They’re art supplies, and you recognize brand names that you could hardly afford on your barista’s salary. Sennelier. Windsor and Newton pigments, top tier. Fine brushes from France and Germany that cost fifty dollars a piece. Tablets in every size and every tooth of Canson paper.

“Oh. My. God.”

“You…like it?”

He almost sounds vulnerable in that moment, which is entirely ridiculous.

You imagine how you would have reacted, if your relationship had been normal. You would have thrown your arms around his neck, showered him with kisses.

This studio is everything you’ve ever dreamed of having, as an artist.

As it is…he is buying your complacency, if not your love, trying to distract you from your situation with expensive trappings and let’s face it—adult arts and crafts.  

It hurts.

And yet, you know you’d better fucking say something, or Mr. Nice Wick is going to flee the scene.

“How did you know?” you ask, fingering a box of brand-new oil pastels. “It’s perfect in every way.”

You are trying your best to sound happy about it, but your throat is tight, and you know he’s going to get mad about it any second now.

He couldn't have surprised you more, if he'd stood on tiptoe and performed a pirouette, as when he simply gathers you into his arms. 

“I had help from the owner of the art supply store,” he admits. “Pretty sure they'll be sending me a Christmas card for the rest of my life.” 

You laugh at that, settling into the hollow at the base of his throat. It feels so good, just to be held like this. A part of you cautions not to trust it—but most of you is so exhausted from living on edge, you just take the comfort at face value. 

“Did you go to Mr. Morton’s shop?” you ask, referring to the local art stop in town. You don’t know why this gives life to a glimmer of hope in you. It’s not like the kind old man would have any reason to suspect you’re here, with John Wick, just because the mysterious newcomer suddenly had a yen to buy out the store of all its art supplies.

“No, I went a little farther afield.”

Almost as though he was covering his tracks.

“Oh.” You cannot conceal the note of disappointment in your tone. “John…” You muster your courage for the next question, hoping you won’t blow the day all to shit, but you suddenly need to know. “Am I a missing person?”

He presses his lips to your forehead, and speaks quietly against your skin. “Technically, no. A friend of mine will ping your passport entry at JFK soon. You’ll tender your resignation with regrets at the coffee house. I’ll have your little apartment cleaned out. You don’t need it anymore.”

He really did think all this through. You digest the details of his Machiavellian plan rather distantly, as though you are on the outside watching from above. He has orchestrated your disappearance masterfully, but also in a way that won’t raise questions with authorities should you happen to resurface in his company. In a twisted way this gives you a sliver of hope, that maybe he doesn’t intend to keep you locked away forever.

A fool’s optimism, perhaps, but at the moment it’s all you have.

“Where’s my phone?”

“At the bottom of the Grand Canal, I’m afraid.”

“That’s littering.”

He just snorts in answer. You find that you regret the fact that all your photos are lost. You never did back them up on the cloud. How strange, that such a record of your life could be erased with the destruction of one electronic device.

Talking about this doesn’t seem to scuttle his mood, so it gives you the courage to ask, “Can I come in here whenever I want?”

You are so hopeful in your request that you sense him war with himself, in the end unable to outright say no. “If you're a good girl,” he qualifies with his lips still on your forehead. 

Hiding beneath his chin, you grind your teeth at this caveat, but don't voice aloud any of the pithy comebacks that come to mind. 

 Then you notice your sketchbook from Italy is sitting on the worktable, along with your custom bound copy of Jane Eyre.

After everything, you’re not sure why seeing it there, knowing it had been in his hands, makes your heart skitter in your chest. He follows your gaze, a dark eyebrow lifting. It is filled with sketches of him from before you met up in Venice. The whole fucking thing is practically a confession of the grinding longing you'd felt for him, in the first couple weeks after you left. You can’t deny it now, but you can choose not to acknowledge it aloud.

He stares you down, clearly hoping for…something. A confession, perhaps, or at least an admission. You feel like a bug under a magnifying glass in the sun, fixed with that gaze. But you hold fast, and in the end he sighs. “I’m going to go clean up breakfast,” he tells you. “Have fun with your new toys.”

He kisses your forehead before quitting the room, and once again you fancy that if one were to squint, you could almost mistake the two of you for a normal couple.

-He actually leaves you to your own devices until darkness begins to fill the trees beyond the window.   

By the time he comes to collect you he has changed into a black button down and dark jeans. It suits him to his bare toes, and inwardly you sigh. Why does this devil of a man have to be so goddamned handsome?

“So, what has my little artist made today?”

You are loathe to admit, the answer is nothing.

You opened every box, gazed at the pastels and paints and pencils longingly. And yet with charcoal in hand the fine white paper taunted you, inspiration an illusive thing.

You had no idea what you wanted to draw, or paint, or make. The past week has been so jarring, you would think you would be bursting with something, but all you draw is a blank. 

You shrug, curled up in the comfy chair by the easel, your drawing pad open in front of you. He takes the seat opposite, regarding you quizzically.

“You don’t like it in here?”

“I love it,” you assure him, and its no complacent lie. “I just…have been soaking it in.”

“Hmm.”

You can tell that he’s disappointed, and your treacherous heart skips a beat.

You failed to turn on any lights, as the sun is setting. John flicks on a single lamp on the side table, washing his one side in a dramatic glow. It is as though something clicks into place, as you look upon him. Your dark angel, your sinister lover, your obsessive captor, a man you should hate, but you are drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

Perhaps now, he shall also be your muse. Was ever there a man better suited to embody the mysteries of Caravaggian shadow?

“Don’t move,” you say softly, and begin to draw.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 84)

N was on patrol around the perimeter of the workshop, flying low and flitting through buildings as he surveyed the streets both hands now claws as he gripped onto ancient concrete and tail whipping behind him.

It reminded him a lot of hunting, only it wasn't for food, he wouldn't dare touch the oil that came out of the infected, or give it to any one of his family, who knows what it might do to them.

“Update.” A gruff, southern accented voice reverberated through his software, a radio attached to his audio receptors that was far more long-range then anything inbuilt, though now he had to answer to Dale… who… did not particularly like him.

“Clear.” He parroted into the radio, wincing as feedback crackled into his systems, he swore he was doing it on purpose, every time he signed off it would be a split second of screeching feedback… he was going to go deaf at this rate.

He wanted Hal back… But he was still in the bunker, keeping the peace in this time of unrest with his branch of the WDF.

Dale's team was the smallest, it was Dale himself and four or five other guys, the only drones in the whole bunker that had weapons at a higher caliber then 9mm. Using fully automatic rifles that ate through ammo like he did oil.

They didn't talk to him, they rarely even looked at him, unless it was to give him dirty looks as he walked past. Most workers had gotten used to his presence, were even friendly now (Uzi's pregnancy announcement may have helped a bit with that.) But the group he was now working with? Seemed to hate his guts.

It wasn't anything he wasn't used to. So he just bore with it, and did what he always did… not say anything.

Uzi would probably tell him to have a backbone and actually say something about it and stand up for himself, but wouldn't lashing out prove that their view of him was correct? That he was aggressive and dangerous and couldn't be trusted?

He sighed as he flew back towards the workshop, finding nothing out of place for the time being.

Uzi was finishing up a preliminary sketch of the shuttle, 600 charge pods cramed into 230 feet of real estate, the smallest she could possibly do with all they needed to make sure they could all survive a decent period in space.

Which…. was still utterly huge, about as large as the largest commercial aircraft ever made on Earth based from her research, and quite a bit larger then any of their early space shuttles.

But they weren't working from scratch at least, and the thrusters on the landing pods were overpowered as it was, so all they needed was more of them…

So the next course of action was getting the rest of the pods into the workshop, long trips into previously uncharted territory to retrieve them, risky, but risk didn't matter if without it, they'd be buried under flesh.

She sighed, running a hand along her destended stomach, at 4 months now, her core was a light, pastel pink and the inside was constantly shifting and moving. Trying to hide anything at this point was laughable, she had the body shape of a pear and it was only made worse by her already small size, a tired grumble escaped her. As her core gave a hearty kick.

“I hear you…” She mumbled, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes breifly. She'd begun to get weird looks, which made sense, drones normally didn't get any bigger during pregnancy, but no one said anything yet, either trying to be polite or just not caring enough she didn't know… nor care.

“Ya alright?” A gruff, friendly voice wafted into her ears, and she opened her eyes to come face to hair with a bushy brown beard.

“Hal? What are you doing out here?” She asked, turning so that she could look at him properly instead of upside down.

“Shift just got done inside, wanted to check up on you and N, is he here?” He placed a hand on her shoulder, cocking his head.

“I think he just finished his patrol, should be on his way back.”

“Great! Wanted to invite ya guys down to the house, my wife wanted to meet both of ya properly.” He clapped his hands together cheerfully before looking around a moment.

“Where’s the little one?” He asked, and Uzi gave him a small smile in return.

“V and Lizzy have her, she shouldn't be out here in the cold so much.” She explained, before a shiver went down her own spine.

“Neither should you, can't be healthy for the baby.” She blushed, she forgot sometimes that literally everyone knew now.

“I'm fine. Seriously, N worries enough… and everyone else now, ugh.” She reminisced, on a day that N and V were both busy, Thad and Lizzy escorted her from the nest to the workshop, Thad's coat wrapped around her despite her insisting she was fine.

“Sounds like ya have good freinds.” Hal replied, smirking.

“We do.” Came a third voice from the doorway, N leaning into the curtain with a smile, Tera in his arm, giggling as she gripped her little bat plush.

“Mama!” She squealed, and Uzi chuckled as she squirmed in N's arms, trying to get to her.

“N! There you are.” Hal slapped him on the back, a beaming smile on his face, Tera immediately leaned forward to grab his beard. “I was just telling Uzi that I wanted ya guys over! My wife's been asking about ya!”

“Oh! Yeah! That would be awesome!” N beamed back, before glancing at Uzi and backpedaling slightly.

“I-If Zi feels well enough, so that's up to her.”

“Mmm, smart boy, happy wife, happy life.” Hal commented, N blushed slightly, smiling to himself.

“I'm good N, yeah, we can stop by.” Uzi Confirmed, rising up out of her seat and stretching “not much more I can do tonight anyway.”

“Yay!” Came childishly from N, and Uzi rolled her eyes fondly.

Next ->

[sosa2imagines]

You, me and Vegas! Part 5

Warning- Fluff, little angst, talk about failed dates.

The spa was a beautiful, tranquil place, with soft ambient music playing in the background. The scent of essential oils filled the air, creating a soothing atmosphere. The walls were covered in calming shades of pastel blues and greens, and the lighting was intentionally dim to help promote relaxation.

The decor was modern yet earthy, with plants placed strategically to provide a sense of nature indoors. The overall effect was a peaceful retreat, the perfect place to unwind and forget the worries of the world.

While Peach was enjoying her massage, completely relaxed and her mind at ease, Bucky was having a different experience.

The masseuse worked on his back, kneading and pressing his muscles, slowly loosening the knots of tension.

However, Bucky was not as relaxed as Peach. His eyes were wide open, looking around the room. He felt out of place, unused to such environment.

“You need to relax.” the masseuse whispered, noticing his tension.

Bucky looked at Peach, lying on her stomach on her table, her eyes closed peacefully. She looked so relaxed, it made Bucky envious. He wanted to relax too, but years of being on high alert had trained his body otherwise.

The masseuse's hands on his back continued their work, trying to coax the tension out of his muscles. “You're too tense.” she commented, pressing her fingers into a particularly tight spot.

Bucky, his head turning slightly, whispered over to Peach. “Hey psst, Peach…” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the other guests in the spa.

Peach, her eyes still closed, hummed softly. “Trying to relax, Bucky.” she responded, a hint of amusement in her tone. “Like you should be right now.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Yeah, I'm trying...” he replied, though he still felt somewhat restless. His body was not used to just lying there, doing nothing.

The masseuse continued her work on his back, but Bucky's mind was still active. He looked around the room, taking in the peaceful ambiance, the soft music, and the other couples in various stages of relaxation.

Bucky, still lying face down on his table, looked over at Peach again, trying to keep their conversation quiet. He whispered across to her, his voice a low murmur.

“Hey, Peach,” he whispered, catching her attention. “Seriously though, why are we here? This seems like a total waste of money.”

Peach, her eyes still closed but a small smile playing on her lips, didn't move from her position. “We're here,” she responded softly, “because we both need to relax. You've been too stress, and we are here to remove that stress.”

Bucky groaned softly. “But this is so... unproductive,” he protested, his voice still low but with a hint of frustration. “I could be doing something else, something useful, not just lying here let someone press on my back. I should be serious, I'm jobless.”

Peach's eyes opened for a moment, her smile widening slightly. “Jobless doesn't mean you can't relax,” she replied, her voice still soft. “In fact, if anything, being jobless makes you need to relax more. You're too much on edge, Bucky. And will being serious get you a job?”

Bucky grumbled under his breath but couldn't argue with her logic. “I guess not,” he sighed, feeling the masseuse's hands still working on his back. “But I'm not used to just... lying here. This feels... I don't know, weird.”

Peach chuckled softly. “I thought you'd say that,” she remarked, her eyes still closed. “But just try to enjoy the moment, Bucky. Stop thinking, stop worrying. You need this, let them take your stress away.”

Bucky, his face still half-buried in the massage table, smiled at her words. His expression softened, the tension in his features eased. He opened his eyes and looked over at Peach.

“You know,” he said, his voice quiet, “I was thinking...” He paused, then continued, “You should stay with me, for the time being.”

Peach's eyes opened and her smile widened as she heard his words. She turned her head slightly and looked over at him, her eyes warm and appreciative.

“Of course,” she replied, her voice soft but filled with happiness. “After all, what's a 'wife' for? if not to support and stay with her 'husband' in times of need.”

Bucky smiled back at her, his heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and affection.

It was both a comfort and a surprise, Peach's easy acceptance of his suggestion. To have her with him, living under the same roof, felt both nerve-wracking and... nice. “You are impossible...”

Bucky and Peach, after their massage session, moved towards the pool area. The water was warm, the temperature just right. They relaxed there, letting the water soothe their muscles.

Bucky floated beside Peach, the water buoying him up. He looked over at her, her eyes closed, and spoke up. “Hey, remember that escort card?”

Peach opened her eyes, a curious look on her face. “The escort card?”

Bucky nodded, a slight frown on his face. “Yeah, that one,” he confirmed. “My best friend Steve thought I could use it...to loosen up. Especially after a failed date...”

Peach floated closer, her curiosity piqued. “And did you?” she inquired, her voice soft. “Use it, I mean.”

Bucky looked away, his gaze drifting to the water's surface. “No,” he replied, a hint of regret in his voice. “I just... couldn't bring myself to do it. I'm not the type to just... go to clubs and pay for a date.”

Peach nodded, understanding his sentiment. She knew Bucky was never the type to indulge in such things. She reached out and touched his arm gently. “Good,” she said, her voice firm and filled with reassurance. “You're too good for that anyway. Want to share why your date failed?”

Bucky let out a soft sigh, the memory still fresh in his mind. “She was just... not interested,” he said, the sting of rejection still there. “I thought we had a connection, and she seemed excited about the idea, but when the date happened...” He trailed off, his voice betraying a hint of hurt and disappointment.

Peach's heart ached for him. She could see, he had been hopeful about the date, and the fact that it had ended in disappointment must have been hard on him. “That's rough,” she murmured, her hand still on his arm. “I'm sorry.”

Bucky shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It's fine,” he muttered, though his expression didn't quite match his words. “I mean, it's not the first failed date I've had and probably won't be the last. It's just... hard, knowing that no one seems to want to give me a real chance.”

“So you have been through the whole, listen to sad songs, watch sad movies, questioning everything?”

Bucky chuckled, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Yeah, I've been there,” he admitted. “Sad songs, sad movies, questioning life... the whole thing. But it doesn't really help, you know? Just makes you feel more miserable.”

Peach floated closer to him, her voice filled with understanding. “Yeah, I get it,” she said. “It's like these things just make you sink deeper into the sadness. And then you feel even worse about feeling so bad.”

Bucky nodded, appreciating her understanding. “Yeah, exactly,” he agreed. “You just keep thinking, 'Why did this happen? What's wrong with me? Why can't I seem to find someone that wants to be with me?' It's like a cycle of self-pity and doubt.”

Days had passed since the spa day. Peach had tried multiple times to get Bucky to agree to give dating another chance. Each time, Bucky was reluctant, shutting down the idea as soon as it was suggested.

Today was no different. They were sitting in the living room, the topic of dating once again coming up.

“Come on, Bucky,” Peach insisted, her voice firm. “You need to give it another shot.”

Bucky shook his head forcefully, a stubborn look on his face, “No,” he said firmly. “I told you, I don't want to. I've had enough failed dates for a lifetime.”

Peach rolled her eyes in frustration, her determination to change his mind undeterred. “You can't just give up on dating, Bucky,” she argued. “You're a great guy, and there's someone out there for you. Just call her!!!”

Bucky's expression hardened at her insistent tone. “No,” he repeated firmly, “I don't want to. I'm tired of putting myself out there, only to end up feeling worse. I'm done with dating!”

Peach let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes narrowing at his stubbornness. “You can't just give up like this,” she retorted, not willing to back down. “What if you find someone really great if you keep trying?”

Later that night, Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, the phone in his hand. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. The conversation he'd had with Peach earlier was replaying in his mind, her insistence that he give dating another try echoing in his ears.

He dialed the number with slightly trembling fingers, the dial tone seemed to echo in the room, the anticipation building.

The phone rang for what felt like an eternity, each ring making Bucky more and more nervous. He glanced towards the door, where he knew Peach was waiting anxiously, silently encouraging him. He could almost envision her expression, her eyes wide, lips pressed together as she hoped for the best.

Finally, the ringing stopped, and a soft, feminine voice answered. “Hello?” The voice on the other end was polite, yet held a hint of curiosity. Bucky swallowed back his nerves and spoke, trying his best to sound more confident than he felt.

“Hey, it's Bucky,” he said, his voice slightly trembling. “We met at my parent's party, and you gave me your number...” He paused, waiting for a response, the silence on the other end making him more nervous by the second.

There was a moment of silence before the girl responded, her voice registering surprise. “Oh, right, yes...” There was a pause, in which Bucky could almost feel an impending rejection. But then, the girl spoke again. “You're calling to ask me out, right?”

Bucky's heart skipped a beat at the confirmation. “Yeah, I am,” he replied, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner tomorrow?”

There was another pause, longer this time, and Bucky felt the anxiety rise inside him with each second passing. He knew she was probably thinking about her answer, weighing her options, and he almost expected a rejection. But then, she spoke again, her voice soft. “Sure, that sounds nice. See you at 8, at the Bristo. “

Bucky's heart leapt at her words. She had agreed to the date. He could hardly believe it. “Great,” he managed to say, trying to sound nonchalant, “I'll meet you there at 8. See you then.”

As he hung up the phone, the adrenaline from the successful call slowly subsiding, he let out a sigh. Peach, who had been listening from the other room, rushed into his room, a wide smile on her face.

“You did it!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. “I knew you could do it! You're going on a date!!” She was radiating happiness, clearly pleased with the outcome.

Bucky, still feeling the buzz from the call, smiled slightly at her enthusiasm. “Yeah, I did it,” he agreed, a hint of disbelief in his tone. “I actually asked her out, and she said yes. I can't believe it.”

Peach, her face set in a serious expression, gave Bucky some firm advice. “Here's something important,” she said, her tone authoritative. “Don't take your car. Sometimes girls love to give their dates a lift. It gives them a sense of control and independence. Besides, it makes you seem less self-absorbed.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her suggestion. “You think so?” he asked, not entirely convinced. “I mean, I always thought driving made me seem responsible and dependable.”

Peach rolled her eyes. “Maybe for other occasions, but not for a date,” she responded. “Think about it. By letting her give you a lift, she can show you she's independent, capable and confident. Plus, it adds a hint of mystery and intrigue, especially if she is proud of her car.”

Bucky and Peach spent the rest of the evening discussing date ideas, with Peach offering her thoughts and advices. Bucky sat with a notebook, taking notes as she spoke, his expression a mix of determination and nerves.

He jotted down thoughts from Peach, such as the importance of good hygiene, active listening, and being genuinely interested in the girl. He also noted the tips about clothing and hair, the importance of paying compliments, and how to not come off too strong.

But most importantly, being comfortable and being yourself.

Part 4- Part 6

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@emerald-writes @caplanbuckybarnes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @saranghaey @greatmistakes @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt @hzdhrtss

@unaxv @pattiemac1 @lovely-geek

[appleblueberry-pie]

hii!^^ i was wondering if i can request a fic for miles (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎) ive had this thought where there in art class! and we make a oil pastel drawing! but we don’t like it decided to throw it away would miles be the type of person to ignore it or pick it up and keep it! (≧∇≦)b u can ignore this request if u want!❤️ i love ur fics!

People know not to mention a damn thing, not even let their lips twitch when they see the popular boy, the 'player', the one that gets all the girls digs in the small recycling bin by the door of the classroom to get your crumpled artwork.

You don't notice this every time it happens. But everyone else knows. They wonder what you think every time you're walking back to your seat and see Miles passing you the same way you just came from.

When he's in his room after school, he takes all of the discarded works he saved into his lap and unfolds every single one carefully and takes in every detail before putting it with the rest of his collection. He loves your careful strokes you've made with the pencil. Nothing screams 'you' like your artwork. Your mind transcribed onto white paper for him to appreciate.

Sometimes, he wonders if you've ever drawn him before. If you've ever had him in mind while drawing. He wonders if you two could share artwork one day? If you'll ever consider his presence in the class and you two could share a bond that way?

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Invisible Smoke - One

Summary: There is something going on with Jake’s favorite mechanic.  Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin/F!Reader Word Count: 6.7k 

A/N: Tentatively dipping into the TGM fandom after months of lurking. I do subscribe to the belief that Jake likes women who are a bit mean to him, so I hope you enjoy that dynamic, too! I’m sure there will be general Naval inaccuracies but I tried. I grew up on Air Force bases so if I use an incorrect term, I apologize! Please let me know what you think! Trigger Warnings: This series will touch on themes of stalking, domestic violence, and attempted murder (not committed by Jake). Please do not read if this will upset you. You are responsible for the content you consume.

It started slow.

For as long as Jake had known you, which was just over a year give or take, you had never been a jumpy person but everything now seemed to have your eyes darting from one corner of the hangar to the other, from one table at the Hard Deck to the next, as if you were waiting for something or someone to appear and do something.

But what was it?

Some Ensign fresh off the boat dropped a tray of beers and nearly had you leaping from your seat beside the pool tables before you settled again, an unsteady and unconvincing smile on your face when Jake turned to you. Your smile twitched, as did your grasp on the drink (which you swore was actually called Bee’s Knees) in your hand.

“What is going on with you?” He asked, after shoving the pool stick into Coyote’s hand for a moment to step to your side.

Your smile continued to twitch but you shook your head. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” You took a sip of your pastel yellow drink before setting it aside to wrap a hand over his arm and squeeze once. “Go back to your game, Jake. I’m okay.”

Jake didn’t believe you. Mostly because that was probably the first time you said his name without an accompanying smirk.

He didn’t believe you when he saw you murmur something to Rooster a few minutes later and the man quickly drained the rest of his beer before leading you out to the parking lot with a hand on your back and then Rooster came back in alone. He didn’t believe you when you only gave him a thumbs up emoji when he asked if you got home okay. He didn’t believe you when you said you weren’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make it to the beach for brunch with the Daggers on Sunday morning.

Something was going on with you and Jake was determined to find out what. After all, you were his favorite mechanic. And, apparently, you were also Rooster’s. And Bob’s. And Phoenix’s, too. Even Maverick had a soft spot for you and Payback, Coyote, and Fanboy were quickly growing attached, as well. He wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of the Dagger Squad preferred you to the other mechanics. And no, Jake didn’t hate that at all. After he’d been called back to Top Gun and then the Dagger Squad had been made into a permanent detachment, Jake had noticed that you were…special.

And that was the only word he would allow himself to call you. Well, aside from “Punch,” your unofficially-official nickname around base because you’d once dropped a punch toolkit on an admiral’s foot, according to Rooster.

Jake’s first glimpse of you had been at the hangar a few days into the uranium mission training and you and Rooster had snuck off to some deserted hallway. Jake, of course, had followed, thinking he was going to have something to needle his cohort with but instead he saw you–in your mechanic’s jumpsuit and engine oil on your cheek basically scolding the pilot. “You are so fucking lucky he didn’t wash you out with that attitude.”

“He-”

“Stop. Show him you were always meant to be here. Be the best damn fighter pilot he’s ever seen and nothing else.”

Rooster was quiet for a moment before nodding, his chin nearly falling to his chest. You sighed and quickly wrapped him in a hug, only smiling when Rooster kissed your cheek and whispered something in your ear.

You had a similar, secretive meeting with Bob in the shadows of an unused classroom on base a few days later when Harvard and Yale were busy getting their asses handed to them by Mav. Jake had stepped out to grab something from his locker to show Javy when he spotted you…and Bob looking quite chummy as you whispered to each other as you looked at something on his phone. Jake stopped looking (like a creep) when you murmured something to Bob which apparently earned you a kiss to the temple in return.

And the first time he heard you laugh was when you were looking over Phoenix’s new plane after that fateful birdstrike. Your nose scrunched with it, head tipped back and sun shining on your face. The noise grew louder after Phoenix said something else and you nearly lost your grip on the wrench in your hand.

Those three had kept you like a secret. And Jake had wanted to know why. You were funny and smart and maybe a little mean. “Kill Streak Ken Doll” had apparently been your nickname for him before being properly introduced and it only came back out when he said something you thought was stupid. “That plastic head of yours is full of air today, huh, Ken?” But you were always happy to make sure the Squad got home safe after a night of drinking, well earned after a hard training day. You were usually the first one anyone called if they needed a lift or a favor or just a shoulder to lean on. And Jake was no exception. Once he had earned your friendship with gentle prodding and Snickers ice cream (but he would wager that saving Rooster may have contributed to your softening to him), he wasn’t sure what he would do without—without you—even if you did seem to make it a personal mission to keep his ego in check. All of the Daggers knew their relationship with you was bordering on inappropriate—you were enlisted instead of an officer. A subordinate to their ranks. And several years younger than most of them. You were one of the few tasked with maintaining the internal mechanics of the million dollar jets they piloted. But there was just something about you that didn’t allow them to keep you away.

God. You were…special.

**

This was better. This was safer. At least that was what you told yourself. You’d skipped out on the brunch date on the beach with the Daggers to put another three locks on your door. Your landlord didn’t mind, thankfully, but the man at the hardware store that had rung up your purchase definitely thought you were insane.

As you finished with the last lock and then added the three keys to your ring, your phone chirped with a new text. It was from Jake, asking if you needed anything since you’d told everyone you weren’t feeling well to get out of the beach get-together. You typed out a half-hearted, Unlike you, I know how to operate a can opener so I can have soup. But thanks anyway! X Was it your best retort? No. But you were running on four hours of sleep and a cup of green tea. And it wasn’t as if Jake was unaccustomed to your shitty attitude. There was just something about him that had your hackles raising and your sarcasm and snark were your only line of defense. Which was ridiculous because he was nice to you! So nice! And funny! And kind when he wanted to be. He always said please and thank you when you picked up beers for the beach or when you were assigned his super hornet for the day. He was nice. Maybe a little (a lot) cocky. Maybe a little arrogant.

But god he was beautiful. A good friend. And special in a way you didn’t like to think about. And you were 99% sure he’d caught you ogling his arms and hands an embarrassing amount of times when your resolution slipped and your daydreams had run rampant for more than a moment.

And that was exactly why you knew you needed to keep him at arm's length. You had enough people tangled up in your bullshit.

Your eyes dragged over to the crumpled note sitting on the edge of your small dining table. It was almost pathetic how easily a simple piece of paper and a bit of ink had upended your life. It had been stuck beneath your windshield wiper when your car was parked outside your favorite off-base grocery store. One you had frequented for nearly two and a half years. You were supposed to be safe. You thought you had been. Maybe that’s why you had let your guard down. You weren’t as vigilant.

See you soon

Three little words and your world had turned upside down.

**

Monday morning had been a blur of meetings and paperwork. Jake had been stuck filling out forms about possible training exercises for the next week. Maverick had tasked each of them with coming up with new ways to approach various targets and Jake had a sneaking suspicion that the Dagger Squad would be asked to teach a lesson or two to the next Top Gun class.

He called it quits on his near-impossible flight plans around lunch and wandered toward the minuscule break room to retrieve his food but paused as he heard Maverick call your name. You swept by the break room, leaving behind a scent of gardenias and sunshine that almost always had Jake’s mouth curling at the corners, and moved further down the hall. So, Jake crept closer to the break room door, chicken and broccoli forgotten for a moment. He had to strain to hear anything above a low murmur and eventually gave up and stepped back into the hall, trying to stuff down the realization that he’d followed you too many times for this to be considered friendly curiosity. But he ignored that, too. Just like how he could only call you special. A few yards away, he spotted you, back turned as you spoke to Maverick just outside the captain’s office.

Maverick’s brow pinched as you shook your head, wiping a hand down your face. He said something else before squeezing your arm once and walking away, thankfully turning the other way so he didn’t spot Jake lurking like a creep. And Jake waited exactly eighteen seconds before approaching you, watching as your shoulders slumped.

“You okay?”

You jumped, again, before a familiar smirk settled on your lips. “Checking up on me?”

“That so hard to believe?”

You hummed, fingers fiddling with the uniform button at your neck as your gaze flittered away. “I’m fine, Jake. Promise.”

“What did Mav want?”

Just for a moment, you faltered, before you slapped an exaggerated pout on your features and you set a hand on your hip. “Poor guy. He asked me to be his and Penny’s third. Had to turn him down. But you’ve got a thing for them, don’t you? I can put in a good word for you.”

Jake suppressed a sigh and moved to set a hand on your shoulder when you flinched.

Flinched.

It took the air right out of Jake’s lungs. “Hey, I-I wasn’t going to…I wasn’t going to hit you.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides for a moment before quickly releasing. “Yeah, I know, Ken. I know.” The usual heat was absent from the nickname. “Just been jumpy lately.”

“I noticed.” A lot.

“Nothing gets past you, huh? I knew there was more to you than a pretty face.” Your smirk didn’t stretch quite as far across your face as it usually did. This wasn’t fun and something twisted behind his ribs when the last vestiges of your smirk fizzled out as you turned and crooked a finger over your shoulder at him. “Is there something you needed, Lieutenant?” You asked as you led him down the hall toward your office, a small little room compared to his, grouped near the rest of the Aviation Machinist Mates stationed here—why the Navy shortened your official title to “AD” was just ridiculous to Jake but that was neither here nor there.

“Do you have the maintenance logs for the incoming class?” He asked, knowing you’d have them; he didn’t actually need them but it wasn’t as if he could admit to…well, anything. Not even to himself. You didn’t seem to suspect any ulterior motives and quickly pulled them from the cabinet and handed them over. He stole some candy from the bowl beside your keyboard as he looked over the printouts, not reading a damn word. Not when you were so close, flooding his senses with the scent of gardenias and your laughter was in his ear.

“I’m surprised you eat anything with sugar.”

“Why?” He asked, closing the useless folder shut with a snap and tucking it beneath his arm.

You waved a hand at him as if that would answer his question as you settled in your little chair behind the desk. “Well, I guess your abs really are plastic then.”

He had a retort. He did, truly. But it faded away as he caught sight of the small collection of pictures arranged neatly on the corner of your desk. There was one of you and Bob—you were in a (short) dress Jake had never seen and you were pressing a kiss to his cheek hard enough to knock his glasses askew with a birthday cake aglow in front of him. The next was of you and Rooster, looking like you were standing just outside the annual Naval Ball celebrations if Rooster’s whites and your beautiful gown were any indication. Then there was you and Phoenix standing in front of Phoenix’s jet. You had a helmet with Punch written across the top tucked beneath your arm and the biggest smile on your face. Jake had never seen you smile that wide. But it was the last picture that gave Jake pause. It was of you wrapping your arms around a man Jake had never seen, who was wearing a graduation cap and gown; the man was smiling broadly and you were looking at him with all the adoration you could muster, a gentle smile on your lips. Another woman, who looked just enough like you to give him even more questions, had her arms wrapped around both you and the mystery guy, a large smile on her face.

Jake grasped at the small frame and turned toward you, trying to ignore how it felt like someone had taken a bat to his stomach for the second time in five minutes. “Who’s this?”

You grabbed the picture from him with a frown and set it back down in its spot, fussing around the frames for a moment. “That’s my brother and sister.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings.”

You shrugged but didn’t look at him. “You never asked. Is there something else you need?”

Yeah. There were dozens of things he needed. And right now most of them revolved around you. “No, Punch. But thanks for this.” He drummed his fingers against the folder and tried not to grimace when you didn’t look up from your computer as he neared the office door.

For all the time he spent thinking about you, he didn’t know you at all, did he?

**

You needed to get more sleep. All the tea you were inhaling to make up for the lack of rest was starting to grate on you. The work you were handling on the Dagger Squad’s planes was slower, mostly because you were worried about missing something, but you were still methodical when double checking everything. You knew that your work kept your aviators safe; skipping corners because you didn’t sleep well wasn’t an option. So, if your counterparts looked at you funny for staring at your punches or wrenches for a beat or two too long, you didn’t really care. You left late for lunch and came back early. You didn’t leave your post until a full two and a half hours later than you usually did, but, again, you didn’t mind. You felt safe in the hangar and making sure everyone was safe when in the air was enough to keep you coherent and focused on your job. Everything else didn’t matter when you had a tool in your hand and your head buried in a jet engine.

But when you stepped out of the locker room shower, engine oil still circling the drain, your mind almost immediately conjured the thought of the tracking device you’d found in your rear wheel well this morning. It had been sheer luck that you even spotted it, the sun hitting the silver duct tape just right as you locked your door. In a moment of panic, you ripped it off your car and stuck it on one of the trash cans near the hangar. It wouldn’t help anything—he probably already knew where you lived but at least now he would have a few days spent trying to figure out why you were going back and forth between the hangar and the dump. It was a minuscule solace.

You climbed into your car with a muted groan just as your phone chirped, reminding you that you had several unread messages. You opened them and a wave of self-loathing washed over you. Natasha, Bob, Bradley, and Jake had all invited you out to the Hard Deck for drinks. It’s been a shitty day! Tasha’s read. She had no idea and you weren’t about to tell her. You apologized to them all, copy and pasting your response, telling them you’d buy a round next time but you were too tired tonight. It was easy enough. But Jake had responded before you could even throw your phone into the passenger seat.

Do you need anything?

You tapped your phone against your mouth for a moment, hating the urge to tell him anything…everything. Instead, you typed out: Sleep, Ken. I need sleep. Reading comprehension isn’t your strong suit.

You tossed your phone into the cup holder in the center console and pulled out of the hangar’s parking lot, hoping that there’d be no more surprises tonight.

**

Jake stared down at his phone and frowned at your message. You were really off your game. And had been for too long. Something was wrong.

“You’re up, Bagman.”

Jake looked up to see Phoenix holding a pool cue out to him. But he didn’t move to take it. “Does Punch seem off to you lately?”

Phoenix frowned, grip tightening on the cue for a moment. “She’s tired. That’s what she said, right?”

Jake nodded but glanced down at his phone again, as if willing it to light up with another message. But all he saw was his face staring back at him in the reflection. Now, Jake had been working on being nicer since the Dagger Squad had become a permanent detachment. These people would have his back and counted on him to have theirs. It had been slow going, Jake would admit. His best friend was still Javy and the others were happy to remind him of his shortcomings whenever Hangman superseded Jake. But he knew they all cared about each other in a strange, ragtag family type of way. They cared about you. They knew you. “How do you know her? I mean, you obviously knew her before we were all stationed here.”

The woman paused for a moment, as if she was contemplating actually telling him, before shrugging. “We were stationed together in Hawaii. My then-girlfriend tried to cheat on me with her,” Phoenix said, breezily as she took the seat next to him. “I walked in on them. Poor Punch didn’t know I existed before the near-hook up and apologized like ten times on her way out and then tracked me down at the hangar the next day with six different drinks from the coffee shop because she wanted to apologize properly but didn’t know my favorite. She was just so…”

“Punch.” That was you, doing too much to make up for something that wasn’t your fault and weaseling your way into someone’s affections without even meaning to do so. You’d also accidentally revealed your bisexuality to the rest of the Dagger Squad during a ramble when you thought you’d stepped on Fanboy’s toes by insinuating he had a girlfriend. (You only stopped when Phoenix patted your hand with a laugh and said she understood with a wink.)

Phoenix laughed. “Yeah, she was just so Punch. Couldn’t be mad at her if I tried. And it seemed like we both needed a friend.” She shook her head, a fond smile on her face, before she glanced up. “Bob, you met Punch on deployment, didn’t you?”

Jake looked up to see Bob standing near him, a cup of peanuts in one hand, pool cue in the other. Jake stopped being surprised by Bob’s stealthy movements only a few months ago. The WSO nodded. “She was the only one who remembered my birthday and set up a video call with my family to surprise me. There was also an attempt at a cake but that didn’t end well.”

“She can’t bake?” Jake asked, not caring at all. He could bake. His specialty was a Victoria sponge.

Bob smiled, the smallest curling of the corners of his mouth. “Nearly set the kitchens on fire. And then she got mad at me when I actually tried to eat it. Now, if we’re both stateside for my birthday, she makes sure to have a cake sent to me from whatever bakery is nearest my base if she can’t make it out herself.”

Something in Jake’s chest twisted. Special. You were special.

And Jake hadn’t realized he said that out loud until Bob was agreeing with him. “She is.”

“You think there’s something going on with her?” Phoenix asked.

“She seems tired,” Bob said, voice level. “Why do you ask?” Leave it to Bob to be tactfully evasive.

“You know, you should ask Rooster. He’s known her the longest.” Phoenix called the man in question over before Jake could even try to stop her. And Bradshaw fucking sauntered over, stupid Hawaiian shirt flapping with each step. He must have a cache of them in the Bronco.

“What do you need, Trace?” He asked, his usual small smile on his face.

“Hangman’s been asking about Punch. You met her first, right?”

Bradshaw stiffened for a moment. “Yeah. She was fresh out of training and stationed with me in South Carolina. We met up again in the desert a few years later.” Jake didn’t like how the other man crossed his arms with a frown after answering. “You trying to pull something, Bagman?”

And Jake definitely didn’t like that either. Would that be so bad? Really? “I’m just worried about her, Rooster. She’s been off.”

At least Phoenix seemed to be on his side, jamming the end of her pool cue into Rooster’s foot, earning a frown before his hand knocked it away. “She has been a little quiet lately.”

Jake caught the look Rooster gave Bob before he turned back to the group. “Has she said anything to you guys?”

“No. That’s why I was asking.” Jake stared at Bradshaw and Bradshaw stared right back. He could have asked what he was hiding or why he immediately got defensive when questioned about you.

But Fanboy walked up with a quick, “are you guys just gonna hold the pool cues all night or are you actually going to play?” and the opportunity was gone, Bob slipping away and Phoenix pulling Rooster along as she stepped toward the pool tables.

Jake glanced down at his phone again. Still no message. He may have learned something about you, but now he just had more questions.

**

This was fine. Everything was fine.

It had been about a week and you hadn’t received any other notes or discovered anything else. And you still couldn’t sleep. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff and just waiting to fall. Waiting for something to happen. Work was your refuge and the trip you took out to visit Missus Kazansky for dinner. She had held your face in her hands as you set aside your bowl of half-finished ice cream and had tried to pry, in her soft-toned motherly way, “you’re looking a little tired, sweetheart. Something you want to tell me?”

And maybe you could have told her. The Kazansky family had been good to you since you had been stationed here, a family that welcomed you with open arms; you had tried to repay their kindness as best you could and you weren’t about to put more on Sarah’s plate. It had only been a year since Tom’s passing. They had done more than enough for you. You could handle this on your own, right? “I’m okay. Just been helping Bradley take his mind off his promotion boards.” And Tasha. And Bob. In some strange twist of fate, the Navy had determined that the entirety of the Dagger Squad was eligible for promotion. While there was little you could do aside from helping them improve their running times and how many push-ups they could do, you still tried to be optimistic on their behalf and distracted them with dinners in the break room on base and a late night run down to the beach for drinks under the stars.

“That’s right! He’s up for Lieutenant Commander, isn’t he? Such a smart boy.”

By the time you left, Sarah had heard all about the Dagger Squad’s adventures in pushing the envelope (and rising Admiral Simpson’s blood pressure) in their dogfight maneuvers and you had learned that the Kazansky kids were doing well—Junior had proposed to his girlfriend (a young woman named Taylor who you had met a handful of times) and Lily was sailing through the last semester of her undergraduate program and was already being wooed by some big wigs in the Navy who knew her last name. It was good and lovely and a bubble of security that popped the moment you buckled yourself into your car.

A quick glance in your rear view mirror as you went to throw your car into reverse had you nearly screaming. A shadowed figure of a man was standing at the end of the driveway, tall and menacing. A knock at your window had you jumping but you pressed a smile to your face when you saw Sarah waiting on the other side. Rolling down your window, you asked, “did I forget something?”

She waved the question away as you chanced a glance in your rear view mirror again—the man was gone. “It completely slipped my mind but I’m throwing an engagement party for Junior and Taylor next Friday. You’ll come, won’t you? It has been too long since I’ve had all of you in one place.”

You could never say no to Sarah and you were nodding before she even finished. “Of course. Just let me know if you need me to help with anything.”

Sarah shook her head with a small smile. “You are always so willing to help, sweetheart. I just want you to have a good time. It’ll just be here at the house, starts at 7. Invite a friend to come with you,” she added with a knowing smile.

“I’ll be there.” You hated that a tremor marred the last word, shaking it between your teeth.

But Sarah didn’t seem to hear it as another smile graced her features and she tapped her knuckles on the edge of your window. “Perfect.”

After shooing her back inside and making her promise to lock the door, you sucked in another breath and looked back. If you were expecting the man to be there again or not, you couldn’t tell. But the driveway was empty and you drove home, ignoring how your fingers shook on the steering wheel. Maybe it was just someone out for a walk, making sure you didn’t run them over. Maybe it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

You repeated it to yourself until you slipped into a fitful sleep, and you continued to repeat it to yourself as you tightened and tweaked various bits and pieces on Bradley’s jet as the Dagger Squad each took a turn to speak to the incoming Top Gun class that you had, honestly, forgotten about. It was a mantra through the rest of the week; a small solace was that everyone else seemed to be on edge, too, as they waited for their results. The voice only went quiet when Bob wrapped you in a hug at five-thirty in the morning, beating you to the hangar on Friday, and murmured that the entire Dagger Squadron had been selected for promotion. They’d made it.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered as you returned the hug.

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been just fine, Bobert,” you said as you pulled back with a shake of your head.

He tried to scowl at the nickname and pressed a finger against your nose until you knocked his hand away with a smile. “Seriously, Punch. Thank you.”

That was all it took, really. Seeing your friends happy pushed everything else to the back of your mind. The work day was all but lost as everyone was buzzing with excitement which only heightened when Admiral Simpson gave the Dagger Squad free reign in the skies for a few hours to celebrate, the barest hints of a smile on his face. Celebratory drinks were basically demanded when the day finished and Tasha and Callie made you promise to show up with matching, pleading looks that you could never say no to, even if you wanted. So, as the sun started to set, you stepped out of your little car, feeling bits of sand shift beneath your shoes, and toward the Hard Deck that was already teeming with Naval Aviators and other sailors, ready to celebrate the end of the week and the shiny new pins they’d soon have on their collars.

Bradley wrapped you in a hug just before you stepped up to the bar and spun you around and held you tight as his laughter rumbled in your ear. His mustache brushed across your temple before he pressed a quick kiss to your skin, feeling him smile. “You’ll be there, won’t you? When I get those little leaves?”

You snorted at the way he referenced the new rank insignias he would get. “‘Course. Wouldn’t miss it.” Not if you could help it.

**

The Navy had a lot of strange customs and regulations, but the “wetting-down” celebration was probably one of the loudest. Whenever an officer was promoted, a party was thrown and it was customary to hear razzing speeches from friends, sometimes family, and commanding officers while the recently promoted paid for everything. Maverick had taken the first speech, followed by Hondo, and even Cyclone got up to say a few words, his green eyes just barely hazing with the to shelf alcohol he’d been nursing all night. A few of the ground crew managed to snag the microphone next and sang a gloriously off key rendition of the Village People’s “In The Navy.”

And Jake did try to take it all in. Really, he did. But something he wouldn’t and couldn’t name had him searching for you in the crowd. He wasn’t sure where you found the time to change but Jake wasn’t complaining. God. You were gorgeous. Always had been, always would be. But the dress you had on now was something special. Some sort of floral print on light blue fabric, pretty and understated. What was not understated was the way your breasts were straining against the top nor the slit that went to the middle of your right thigh, as if trying to balance out the length of the skirt that reached your calves.

And right now, you were sitting with Rooster at the piano, letting him teach you how to play. It was quieter than Rooster’s usual showboating performance and the jukebox was still rattling with some 80s Top 40 to mask the notes you couldn’t quite hit. But you were smiling and Jake took a swig of his beer as he turned back to the pool game—he and Javy were currently beating Harvard and Yale. As he lined up his next shot, he saw Rooster make you laugh and you leaned into his side for a moment. For the umpteenth time, something twisted behind Jake’s ribs. The ball sunk just as you stood from the piano bench and made your way toward Penny as she manned the bar.

And because luck or just plain talent (why not both) was on their side, Javy sank the eight ball next, winning the game. Yale called for an immediate rematch before Phoenix yanked the cue out of his hands and told him to tend to his bruised ego over darts. Jake barely heard any of it as he slid up to the bar after clapping Javy on the shoulder and let your perfume curl around him as he stood beside you; gardenias and musk was probably written on the bottle of whatever you sprayed on, but he could still smell the engine oil that lingered. It was just…you.

“And a Bee's Knees for you, Punch,” Penny said, sliding the pastel yellow drink in your direction.

“Thank you, Penny.”

You went to pull your wallet out of your purse when Jake handed over his card instead. “Put her little drink on my tab, Penny.”

Before Penny could move, you grabbed Jake’s card and tossed it over your shoulder. Penny stifled her surprised laugh behind her hand as Jake groaned and bent to pick up the card. If he took a little longer to stand straight because he appreciated how high the slit in your sundress was, that was between him and God.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, Punch,” Jake drawled as he reached his full height again, watching you tip the coupe glass toward your lips. “But I just made Lieutenant Commander. I can afford to buy you your fruity drink. And it is tradition that I buy the drinks.” Jake resisted the urge to smirk when your eyes tracked over him, lingering (if he was a betting man) on his arms as they crossed across his chest. But the saccharine smile pushing at your mouth quickly deflated any sort of satisfaction from knowing you were checking him out. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught you looking at him but you never seemed to let him enjoy that.

“Technically, any of the people who were just promoted could buy my drink.” And that was true. As if asking him to refute it, you pressed your side against the well-worn wood of the bar and arched a brow after you pulled a few bills from your purse and stuffed them in the tip jar. God, you were…special. Yeah. That was definitely the word Jake wanted to use. Special. “Could you put my drink on Bob’s tab, please?”

Penny’s eyes moved from you to Jake before nodding, fighting another smile. “Sure thing, Punch. He has the smallest tab right now anyway.”

And that was probably why you did it, not adding too much to someone else’s ledger. But still. “Would it kill you to let me buy you a drink?” Jake asked.

You shrugged and took another sip. “It might. Best not to tempt it.” And then he watched you walk away, hips swaying with each step.

Penny’s laugh had Jake nearly blushing as he turned back to the bar. “Can I get another round of-”

She waved him off, still smiling, and Jake knew not to take it personally. “You got it.”

The party carried on and Jake busied himself with dancing, more pool, and beating everyone who challenged him to a round of darts. But, he found himself still looking for you in the crowd and smiling when he heard your laugh. He almost missed an easy shot in a game against Phoenix and Halo when he spotted Bob trying to teach you how to two step while some old Tim McGraw song rattled out of the jukebox. You were bad at it, but you still laughed, and didn’t seem to mind when Bob set his hands on your hips and tried to correct, well, everything. When the song finished, you seemed to be excusing yourself for the night and moved to grab your purse from where it sat next to Halo’s and Phoenix’s bags. You started, as you always did, to make your rounds to say goodbye to everyone you knew. The last bunch was the group stationed near the pool tables and you happily accepted the hugs from Phoenix, Halo, and Javy, before turning toward him.

He could have accepted the hug you were going to give him, arms outstretched and waiting. He could have tucked his face into the curve of your neck and inhaled more of your gardenia perfume and then happily watched you walk away. But instead, he said, “lemme walk you out to your car.”

Again, you arched a brow as you glanced at the pool table. The game was clearly not finished. “Your southern gentleman schtick is not necessary, Ken. Don’t think I’ll get lost in the parking lot.”

“I am a gentleman.”

Both Phoenix and Halo scoffed, albeit good naturedly, but Jake did see Javy nodding in agreement out of the corner of his eye.

Your mouth twisted to the side and Jake knew you were trying not to smile, making that same twisting sensation engulf his chest. “Sure. I definitely believe that. But fine, you can walk me to my car. But when you get lost on your way back inside, you have to promise me to use all that special Naval training to get back to your game. You know which way is north, right?”

Jake didn’t even mind the insinuation and leaned the pool cue against the table and stepped to your side, fighting the urge to set his hand on the small of your back before opening the door for you. Again, the scent of gardenias nearly bowled him over as you slipped by him with a murmured ‘thank you.’ The pair of you were quiet as you led the way to your car near the edge of the lot but Jake didn’t mind.

You fished your keys out of your purse as you reached your car and turned toward him with a smirk and Jake just knew you were going to say something about needing Javy needing to come rescue him. You opened your mouth but your gaze darted just beyond his shoulder. Then something crossed your face that he had never seen before. Your eyes went wide as your teeth clacked together with how quickly you shut your mouth. The keys fell from your hand and bounced off your shoe. And before Jake could even move to grab them, you had scooped them up again and you cursed as the key scraped against the yellow paint of your car instead of pushing into the keyhole.

“Thanks for walking me out.” Your voice was small. Too small.

“Punch-”

You threw your door open and slid inside, slamming it behind you just before the engine roared to life. The window rolled down and you had a shaky, small smile on your face. “Get inside. I’ll see you Monday. Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander.” And then you were pulling away, the tail lights of your car growing smaller by the moment as you peeled out.

What happened? What did you see? Jake turned to look where he thought you spotted something and saw nothing. There was a man further down the beach and a couple walking hand-in-hand coming closer. There was nothing threatening about either of them.

But still.

Jake had never seen you look like that before. You were scared. All of the jumpiness, all of the flinching, all of the ditching of plans. It made sense now. Something or someone was scaring you. And now he had to know why.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!If you’re interested, the unofficial soundtrack to this fic includes: “Archer” by Taylor Swift, “Talk to Me” by Stevie Nicks, “Pancakes for Dinner” by Lizzy McAlpine, “Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Boulevard” by Lana Del Rey, and “Golden Age” by Ethel Cain.