#the new ones sprout and scream at me

[shitty-quotes]

In every person who has come into my life, has left with pieces of me. Some sharp, having been broken by others. Some with jagged but soft edges. Some stolen from me. Others perfectly rounded and shaped, cut out and given to them by me. But the question is, do I regrow the old pieces? Or have I been growing new ones?

#shit quote #shit quotes #shitty quote #love quotes #love #love quote #to be loved is to be changed #the new ones sprout and scream at me #begging me to stop giving away every piece of my being to everyone who walks into my life #pleading with me to stop breaking myself for others who wouldnt do the same #they make themselves jagged and sharp in hopes to keep me from giving them away #to keep them safe #they make it too hard for me to grab and give #too painful #too difficult #and in doing so #theyve made it so no one can even get close enough for me to even try to give them a piece of me #and i dont know which is worse #to give away every part of me #or to not have anybody get close enough to give away every part of me

[headspace-hotel]

Nature is healing.

I burned the Meadow a couple weeks ago. At first it looked like nothing but charred ashes and dirt, with a few scorched green patches, and I was afraid I'd done something terrible. But then the sprouts emerged. Tender new leaves swarming the soil.

My brother and I were outside after dark the other day, to see if any lightning bugs would emerge yet. We had been working on digging the pond. That old soggy spot in the middle of the yard that we called "poor drainage," that always splattered mud over our legs when we ran across it as children—it isn't a failed lawn, and it never was.

Oh, we tried to fill in the mud puddles, even rented heavy machinery and graded the whole thing out, but the little wetland still remembered. God bless those indomitable puddles and wetlands and weeds, that in spite of our efforts to flatten out the differences that make each square meter of land unique from another, still declare themselves over and over to be what they are.

So we've been digging a hole. A wide, shallow hole, with an island in the middle.

And steadily, I've been transplanting in vegetation. At school there is a soggy field that sadly is mowed like any old field. The only pools where a frog could lay eggs are tire ruts. From this field I dig up big clumps of rushes and sedges, and nobody pays me any mind when I smuggle them home.

I pulled a little stick of shrubby willow from some cracked pavement near a creek, and planted it nearby. From a ditch on the side of the road beside a corn field, I dug up cattail rhizomes. Everywhere, tiny bits of wilderness, holding on.

I gathered up rotting logs small enough to carry and made a log pile beside the pond. At another corner is a rock pile. I planted some old branches upright in the ground to make a good place for birds and dragonflies to perch.

And there are so many birds! Mourning doves, robins, cardinals and grackles come here in much bigger numbers, and many, many finches and sparrows. I always hear woodpeckers, even a Pileated Woodpecker here and there. A pair of bluebirds lives here. There are three tree swallows, a barn swallow also, tons of chickadees, and there's always six or seven blue jays screaming and making a commotion. And the goldfinches! Yesterday I watched three brilliant yellow males frolic among the tall dandelions. They would hover above the grass and then drop down. One landed on a dandelion stem and it flopped over. There are several bright orange birds too. I think a couple of them are orioles, but there's definitely also a Summer Tanager. There's a pair of Canada Geese that always fly by overhead around the same time in the evening. It's like their daily commute.

The other day, as I watched, I saw a Cooper's Hawk swoop down and carry off a robin. This was horrifying news for the robin individually, but great news for the ecosystem. The food chain can support more links now.

There are two garter snakes instead of one, both of them fat from being good at snaking. I wonder if there will be babies?

But the biggest change this year is the bugs. It's too early for the lightning bugs, but all the same the yard is full of life.

It's like remembering something I didn't know I forgot. Oh. This is how it's supposed to be. I can't glance in any direction without seeing the movement of bugs. Fat crickets and earwigs scuttle underneath my rock piles, wasps flit about and visit the pond's shore, an unbelievable variety of flies and bees visit the flowers, millipedes and centipedes hide under the logs. Butterflies, moths, and beetles big and small are everywhere.

I can't even describe it in terms of individual encounters; they're just everywhere, hopping and fluttering away with every step. There are so many kinds of ants. I sometimes stare really closely at the ground to watch the activities of the ants. Sometimes they are in long lines, with two lanes of ants going back and forth, touching antennae whenever two ants traveling in opposite directions meet. Sometimes I see ants fighting each other, as though ant war is happening. Sometimes the ants are carrying the curled-up bodies of dead ants—their fallen comrades?

My neighbor gave me all of their fallen leaves (twelve bags!) and it turns out that piling leaves on top of a rock and log pile in a wet area summons an unbelievable amount of snails.

I always heard of snails as pests, but I have learned better. Snails move calcium through the food chain. Birds eat snails and use the calcium in their shells to make egg shells. In this way, snails lead to baby birds. I never would have known this if I hadn't set out to learn about snails.

In the golden hour of evening, bugs drift across the sky like golden motes of dust, whirling and dancing together in the grand dramas of their tiny lives. I think about how complicated their worlds are. After interacting with bees and wasps so much for so long, I'm amazed by how intelligent and polite they are. Bumble bees will hover in front of me, swaying side to side, or circle slowly around me several times, clearly perceiving some kind of information...but what? It seems like bees and wasps can figure out if you are a threat, or if you are peaceful, and act accordingly.

I came to a realization about wasps: when they dart at your head so you hear them buzzing close by your ears, they're announcing their presence. The proper response is to freeze and duck down a bit. It seems like wasps can recognize if you're being polite; for what it's worth, I've never been stung by a wasp.

As night falls, bats emerge and start looping and darting around in the sky above. If the yard seems full of bugs in the day, it is nothing compared to the night.

I'm aware that what I'm about to describe, to an entomophobe, sounds like a horror movie: when i walk to the back yard, the trees are audibly crackling and whirring with the activity of insects. Beetles hover among the branches of the trees. When we look up at the sky, moths of all sizes are flying hither and thither across it. A large, very striking white moth flies past low to the ground.

Last year, seeing a moth against the darkening sky was only occasional. Now there's so many of them.

I consider it in my mind:

When roads and houses are built and land is turned over to various human uses, potentially hundreds of native plant species are extirpated from that small area. But all of the Eastern USA has been heavily altered and destroyed.

Some plants come back easily, like wild blackberry, daisy fleabane, and common violets. But many of them do not. Some plants need fire to sprout, some need Bison or large birds to spread them, some need humans to harvest and care for them, some live in habitats that are frequently treated with contempt, some cannot bear to be grazed by cattle, some are suffocated beneath invasive Tall Fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, honeysuckle or Bradford pears, and some don't like being mowed or bushhogged.

Look at the landscape...hundreds and hundreds of acres of suburbs, pastures, corn fields, pavement, mowed verges and edges of roads.

Yes, you see milkweed now and then, a few plants on the edge of the road, but when you consider the total area of space covered by milkweed, it is so little it is nearly negligible. Imagine how many milkweed plants could grow in a single acre that was caretaken for their prosperity—enough to equal fifty roadsides put together!

Then I consider how many bugs are specialists, that can only feed upon a particular plant. Every kind of plant has its own bugs. When plant diversity is replaced by Plant Sameness, the bug population decreases dramatically.

Plant sameness has taken over the world, and the insect apocalypse is a result.

But in this one small spot, nature is healing...

#plants #native plants #native plant gardening #proplifting #sorta #save the bees

[inkskinned]

sometimes i think about the span of human existence and how if you spread your arms out in a long line and said my body is acting as a poem of all the universe's birthdays, the smallest sliver of your furthest nail would be our entire history as humans. and you, doing this, feeling your sternum crack into place because you're-getting-old and all of your bones crunch these days: you are the universe, measuring its own timeline. you're the memory of a starburst saying i gave birth to humans at the tip of my finger.

and i think about how crocodiles have been around for way longer than that fingernail and how sharks have been here forever too and how there are sea cucumbers that understand time like an angel would; their ages so astronomically long that i get dizzy looking down into them. i think about my dog, and how i am so fantastically ancient to him (an impossible number, staggering) and how, at the same time, i can order my life in eras of pets-i-have-loved and how my childhood died when my cat did.

and i wonder if the earth does the same thing, if nature keeps time in epochs. if the tree in the house where i grew up said oh a new family and got upset when one by one we all left for college and left behind our climbing and screaming and birdhouses. that same tree collapsed during a bad storm this winter; heartbroken. the whole inside was a hull, shivering and empty. it missed our roof by a whisper, almost like it held itself together so it couldn't pass a hole into the house it's been looking into for years now. the people who took it away clicked their teeth. it was a hundred years old, at least.

there are things that went extinct in my lifetime. there are memories that don't extend to the tip of the finger. four years ago, for the first time: i saw a bald eagle in the wild. ever since they've been sprouting strangely in my life, their origami frames hunched in a racket of brown feathers. something in the motion of wild animals braced against the new england weather - like we all (all of nature, all of the fingertip) have the same shared hate when it's cold sorrow. like in years and years and years of history we never really evolved a better method than to close your eyes and brace yourself against it.

i saw a butterfly today, staggering drunkenly in the early spring air. it's too early for her other friends. i want to tuck her back into bed and say it's not your time yet! her life like a pinprick in my own. in butterfly school they'd have to stretch out their scales and say - at the end of your furthest wing is where you are in the life of a human. she is in my life, isn't she. something about how my heart seized at the sight of her, so brave and lonely and unfair; and how it snowed yesterday (and will snow again, probably), and how, in spite of that, she was out there and flying.

something about waking up this morning and thinking - i'm too old for this. how my hips and knees and back all make new noises. how the other day at a grocery store i picked up the gloves an older woman had dropped, how she'd laughed and thanked me - i can't bend down like you young folks anymore.

something about the theory that there's been no visible life on other planets because we are too early. that we are the first butterfly of spring. all this bravery. we know it is probably hopeless, and still we go. breathless, the same tactic - we brace against the cold.

#spilled ink #sat down to write about you #wrote about how crocodiles can climb trees oops

[kiaxet]

HOW ABOUT THAT @somerandomdudelmao DISASTER TWIN REUNION, HUH

Went a little feral to the tune of 2.2K words of self-indulgence. What else is new?

~~~~~~~

Donnie can't sleep. More accurately, he won't sleep. Not until he's done. He'd never been one to leave a project unfinished; death and resurrection hadn't changed that.

He taps incessantly, repetitively, on a keyboard and screen, the motions long since past inputting data and now only serving to keep him awake. The repetition is soothing, easy, and - counterintuitively - he finds his head drooping forward into sleep-

And he snaps back upright. No. Not until he can confirm Leo is okay.

Leo is behind him, he knows. Breathing. In bed. Asleep. Very much alive. And-

He jumps and whips around as a thud sounds behind him. "What the-"

Leo is on the floor.

Well, that answers the question as to whether his twin is awake.

For a fraction of a second, part of him wavers uncertainly. He loves his idiot twin. The question he hasn't been able to answer is whether his reaction to Leo waking up will fall on love or idiot twin-

"Leo!"

He can hear the exasperation in his voice, and yep, it's the latter. He takes a knee next to Leo and hauls him into his arms, lecturing him all the while, and if he can hear the annoyance in his voice then Leo sure as hell can. Sleep deprivation for the purposes of keeping his brother's soul alight had done nothing for his temper. "I swear to God, all you had to do was make a sound! Why are you such a difficult patient?"

He deposits Leo carefully on the bed - "Sit still!" - and checks him over, running every scan he can think of and making sure his brother's new body really is in good working order, spouting increasingly irritated commentary all the while. Of course the fall didn't hurt him - Leo is tougher than that, and Donnie does better work than that - but he still can't help the rising anxiety in his throat.

This almost didn't happen.

"-stupid, stupid selfless idiot!"

Donnie almost couldn't save him.

"Grrhh-"

Leo nearly died for real. Permanently beyond Donnie's reach. Well and truly gone-

"Do you have any idea how close you were to having nothing left to save?"

And now here Leo is, in perfect health, sitting on Donnie's bed with a big dopey grin on his face as Donnie chokes on his anxiety and damn near shakes himself apart-

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Hey. Are you even listening?"

Leo speaks up for the first time since he's woken up, voice shaky from disuse. "D-Donnie?"

And that is not a goddamn answer to anything Donnie has been saying, because of course it isn't. It's Leo. He's always had his own priorities. "Yeah. No. You're not fucking listening." Donnie heaves a long-suffering sigh, sinking back into the routine comfort that irritation at his twin provides. "At least you're talking." Small favors. "Although I'm surprised you're not throwing your stupid jokes at me." Even smaller favors.

He stops short as Leo's hand closes around his wrist, drawing Donnie's arm to Leo's plastron. "You're real," his brother breathes, looking from Donnie's hand to Donnie himself with tears streaming down his face. "You're real!"

And then, in the space of a thought, Leo's joy breaks, his smile turning desperate. "Are you?"

For a moment, Donnie stares at his twin, wondering at the sudden change in expression. He takes a breath-

And the part of him that had lain dormant for so long after he'd woken up - the part of him that had been screaming for his twin's safety ever since they'd recovered the few scattered embers of Leo's soul - gasps to life, blooming like a time-lapse video of a flower and reaching to the edges of Donnie's soul. Leo had called it their twin sense, and Donnie hadn't had it in him to argue after a while. Whatever it is, it's back, connected to Leo's renewed presence, and-

Donnie's heart floods with emotions. Relief and joy sprout quickly and are nearly swept away in a tide of exhaustionanxietyfearfearfearfearFEAR-

But down beneath it all, steady against the rising wall of terror, is the little blue spark of hope that his brother always carried. His core. The thing that let him continue on in the face of insurmountable odds, and lent that same strength to everyone around him. A ninja's greatest weapon.

It's Leo. It's Leo-

And Donnie can't leave him alone in his fear. Not when there's no need for it. Not when they're safe.

He lets that breath out, and sits next to Leo on the bed. "Mhm. I'm alive. And you're alive. We're safe. The Krang are gone." That's all the news that's fit to print, or at least the most important parts. What else does he have to say?

Oh.

"I'm sorry I..uh…"

He's sorry he what? Died? Left a mess for Leo to deal with? Didn't do enough while he was alive to keep everyone else alive in turn after he was gone? Kept his brother's soul in a fucking mug, because that was the only way he could ensure he wouldn't break it while Leo was still fragile? All of the above?

…yeah, it's all of the above.

He owes Leo one hell of an apology, and he's never been good at any of this, so instead he shrugs haplessly and leans forward, pulling Leo into his arms and hanging on tight.

It's a matter of moments before Leo has him flat on his shell on the bed and is sobbing into his arms. Normally he'd hate seeing his twin cry, but it's proof of life - proof that Leo made it, that his soul is intact enough for him to still be Leo, that he's alive and awake and here - and Donnie will take it.

And if he's squeezing Leo back pretty hard himself, well, that's fine too. Nobody else needs to know.

~~~~~~~

Donnie is yelling at him.

Donnie is strong enough to have picked Leo up off the ground, well enough to be on his feet without support, running tests and reading Leo the riot act over his latest boneheaded maneuver - in this case, forgetting he was missing an arm and falling out of bed.

Donnie is yelling at him, because Donnie is here to yell at him.

And Leo is smiling, because he couldn't be happier. He lets the words wash over him, draping over his shoulders like a favorite cozy blanket that he'd lost so many years ago, and he basks in the warmth that is his brother's voice and smiles.

It's enough to interrupt the yelling for a question, though he doesn't really hear it - just keeps smiling, and says Donnie's name, and it's so nice to be able to say it with a smile now, because Donnie is here-

-he is, right? This isn't just a dying hallucination on Leo's part, right?

(It couldn't be- he remembers his death, remembers breathing his last, remembers being trapped- but this-)

He reaches out, taking Donnie's wrist in hand, and pulls his brother closer to him. "You're…real…" It certainly feels real - skin and scales, softer than his own, and his fingers barely fit all the way around the wrist instead of encircling them with room to spare - and he stares down at it, tears rolling down his face as he finally looks back up at his twin. "You're real!"

The Krang show you what you want to see.

The thought strikes him unbidden, turning his joy and relief to ice. It's a well-known fact: a Krang infection can show its host what they want to see, visions of comfort and family and home, and extract intel from the host's reactions. He knows that- he knows that, and-

And he'd died surrounded by Krang- and even if he couldn't see or hear or feel, he knows he'd been held captive-

But it's Donnie- he wants this to be real- he needs this to be real- he wants his twin back so badly he can't think, and the idea that this could be a Krang hallucination is almost too much to bear-

"Are you?" He can hear how choked the words are as they leave his lips, but he needs to know-

And Donnie stops, and sits down next to him, and tells him everything he wants to hear - everything he could've ever wished for. They're alive. They're safe. The Krang are gone. It all sounds too good to be true.

And then Donnie offers him an apology and a sad half-smile, pulling him into a strong hug-

And the ice in Leo's mind shatters in a flood of warmth as his twin sense opens for the first time since Donnie's death. He feels his twin's irritation, and deep-seated exhaustion, and a choking wave of guiltguiltguiltguiltguilt-

And beneath it all, steady and strong as ever, the thrum of unending determination, powered by an unfathomably deep well of love. It's the backbeat to the melody of Leo's life, the point-counterpoint to his own heartbeat- it's something he'd never had to live without until he did, but it's back, rushing in to fill the silence he'd known with the strength to go on and the knowledge that he is loved loved loved, strong and overwhelming and all-encompassing in the way only Donnie can love-

It's something the Krang could never imitate.

This is real. This is all real-

He throws himself against his twin, toppling them both over on the bed as he clings to Donnie, unable to stand even a fraction of an inch of space between them, as though he could push their hearts together through their plastrons, and he cries, sobbing out worry and terror and grief and the slow, crushing exhaustion of a losing battle finally lost. He cries as though the world was ending - and it had, once when the Krang had invaded and again every time he'd lost a member of his family, over and over until he'd sent his last hope through a portal that had cost his littlest brother his life and succumbed to death himself.

And now he's alive. Here, wherever here is, with Donnie. Clinging to his twin, and being held in turn as Donnie gently sits them both up, never letting go as Leo cries himself out.

It takes a while - long enough for Leo's gaze to settle into a stare and his thoughts to settle into a comfortable static. He's alive, Donnie is alive, and he has no fucking idea what else is going on, but he's just going to be okay with that for now.

His thoughts rouse enough to inform him of something wrong - the line of tension Donnie is carrying down his neck and over his shoulders. That won't do. Leo could try to massage it out with one hand, maybe try to get Donnie to talk about it, but Donnie never likes to talk about it, and Leo isn't one for slowly soothing away tension when he can just take an axe to the release valve instead. Plus, it gives him something definite to focus on, instead of…this whole situation. Whatever 'this whole situation' actually is.

Donnie had mentioned his stupid jokes, right?

"H-hey Dee?" His voice wavers from disuse, thick with tears, but he pushes through. "Why did- why did the tree buy a camera?"

"What?" Oh, Donnie is not going to see this coming. Excellent.

"To do a photosynthesis." It's nowhere near the level of pizazz he normally uses for a punchline delivery - he's still too tired and frazzled and clinging to Donnie entirely too hard for that - but that beautiful pause of a terrible joke sinking in tells him it had hit home nonetheless. Donnie moves - he can hear the telltale slap of face meeting palm - and then breaks down into helpless laughter, smacking the back of Leo's shell as the tension Leo had felt in his twin's shoulders abruptly relaxes. Good. It worked.

"This is so fucking stupid," is all Donnie manages as his laughter fades, and he slumps fully against Leo with a murmur. That's...abrupt. Sure, Leo had felt Donnie's exhaustion, but he hadn't realized it'd been that bad. He takes hold of Donnie, gently laying him down on the bed to rest-

Remember what happened last time Donnie fell asleep next to you.

He gasps sharply at the thought - not again NEVER again - and keeps his hand steady as he moves, laying both fingers gently against Donnie's neck and feeling for his pulse. It's easy to find, strong and steady and even, like it had been before the infection had taken Donnie's vitality and then his life.

But he's alive, and healthy, and sleeping. He's okay. And Leo-

Leo moves his hand to the side of his own neck. His pulse is also easy to find, quickened with the adrenaline of an unknown situation and multiple consecutive shocks to his system.

Okay. Take stock. Assess. Figure out a plan from there.

He's alive. Donnie's alive. The Krang are gone. And everything else…is a big fat question mark, with no easy answers and no indication as to where to begin looking for them.

Well.

Uh.

"What the fuck," Leo whispers to the room at large, as though the walls could answer.

~~~~~~~

(A world away and still very close, a younger pair of twins cling to one another the way a drowning man clings to driftwood: desperately, clutching tight, as though letting go will spell their doom. Neither of them know where the emotions came from, or why; all they know is that each of them are damn glad the other is alive, and they'll do everything they can to make sure that continues to be the case.)

(What the fuck, indeed.)

#rottmnt #cass apocalyptic series #future leo #future donnie #fic #writing #cw sibling death #mention of it at least #referencing the scrapped movie storyboards because it's too good a beat to pass up #we have fun here #no gods no betas we die like NOBODY BECAUSE DONNIE FUCKING FIXED IT #I GUESS #twin sense shit is my FUCKING JAM #inexplicable mystic bonds between two halves of a whole? sign me the FUCK up #I couldn't decide whose POV to write this from so I just did both #which is WHY it's 2K+ words #it's not perfect but it's Good Enough and therefore it's getting posted #fuck it we ball

[azsazz]

With Me

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I know your request are closed but still writing. In the future could you do something with Eris x rhys sister?

Warnings: Graphic depictions of canon violence

Word Count: 1,520

_________________________________________

It had been on a wisp of an autumn breeze that Eris found out.

Found out about the plans of the High Lord of Spring, how he and his sons planned an ambush on the wife and daughter of the High Lord of Night on their travels to the Illyrian mountains for a visit with her son.

He had been on his horse, red as the leaves on the trees, scouting the borders between Autumn and Spring. The wind ruffled his hair and tickled his pointed ears with the whispers of scheming sons. Eris had stilled the mare beneath him and urged the current with a touch of magic to enhance the conversation.

That High Lord will pay for everything he’s tried to do to ours.

He won’t even know what’s coming. And neither will those little bitches.

Dibs on the older one.

It had eaten Eris throughout the day. Across the rest of his round on the border, during battle strategy, between sword fighting with his younger brothers. Lucien was learning quickly how to play his brothers against each other, and even scored a hit on Eris while his mind had been run through with worry.

He is a smart male but the thought of going to his father with this news didn’t feel right, but keeping it to himself felt even worse. So, after a family dinner that he loathed, Eris put on his emerald robes and marched into the Night Court territory.

He was too late. 

Eris caught the scent of your blood on a tornado of wind that carried the harrowing cries of you and your mothers downfall. You had been brutally attacked by the Spring Court sons and their father, and as Eris crept closer he saw blood coated flowers sprouting from the ground. The High Lord’s magic, a love note to the High Lord of Night.

A soft gurgle caught his attention as he stepped into the clearing washed in moonlight. The sight before him was harrowing; your carriage door ripped off its hinges, the windows blown out. Even the large, black steeds that had been pulling the wagon had been slaughtered, their entrails long lines in the white snow.

A wet cough, one with the whisper of death accompanying it drew his attention. Eris didn’t hesitate to locate you, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of you curled beneath your slain mother, her arms still wrapped around you protectively. 

Your eyes were wide with fear, mouth gaping like a fish. Blood of both yours and your mothers surrounded you, leaking from your lips, from between the hands you had pressed weakly to your stomach.

Falling to his knees, Eris reached a hand out but halted when your eyes met his. His mind was reeling, a young warrior with little battlefield experience before a female struggling through her thinning breaths.

Something stirred deeply within him, something he knew but couldn’t say, wouldn’t admit out loud until years later. 

You had enough strength to shift your hand in the snow, reaching towards him, eyes screaming a plea for help from the handsome son of Autumn. 

And he did. He held your organs in his hands as he winnowed you from Night into his own territory, right into the hands of his mother. 

Amaretto stood with a start, the book in her hands falling loudly to the floor. There were no sounds in the room, not even the crackling of the fires raging in the hearths. She kept it this way so she could hear the sounds of her husband's footsteps when he walked down the marble halls of the Woodland House, each echo a shot to her confidence.

“Eris,” she gasps at her son, who looks over at her with wide, pleading, auburn eyes. She halts in her tracks, that look in his eyes, the sheer terror on his face. Her own eyes softened with a knowing look, and she uttered, “Oh, Eris.”

He and his mother worked in tandem all through the night. And when Beron’s footsteps began to sound down the hall Eris had been the one to distract him, goad him. He didn’t care about the bruises and pain inflicted by his father’s hand because it was nothing to the pain he could feel from you, through the thread of the bond that had appeared at the sight of you. 

His mother saved your life with the little trickle of healing magic she had left. Always hidden from Beron, but would use it to save her son’s mate’s life. Two gentle souls that deserved much better hands that you had been dealt in the world.

Eris stayed by your side when you had been moved to a guest room. You hadn’t woken for days and he couldn’t figure out a way to hide you from his father who would surely use you against the Night Court, who were mourning the news of their felled female family members.

Word had come of the slaying of the Spring Court High Lord and the two eldest sons, leaving young Tamlin to take his place. In the fray, the High Lord of Night had been murdered as well, with Rhysand taking the chair of rule.

It was all very confusing times. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Eris,” you plead, tears staining your eyes. He can feel the cracking in your chest even though you’re trying to hide it from him. You’ve never been good at blocking your feelings from your loving mate, but the thought of returning home was all too much. Eris wasn’t understanding your fear, your need to go home to the Night Court after so long away, after Amarantha’s reign of terror has finally ended. “I need to see my brother.”

Eris had hidden you from the wretched female while he and all of the other citizens of the Autumn Court had been forced beneath the mountain. It had been a long, lonely fifty years of trying to find a way to get back to Velaris, to get inside of the barriers that had been protected with an extra boost of Rhysand’s power before he became trapped.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, hugging you closely. The both of you are laid up in his bed, days of reacquainting each other with the other’s body after so long away. Your mate had all but fallen apart in your arms, and you in his, the loneliness of your years spent wondering how your mate fared against the powerful female set to ruin your world. 

“Come with me,” you beg wetly, clutching to his clothes. He had winnowed right back into your arms as soon as he was able, and he hasn’t let you go since. You hadn’t wanted him to. “Let’s run away from Autumn, together.” 

Just like Lucien had done, chased away from the Court he knew as home while their awful brothers hunted him down. It had been another harrowing night for Eris, one you held him through. 

Only the knowledge that his brother was safe in the Spring Court had kept him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t just leave like this, fawn,” he answers wetly, stroking your hair back from your face. You’re as beautiful as the day you woke up, when your eyes landed on his and the bond made itself known to you. He has spent every day since thanking the Mother for this time with you, for sparing you that winter night, for keeping you safe when he was trapped under the mountain with no way out. “Not yet.”

Your voice breaks and hot tears stream down your face, throat tightening to the point where no words could break if you tried. You want Eris to come with you, you need Eris to come with you. You’ve only just gotten him back and it cannot be time to give him up already.

“It’s okay, fawn,” Eris consoles sadly. He will keep you in his arms tonight and tomorrow, up until he escorts you to your brother’s land and makes sure that you are safe with them. He has been a selfish male for so many years, falling headfirst into the mating bond. He’d fallen into you completely and without any remorse, the same way you had found yourself falling into him. “You need to do this. And I will be here, fighting for a better life for us until we can be together, freely.”

Eris and Amaretto had come up with an elaborate plan to tell the rest of the family. That Eris would hide you until you healed, and found his mate at the Autumnal Equinox balls. It would ensure your safety, being classed as a High Fae, but also being Eris’ mate. You had learned to deal with Beron and Eris’ insufferable brothers for years.

You love Eris with every fiber of your being, and the thought of parting with him so soon after getting him back tears your heart to shreds, but you need to go, especially after everything Eris had told you happened down there. 

“I love you, Eris.” 

“I love you too, fawn.”

#eris x reader #eris/reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #acosf #eris #eris vanserra

[sports-on-sundays]

serious / LN4

Summary: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader - The problem is worse than Lando expected. And Lando is worse at comforting than you expected. Takes place after the Singapore 2023 Grand Prix.

Warnings: GIF is not mine!!!, me possibley being super inaccurate abotut how stuff actually works but it's okay because I was just having fun writing and it's fine, censored cussing, crying/sobbing pushing for intimate things when reader doesn't want to - NO SMUT, screaming, the shock of learning of the death of a loved one, a bit of angst

Requested?: Nope.

Author's Note: I'm currently feeling very affectionate feelings towards Lando. Which means I'm gonna have a lot of desire to write Lando brainrot.

Just as your mother hangs up, you hear your boyfriend's voice practically squeal behind you, "Y/n! There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere. Why'd you leave early?"

"Lando, I-" you start, but are interrupted by Lando's arms wrapping around you from behind and him exclaiming, "P2, pumpkin! P2!"

That nickname sprouts from a few different factors. One is that it's not an uncommon pet name. Another is that when you first met, your hair had been dyed orange, and you were decked out in papaya from head to toe. And, of course, the fact that anything pumpkin flavoured is just about your favourite food ever is another good reason for the nickname.

But right now, you're not in the mood for pet names. "Lando, that's grea-"

He hugs your middle tighter, resting his chin on your shoulder, muttering, "I'm so disappointed you weren't there to see me... It was so fun..."

Suddenly, you feel guilty. And suddenly, you feel like if you were to start going on about your problems, right now, when Lando is so happy... That would just be wrong. So you, somehow, allow yourself to not even process the news you just got on the phone with your mother, and say softly to Lando, "Oh, that's great...! I... I'm so sorry I didn't see. I would have... I would have loved to." It takes all you have to not let your voice crack. You just have to hope that in the darker lighting, Lando won't be able to notice your tear-stained cheeks.

"It's okay... It was amazing. Carlos got P1, and Lewis P3."

You find a smile, turning around to face him, looking up at him in his eyes, which appear to be a greyish blue in this lighting. They shine in the dimly lit night. You hope yours don't shine as much as his are. Because if yours were shining that much, you know it'd be because of tears.

He strokes your cheek. His defined curls are a little messy, and his hand soft on your skin. He grips your waist gently then, slowly swaying back and forth.

It's a strange feeling. With Lando being so happy at getting P2 in the Singapore Grand Prix alongside his friend Carlos, the joy is just radiating off of him towards you. But you can't accept it. The pain you feel right now is like a shield against letting his good mood rub off on you.

Don't cry.

You should've been there to hug and kiss him as soon as he exited the car. You should've been there to watch him step on that podium and spray that champagne. You should've. You should've. You should've.

You would have loved too. Along with the pain of the news you just received, the regret of not being there to see Lando is too much, crashing down on you.

You start walking, arms linked, to the car. Once you're in and Lando has started driving, you mutter, "We're just going back to the hotel, right?"

"Oh, uh, sure! As long as that's what you want," you boyfriend responds. You feel a sinking feeling. You feel so bad.

"Why? What else did you have in mind?"

"Oh, nothing really," he shrugs. "It wasn't any real cemented plans. And regardless, you're probably right. It's been a long night. Fun, but exhausting. I'm definitely tired." And, as if just to prove it, he gives a big yawn. You nod, staring ahead at all the streetlights in the lit up night. Because of everyone trying to leave all at once, and the huge amounts of people, unsurprisingly, you're stopped up, and moving pretty slow. You sigh. You just want to get to the hotel to sleep and snuggle your boyfriend as soon as possible. You're not sure how soon as soon as possible could be now, looking at this traffic.

"So, why did you have to leave your seat, anyway?"

You swallow. You honestly were hoping he would've just forgotten about that, in the excitement of his podium. But nope. Of course he didn't. He only remembers things when it shouldn't matter to remember them. But forgets everything important.

"Well, I just had a long... phone call," you respond, surprised that's technically not even a lie. "We were talking about some really complicated stuff. I needed to leave to... talk about it."

"Oh, alright," he nods, completely trusting you. It's sweet how much trust he puts in you.

"Hey, pumpkin, really?" Lando asks, shaking you awake. "Are you alright?"

"Hmmm?" you grunt softly, your eyes fluttering open.

"We're at the hotel. You fell asleep while I was driving there." He helps your tired body out of the car, and you make your way to the hotel room together.

The moment the door clicks behind you and you're inside the hotel room with your boyfriend, he pushes you against the door, making out with you, his hand cupping the nape of your neck.

You feel sick.

He runs his hands in your hair, on your neck, and down your body.

Finally you're the one to pull away, but before you have a change to say a word, Lando leans in and starts speaking. He has such a big mouth- he's always been this way, since you met. He's never able to shut up. "Pumpkin, I can tell you haven't had as much of a good day as I have. Can I share some of my happiness with you?"

He kisses you all down your neck, but it doesn't feel good.

His nickname for you has always been pumpkin. And yours for him has always been 'sunshine' or 'my sunshine'. Whenever you're feeling bad, he always manages to make you feel better. He's like the sunshine to your cloudy day; the light to your darkness.

But now you don't feel it.

"Lando," you breathe. "Can we go to bed now?"

"Hmmm, whyyy?" he whines. "Are you sleepy? Has it been a long day? Do you need your beauty rest?" This lighthearted teasing right now honestly just feeling like insulting. Most of the time it would make you laugh and loosen up. Right now, it doesn't seem to be working.

"Lando," you sigh, shaking your head and stepping away. You stare into his eyes for a few seconds, before turning and slipping into bed. Not facing him.

You feel him standing across the room in silence for a few seconds, before he sighs and murmurs, "M'kay, Y/n. Well, sleep tight. Love you."

You sigh. Ever since the relationship started, he used that word. Love. The first time he said he loved you was on your first date. So because of that, sometimes you wonder when he means it, and when they're just sweet words he uses to try to make you feel better.

Right now, you're not sure which it is.

You sigh, knowing that you have to pretend to be going to sleep, despite the raging of your thoughts that's keeping your body from slumber.

You wake up in the middle of the night, and you feel Lando's arms around you and his body against your back. He just doesn't understand. You sigh again. Even when you turn away from him, he just clings on from behind. He's fast asleep- you can tell by his soft, deep breath on your neck. All cuddled in. With not a care in the world. You sigh again, pressing your cheek against the pillow, clamping your eyes shut tightly, wishing the pain would go away. Wishing you could be happy with Lando's podium. Wishing you could be sleeping just as contently as him.

Your thoughts rage again. It's so strange. The world, so peaceful, but your head, in turmoil. But the sounds outside of your head- Lando's breathing, the heating vent, cars going by outside... You imagine all the happy people. Partying... Whatever they do. You forget.

You suppose there have got to be other people laying awake right now, too, though. Maybe other people with their partner sleeping next to them, but not sleeping next to their partner. You swallow.

Lando, I need you. I need you to help me. Why won't you help me?

"Are you feeling better?" Lando asks as soon as your eyes are fluttering awake the next morning.

You sigh, turning to face him. Him and his beautiful shining eyes in the morning light. "No, I'm not..." you breathe, deciding now that the night is over, it's okay to talk with him now, explain your distress, and be honest. "I'm still not feeling great. Last-"

But he interrupts you.

"Oh, Y/n, then I want to make you feel great..." he says it in a soft, seductive voice that makes you feel just a little sick. He strokes your cheek, before leaning in and slowly caressing your neck with his tongue.

But suddenly, an indescribable rage fills up in you, pushing out the pleasure that was sneaking in, and you push him away. You throw off the white sheets and quickly slip on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from your open suitcase on the floor. Lando is about to say something, but you grab the closest thing to your hand- the television remote- and throw it at him as hard as you can. It's on target, but because of his cursed reflexes he dodges it.

"Y/n-"

But it's your turn to interrupt him. "Lando, stop!" you practically scream, tears starting to fill your eyes. "You don't even care! You don't care! You just want to enjoy my body and celebrate all in the name of 'comforting me'! You're not even asking what the f*cking problem is! You're terrible! Terrible! You're a terrible boyfriend!" Now the tears are coming down in steady streams, and words that you don't even mean- venom- escapes from your mouth:

"Lando, I hate you!"

He looks shocked, and slips out of the bed, holding a hand out to you. He takes a step closer, but you flip him, slip on your slides, and leave the hotel room, slamming the door as hard as you can behind you.

You run away from him, crying the whole time. You go to the completely different side of Singapore. You find a spot to sit and cry, burying your wet eyes in your arms. Soon enough, you call your mother with shaky fingers. She picks up after three rings, saying softly, "Hey, Y/n..."

"Hi, Mum..." you trail off. "So... I'll head back to L- London... As soon as I can..." You're sure that your mother can tell by your voice that you've been crying. Ugly crying. She just sounds tired. Empty. That's kind of how you feel.

"Oh, sweetie," she says softly. "Thank you... I appreciate it... So, so much..."

"I know, Mum," you sigh deeply.

"I forgot to ask this last night just from the shock of it all but... On a slightly brighter note, Lando got second place, right?"

This comment makes you feel mixed. Good because your mother loves you and Lando enough to still look up the results of the Singapore Grand Prix after all the terrible tragedy that was just dropped on their family last night, especially since she doesn't even like Formula One. But anger at the mention of Lando himself.

You almost forget to respond. "Oh, right, yeah. He did... He's... happy about that. U-hm, so yeah, we'll leave Singapore as soon as possible and get back to London... And... yeah. We can deal with... everything."

"Yes..." your mother sniffs. "Right. Thank you... I should let you go now... Bye, I love you..."

"I love you too, Mum," you murmur, and then she hangs up. Your phone goes back to your contacts, and your eyes rest upon your brother's contacts. A slight desire to see what your last text conversation was raises up in you, but you fight it, shaking your head. You can't. You feel your eyes sprout tears again. And then your eyes linger on Lando's contact. He's sent messages to you, but you've ignored them. He tried calling once, but maybe didn't try again because he figured it was a long cause.

I need you, Lando. I'm broken. Your eyes linger again on your brother's contact. He's gone. How can he be gone that fast? You swallow, your world spinning around you, as if at any moment it will all just crumble down. Lando, I need to feel your strong arms. I need you. I need to tell you. Please. I need to feel your arms, because I'll never feel his arms around me ever again... You let out a soft sob, pulling at your tangled hair, shaking your head. Your whole body is shaking. Lando, I need you. So why don't you care? Why?

Why are you so selfish?

You're not sure how much time passes. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Either way, it's too much to be basking in this agony...

Suddenly, your phone rings.

You're relieved to see it's not Lando, but instead it's...

Oscar?

You only got his number because you needed to text him about something a couple months ago- you honestly don't even remember what it was, it was so unimportant. You have a policy generally of not texting other guys, since you're in a relationship. But in confusion, you answer it, and speak softly, not wanting it to sound like you've been crying. "Oscar?"

"Y/n," he says.

"What's up?"

"Where are you? W-"

"Did Lando tell you to call me?"

He sighs, and after a few seconds of hesitation, says, "Listen, Y/n. Lando's worried sick. He's practically pulling out his hair. If you'd've heard all the stuff he's rambling about..."

"What's he rambling about?"

"He's sorry, he didn't know, he needs you back. You know. He's nervous. He's getting way too nervous, though, talking about you breaking up. He still hasn't told me what happened, though."

"So he told you to call me?"

"No. I called you because I and everyone else is sick of Lando's stressing. So if you would kindly come back and comfort your boyfr-"

You know there's a teasing aspect in Oscar's voice, and you know it's just because he doesn't understand, but you still feel anger raise up within you because of it. "He should be the one comforting me!" you snap, your voice cracking.

There's a few seconds of silence, before Oscar says much gentler and softer, "Are you okay, Y/n?"

"No, I'm not okay! And Lando doesn't f*cking care, either!" Deep down, you know you shouldn't talk to Oscar like this, considering you don't even know each other that well, but it just feels like you can't hold your painful words back.

"Uh... One moment, please..." You wait a few seconds in confusion, before Oscar says, "Lando wants to talk to you."

"Oscar n-"

"Y/n," Lando's voice says over the phone.

Just the sound of him saying your name like that hits you in the heart like an arrow and causes you to start to bleed.

Just the sound of his voice saying your name.

"Lando..." you say, not even sure what to feel.

"Y/n, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just please come back. Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe?"

You hesitate. "I'm just sitting on a street corner..."

"Y/n, it's been hours!" he exclaims.

"Really?" you ask, genuinely numb and unaware.

"Yes! Please, come back to the hotel! I'm here waiting for you... We just... We need to talk. Obviously, we need to talk."

You swallow, a pit rising in your stomach. Your voice cracks as you say, "Lando, you..."

"I what?" he asks softly.

"Nothing..."

"Are you okay? Would you rather me come and get you?"

"No... I'll just come back to the hotel myself... And tell Oscar thank you."

"For what?"

"I don't know..." you shake your head, standing up. "Just tell him thank you."

"O... Okay. Um, well, see you soon, pumpkin. Bye."

"Bye, I..." Your voice trails off. You're so used to finishing that sentence in a certain way, but now...?

But now Lando finishes it for you. "...love you." And he hangs up.

You run to the bus stop.

The moment Lando sees you, he runs to you and envelopes you in a tight hug. You bury your face in his soft shoulder, and can no longer keep yourself from bursting into tears.

"Y/n, Y/n..." he breathes, stroking your hair. He leads you into the building and you step into the family bathroom for a little bit of privacy.

Quickly, you pull yourself together, taking a step back from him, looking up into his eyes. He looks back at you, and the twos words come from his lips: "I'm sorry."

You swallow. "For what?"

"I don't know what's wrong, but clearly it's worse than I thought... I was just so happy, and I figured if I could just make you feel better... But I went about it in the whole wrong way... I... I'm sorry, Y/n." He gently takes both your hands.

"Lando, I'm sorry, too..." you sigh. "Something... something terrible happened, and I just couldn't control my emotions, so I screamed at you and said... I said things that aren't even true. Lando, I... I don't hate you. I love you."

He seems slightly relieved, and gently rubs his thumb over your knuckles. "Why haven't you told me what's wrong?"

"Last night, I didn't want to, because I didn't want to ruin your moment of getting P2. Then this morning when I was about to tell you, you wouldn't let me..."

"Y/n," he breathes. "I know and I'm... I'm so sorry. I'll try harder. I'm so, so sorry. Can you... Can you tell me what's wrong now? I'm ready to comfort you now. I'm ready to quit being selfish now."

You look into his eyes for a few moment, before looking down, wiping the tears at your eyes before they even come. A part of you always wonders which of his words are fabricated and which ones are from the heart. "Last night, I left because my mother was speaking with me about something very serious on the phone..."

He looks at you with concerned eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak, only understanding now how serious this is.

You hesitate, before uttering, "Last night my older brother passed away."

Lando looks stricken, with wide, shocked eyes. His hands in yours start to tremble. It's like he's paralyzed.

Kind of like how you felt last night. In total shock.

Lando knew your brother. Not well, but he had met him. Your brother had teased him about McLaren, because he was just about the biggest RedBull fan around. He had teased him and treated him like a younger brother. And not only that, but you've talked about your brother a lot. Different, funny things he's always done, or a foolish story about him that you knew would make Lando laugh. Just nice things. You never spoke bad about your brother. But you spoke about him a lot.

Because you loved him.

It's terrible to think that now you're going to be speaking about him with 'was' and 'did' instead of 'is' and 'does'.

And then, Lando hugs you. It's warm. After a few moments, he slips his hands down under your thighs and picks you up. And he just holds you. Your tears are coming back, but you let them come.

"Now we have to plan the funeral and it's going to be so hard... Lando, I can't do this, but my mother needs help... As soon as we get back to London, I'm going to see her," you breathe, clinging to him.

He nods. "Would you like me to come with you, or would you prefer to go to see her alone?"

You shrug, shaking. "I don't know, Lando... Just... Just hold me..." You're holding the back of his shirt so tight. "You're all I need right now."

He kisses your cheek very gently, and does just that. But then he starts whispering. He whispers about random things, like the picnic we had the other day, or about how your favorite football team is doing. It's like he's reminding you- no matter what, the world is still spinning, and somehow, we're both still living humans who are going to be alright. "Y/n, I'm going to do everything for you, okay? Everything you need. I'm going to be there and help you when you need it. Because we're here for each other. We always will be. It's going to be okay, alright? I know it feels like your world is falling apart right now, but I've got you, and it's going to be okay in the end. Okay? Because I love you too much, and I'm going to help you through this."

I sniff. "Why couldn't you be like this right off the bat...?" I murmur.

"Be like what?" he asks in concern.

You sigh. "Why couldn't you comfort me like this right off the bat."

"Y/n, I'm sorry... I didn't know-"

"I didn't know you were able of comforting! I just thought it was something you couldn't do or something!"

You can see Lando swallow. "Y/n, I'm sorry. I didn't know... I'll try harder to-"

"It's fine," you breathe, shaking your head, although you're not sure how fine it really is, before leaning your head on his shoulder, sniffling.

He sighs big, obviously burdened. He kisses your cheek again. "Are you ready to head, then...? Or do you need more time...?"

"We have a long flight," you sigh. "We should get going now..."

Lando gently, slowly, slips you back down onto your feet. He strokes your hair, his face close to yours, looking into your eyes. "I'm here for you, okay?"

You nod, mopping up your wet, salty eyes with a paper towel. It's your turn to kiss his cheek now. "I understand, Lando. And I... forgive you. And I love that you forgive me, too."

"Of course I do," he says, exiting the bathroom, grabbing your hand. He puts his hood up and his sunglasses on. "I love you, pumpkin, okay?"

You sigh shakily, giving his hand a squeeze. "I... I love you, too... my sunshine."

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 x reader #formula one #formula 1 #formula1 #lando #lando fanfic #lando imagines #f1 imagine #lando imagine #lando one shot #lando x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #ln4 #lando norris #ln4 one shot #ln4 fanfic #ln4 imagine #ln4 imagines #ln4 fluff #lando fluff #mclaren #mclaren f1

[kedsandtubesocks]

give you something to dream about

joel miller x f!reader

summary: It’s game night at the bar and you stumble upon the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak AU, Joel has both of his daughters, ‘strangers at a bar and maybe something more’ scenario with eventual husband!Joel, mentions of drinking, spicy making out session, Joel gets a bit handsy, gendered language / reader is addressed as “baby” & “darlin” light football discussions and terminology, lovesick and possessive!Joel

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my love letter to Joel, his love for football and maybe my own love for Texas football as well lol. To have this as my first fic of the new year and for it being for Joel means so much. To come back and write for the Pedro fandom is special and means so much. Big thank you to my babe @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream my sports girl head off about this, and for @lowlights for giving me guidance when I needed it. And lastly - thank you for reading, you are what truly makes this so incredibly special and wonderful

A mixture of bright neon and low soft white lights bathe the bar in a cozy ambient glow. The music is barely audible, a sort of after thought. Instead commotion and the ramble of sports announcers fills the room.

You manage to squeeze through the sea of onlookers dressed in burnt orange. Maria thankfully stays close to you. Now at the bar counter relief floods you as you lean against it.

“Order me a beer, I’m gonna find our table.” Maria yells over the liveliness swirling around.

You give her a thumbs up and thankfully don’t have to wait for the bartender long.

“Like your shirt!”

The bartender’s voice catches you instantly. Bright and direct you blink towards him. He’s cute, young, maybe a grad student from UT Austin who works here.

You can’t help but glance down at what you’re wearing.

Even under your jacket the shirt is comfortably a bit larger on you. The main focus is the old cartoon type logo of Bevo, the Texas Longhorn's mascot. The burnt orange coloring is faded adding to its weathered look.

A warmth flutters through you from just seeing it.

“It’s vintage, cool as hell.” The bartender continues admiring.

“Thanks. Uh, a friend of mine gave it to me.” Thankfully the bartender nods understandingly and doesn’t press the topic more. Instead he soon asks what you’ll be having.

You order Maria’s beer and a drink for yourself.

“So, you a big Texas fan? Well okay, I mean…you gotta be if you’re here.” The bartender, grabbing a drink glass, starts up another conversation with you as his tone becomes playful.

“A lot of people I know and love are. So by default I am too.” You admit with a sleepy grin.

“Aw,” his face melts. “Now that’s sweet. Well glad to have you here cheering for Texas.”

The bartender now even winks at you. You politely laugh but then, the bar erupts silencing the conversation.

Excited yells come so loud you jump out of your skin. Quickly you turn around to view the many tvs and projectors showing the game.

From what you can tell the Texas defense managed to take down the quarterback. You even watch the replay to see what the fuss is about. It was a good tackle and the play kept the other team’s quarterback from even advancing.

The game has you memorized now. You watch as the burnt orange and white uniforms of the players scramble like chaotic ants now trying to rush after the ball was kicked, no, punted to them.

Your lips twitch. You never would’ve thought you knew this much football terminology or could at least follow the game. Yet here you are.

The bartender clears his throat and embarrassingly fast you turn back around.

Not two but three drinks sit before you on the bar counter.

One happens to be a surprise shot that makes your eyes go wide.

“Uh, so the guy at the end of the bar sent it your way.” The bartender explains lowly, trying to be discreet about it.

Your eyes instead whip up to search for the mystery man. Then your heart sprouts wings when you discover him.

Leaning against the bar rail at the very opposed end of where you are, the man seems like something out of a romance novel’s dream.

Ruggedly handsome, his distinguished aged face and striking nose glow against the mixture of neon and dim lighting. It highlights the grays in his beard and gorgeous dark hair. His chocolate eyes bore into you as if you’re the only one in this bar.

His attention on you alone has your knees weak and you wonder maybe you suddenly turned into jello.

Your mystery man lifts his beer up to you, a silent ‘cheers’ and then takes a sip.

Just watching him take a swig of his beer has you dizzy. So you readily snatch up the shot, toast it back to him and down it.

The alcohol burns, but you’re surprised it’s your favorite liquor of choice. You can’t help but cough up wildly and the bartender snickers at your reaction. It’s been too long since you’ve had a shot and you’re thankful to chase the stinging sensation down with your mixed drink.

“Hey!” Maria’s voice calls out and her bright smile greets you as she slides through the packed crowd.

“Hope you didn’t think I forgot about you.” She laughs warmly. She grabs her beer and slides a tip to the bartender.

But then her eyes notice the empty glass.

“Oh? You took a shot without me?” She teases.

You tell her someone bought it for you and her eyebrows fly up fast in eager surprise.

“Oh?” Even her tone is warmly excited. “You get a good look at who your mystery shot buyer is?”

You turn your attention towards the end of the bar, right where he should be. Except your mystery man has vanished.

A bit of disappointment trickles in.

“I did, but guess he took off.” You tell Maria a bit low.

“Well, his loss then. Come on! Let’s head back to our table-”

“S’cuse me…”

A smooth deep and accented drawl, direct and firm enough cuts through the commotion politely cutting in on Maria.

Just as fast, there’s suddenly a deep warmth behind your back. The presence is broad, warm, and smells of the beautiful hint of a sandalwood cologne.

“If you don’t mind, I think I might steal this pretty gem for myself.” The accent seems thicker now and melts off his voice like sin.

He’s talking about you.

Maria smiles wildly entertained while her eyes flicker between you and your mystery man.

Silently you stare back and with pleading eyes you mentally communicate that yes you want to stay, yes it’s okay for her to head back.

“Alrighty then, see you two later.” She says grabbing her beer and gives you one last amused look before heading back to the table.

Your heart races so loud in your ears you don’t even notice the upset yells at a bad call given by the refs.

“…Howdy…”

The voice purrs, absolutely dances against the noise of the bar and beckons to you, your personal siren’s song.

Turning around the shadow of the mystery man falls over you. He stares down with those obsidian pool eyes as his lips turn into a boyish grin.

“I’m Joel. S’nice to meet you.”

You think about all the songs that sing about Texas beauty and how they all must have actually been speaking of this man.

Joel extends his hand out to you and the simple pure southern gentleman introduction has excitement bubbling in you like you’re a champagne bottle about to pop.

Your lips fight back a disbelieved smile as you introduce yourself and shake his hand.

It’s larger than yours, warm and beautifully callous that speaks of hard work. Joel leans closer to you and you can’t help but slide more towards him as well.

“I like your shirt.” His fingers playfully tugs at the bottom edge of your shirt.

“Thanks,” you take a sip of your drink to gain more courage. “A friend of mine let me wear it.”

Joel laughs. It’s warm, touches his face and sounds like it settles in his chest.

“A friend huh?” His voice grows even more amused.

You simply hum a nod as you take another sip of your drink. Your body hums with so many wonderful emotions like a jenga tower trying to hold onto its form on a moving table.

“That friend of yours a boyfriend?” Joel asks, a dark drawl sticky as molasses and trapping you to him.

You can’t help but shake your head no. The taste of your drink momentarily settles you.

“Pretty thing like you single? Ain’t that a shame.” Joel comments with a low rumble and all the ease you had gathered floats away.

Your eyes flicker back to Joel. But your focus goes between his stunning eyes and his lips. You don’t miss the way his eyes gloss over, become hooded with a hazy desire. How much it intensifies his gorgeous features makes your stomach flutter.

The game must have quieted down or maybe you’re just this focused on this man.

He moves to whisper in your ear.

“So…Wanna find a nice quiet spot to chat? Get to know each other better?” His lips softly graze your ear and an electric current runs up your spine.

“Yeah.” You mutter back now tipsy off Joel’s presence.

The moment you agree, Joel’s hand slips towards your waist and draws you to his side. He quickly slams down plenty of bills on the counter to cover for the drinks and tip. Your poor drink and his are forgotten.

Now Joel shifts into a man focused.

Squaring up his shoulders, he stands taller as he takes the lead. His broad shoulders become a guiding force, keeping you close to him. His hand intertwines with yours while he navigates you among the crowds.

His larger hand suddenly squeezes yours, a reassuring pressure that draws you closer to him. Moving through the tables against the crowds, you arrive at the outdoor patio where the early night air clears your mind.

Joel continues guiding you to a smaller area where the bathrooms are outside by the patio. You stand before the family restroom that holds the sweet title of “cowpokes” on it. Opening the door, Joel leads you inside. You take in the slightly larger yet still small rustic bathroom that glows under the murky amber light.

The door locks behind you and you turn around to find Joel staring you down with hunger brewing in his smokey eyes.

That’s all you can focus on before you get caught up in a dizzying whirlwind.

Hastily Joel rushes forward to pin you against the wall. His body firm and large presses so deliciously against you. Before your eyes can even soak in the close sight of him, he sweeps in and kiss you with a ravenous fierceness that steals your breath.

He quickly consumes you.

Joel faintly tastes of beer and something intoxicatingly uniquely him. While his hand moves to hold your face, his tongue licks into your mouth, diving in, almost trying to get drunk off you. You can’t help but draw him closer to you as much as you can. You want your nails to dig into him the same way he’s burning under your skin and seeping into your core

His hips begin to grind against you with an eased pace and you moan into his mouth. You want more, need more.

“Oh baby.” Joel groans out and sounds like sticky delicious sin.

Suddenly the loudest cheers leak into the bathroom.

So fierce in their excitement it echos into the room and freezes you and Joel immediately.

He sighs against your lips.

“We must‘ve scored.” Joel mutters.

“Are you upset you didn’t see it?” You ask gently and kiss his lips soft as the heat begins to settle.

“Nah. I’m aimin’ to score here myself.” He grins and the line has you laughing. Your face goes to rest against his as you continue to snicker. The prickle of his beard gently scratching against your skin feels wonderful.

“Darlin’ you’re killin’ me. I wanted to sound slick.” Joel sighs again, sounding deflated now.

“You did...sort of.” You smile.

“Forgive me,” He smirks and turns to press another soft kiss against your lips. “Been outta practice for a while.”

“You aren’t too bad, cowboy. You managed to get me in here.” You hum amused while your fingers run against his jaw, through his scruffy wonderful beard.

Joel chuckles and it dances within his chest, resonating through him.

“You’re the only one I want in here.” He mutters.

You and him share a few more soft slow eased kisses that are rushed, almost shy now.

With one last kiss, a deeply melting one that now makes you ache to keep him here, Joel pulls away. You hold yourself back from pouting.

But, you’re now rewarded with the sight of Joel fully before you. The dim amber light paints him like something pulled from a sunset dream, an aged handsome man so sweet with his furrowed concentrated eyes.

You watch Joel pat around his jean pockets and suddenly your eyes go wide.

“Joel Miller if you lost them-”

“Calm down!” He huffs cutting you off while he rapidly digs into his deep jeans pocket. He yanks something out in his grasp.

He smoothly slides closer back to you and holds out his palm where two wedding rings sit waiting.

His and yours.

Your heart melts out of your chest seeing them and your ring finger itches for its missing piece. You grab Joel’s ring, leaving him yours and move to slide his back onto his hand.

In the same manner, Joel slides your wedding band back onto its rightful place. The memory of when you did this at your actual wedding faintly flutters in and settles warm in your heart’s chamber.

Joel draws your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles.

This man, your husband - you yank him towards you again to kiss him.

It’s a kiss that’s like coming home, of sweetness and cultivated bliss reuniting together again.

“Wanna see that bartender try flirtin’ with ya now with that ring on your finger.” Your grumpy husband grumbles adorably.

You bark a laugh. “Oh please, he was being nice for the tip and you know it.”

“Uh huh.” Joel dryly huffs as he stares at you unamused.

“Hey he was nice. He even liked my shirt.” You reply back.

“My shirt.” Joel clarifies strongly. “That’s my shirt.”

You roll your eyes playful.

He is right though. The shirt is his. Your husband is a superstitious football fan. And ever since you wore his shirt and Texas won, Joel used his beautiful brown eyes as weapons to get you to wear his shirt every game since then.

“Come on, curious to see what the score is.” With one last sweet kiss, Joel leads you back out into the evening air.

Hand in hand with him, you find your way to Tommy and Maria. Both of them brighten up at the sight of you and Joel.

“Hey! Look at that! You’re a married man again!” Tommy cries happily and you laugh. Joel, after sliding your chair in for you, rolls his eyes now while you and Maria snicker to each other.

“Bet it was fun while it lasted.” Maria grins.

“Eh.” You shrug but the truth tugs at your lips amused.

A few nights ago, when you and Joel had come up with this idea of going to the bar without the rings, pretending to not know each other, you worried for a split moment that you’d enjoy the freedom.

You worried you would realize how much you missed and enjoyed the playful banter, the flirting and pull that comes with being single. But instead you simply found your way back to Joel.

The excitement of seeing him, of having that same sensation rush through you like it did when you first met him, was nostalgically addictive for a moment.

However, you instead soak in the comfort of sitting beside Joel because it feels like coming home. While being single for another moment again was fun, you want to find Joel in every lifetime, find him as your husband in every universe.

The bar suddenly breaks into wild excitement. Joel as well cheers so loud. You turn to the game and find Texas intercepted a pass.

Now you go to check your phone and find both your daughters thankfully are doing fine. Sarah even sent you a photo text of her and Ellie at the classmate’s birthday party they’re both at. There’s a lightness that settles into your bones seeing them and having their father, your husband, beside you.

Joel and Tommy, as if they’re ESPN announcers in deep analysis, dive back into how Texas needs to sharpen up their offensive line. It’s adorable. It makes you fall in love even more with him.

Maria goes to ask Tommy something about the game and Joel leans towards you.

“You happy to be married again?” His voice drops soft and low. You catch the hint of true curiosity and almost hesitation residing under his tone.

“Of course. It’s my luckiest day all over again.” You truthfully tell him with a warm grin.

“Yeah?” He mutters tenderly as his eyes flicker to your lips again. “Make sure you share some of that luck with the team alright?”

You playfully nudge his arm and Joel smirks. You love him like this, light and teasing.

Joel drops a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t worry baby, this is my lucky day too. Goin’ home with the most gorgeous person here and I’m married to her.”

You could say the same thing. You’re leaving with the most handsome man and knowing you’re married to him? You feel honored, proud, and grateful.

Even when he starts yelling at the quarterback as if the poor guy can hear him.

“I could throw a better pass than that!” He argues upset.

You’re not as big of a fan as Joel, but Texas holds a place in your heart forever. It intertwined you and him in its own unique way.

Back when you were dating Joel patiently explained the game, so gently spoke to you without any judgment when you asked questions you were sure would make any other seasoned fan mock you or get annoyed. But not your Joel.

The first big moment you met Ellie and Sarah it was over at his place during a Texas game.

You experienced how wildly invested Ellie got, just like Joel, and how amused Sarah got seeing her dad and sister scream at the tv. From that point - all the days, the games, laughs and moments cultivated into a path that has led you to this moment, to this bar.

And now, here you are.

You love Joel’s love for the game, for the sport. You love how it’s connected you to him.

“Honey, you okay?” The voice of your husband pulls you from your thoughts, like a call home.

You turn to find Joel intently looking at you, your sweetheart provider. You can’t help but grin and nod.

“Yup, just thinking about the handsome stranger I met earlier. Hope he asks for my number.” You tell him.

Joel breaks into a chuckle that touches his earth eyes.

“Between you and me, he’d be a fool if he didn’t.” His hand now slides to yours, his thumb even begins to twist and fiddle with your wedding ring, a sweet habit of his.

You snort amused at how effortlessly he can play along with you.

Before you can tease him again or even wander back into your thoughts, the crowd roars to life with shouts. All eyes including yours snap to the game.

Texas just intercepted the ball and the play breathes life into the bar, into your husband who claps loud and proud.

It’s a great energy to see the end of the second quarter and the start of the halftime.

Suddenly, Joel’s hand begins softly trailing against your thigh. Warm and almost eased, the slow movement ignites a blooming desire in your chest.

Joel easily laughs with Tommy about the game. His eyes stay on his brother. Yet Joel’s hand slides now confidently deeper into the inside of your thigh. Your throat tightens and heat now begins to soak between your thighs, almost daring him to touch you.

Then a collection of happy cheers burst in the bar and steals all the attention.

All the tables nearby including yours turn to find a group of ladies. One of them currently grabs the cowboy hat off a taller man who grins so warmly down at her. She laughs loudly after doing what had to have been a wild shot.

The guy orders her, and her friends, another round causing them to squeal loud and excited again. Maria leans back to talk to Tommy and so you too lean closer to your own husband.

“Maybe I should pretend to be single again.” You tell Joel. “To see if I’ll get free shots and attention like that.”

Not that you’d want any of that. You just enjoy teasing your sweet grumpy husband from time to time.

“Nope.” Joel says with an unwavering sharpness. “You ain’t going anywhere without that ring Mrs. Miller.”

His words are rather light, almost playful, but you catch the underlying possessive simmering. It ignites an even stronger warmth beneath your skin.

“And who says you don’t get free shots? I’ll buy you as many as ya want.” Joel adds and his clipped almost ruffled voice has you laughing.

But as you settle, your thoughts wander. The smell of Joel so close, the mixture of his faint cologne and the detergent you use to wash his clothes, brings back the sensation of having that smell surround you when you were in the restroom with him.

It makes you ache.

Your hand now softly wanders to rub his warm broad chest. A low rumble comes from him, an awareness of your presence as you drape against him now. Maria and Tommy thankfully have begun to make fast friends with the couple sitting beside your table.

Your face leans to rest against Joel’s and the slick honey like desire you felt earlier creeps over you once more. It urges you to be bold.

“Wanna go mess around before halftime is over?” You offer soft and low, only for his ears.

Joel peers over to you, his eyes now smoldering coals.

“You wanna?” He mutters back.

Your answer comes as a soft kiss you place against his cheek. However, your hand now begins to slide up his thigh just like he did to you earlier.

Joel loudly clears his throat and sits up fast which untangles you from him. Immediately he yanks out his wallet to slam his card on the table.

Tommy and Maria now blink back at the sudden action.

“Order anything y'all want. We gotta grab somethin’ from the truck.” Joel lies effortlessly.

But Maria knows as she grins knowingly while embarrassment instead rises in you.

And apparently her husband isn’t as easily fooled either.

“Yeah yeah! Get outta here ya horn dogs!”

Joel barks a sharp ‘hey!’ at his younger brother’s crudeness while you can only laugh against him. Tommy simply makes obnoxious kissy faces while Maria snickers besides him. Unable to endure anymore teasing Joel playfully calls Tommy a piece of shit and with that you wave a quick and thankful to Tommy and Maria.

Joel once again leads the way to the entrance.

The two of you now stay stuck together closer than earlier. An almost giddy frenzy now keeps you both hyper aware of the other. His hands keep you so firmly close to him.

The giddiness you had earlier while pretending to be single with Joel is nothing compared to this. This feeling swirling in you comes from knowing you get to sneak away with your husband. It has you floating, only tied to this world by Joel keeping you steady and protected.

Around you, small chatter about the game hangs in the air.

Texas might not win. But as you slide closer to Joel, a unique shade of triumph washes over you.

Your good man, your wonderful husband.

He is your victory and champion.

Your victory lap and your welcome home party all at once.

And when he kisses you wildly against the side of his truck…you think he might also be your sneaky devilish opponent as his hand already starts to slip under your, no his shirt.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#I blame my heartbreak over Texas and Pedro losing but it’s okay cause I got inspired LOL #thank you to anyone who reads this I love you #Joel 🤎 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader

[house-of-lovin]

protect her

Tara Carpenter x Detective!Reader

masterlist

Preview: "Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle."

Warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of violence and mature language. slight scream vi spoilers. read at your own risk.

Note: Reader is around Sam's age, so like 25 or 26. Tara being a words of affirmation girlie. Thought this dynamic would be fun to write about. I'm incapable of writing shorter oneshots ig, so enjoy 6k+ words of whatever this is lol.

Word Count: 6.1k+

The honking of horns blowing through the cool night air was muffled when you pushed the glass door of the diner open. The chimes of the overhead bell rang alerting the room of your presence but barely anyone turned their heads – save for Sam Carpenter who smiled at you.

You shuddered away remnants of the chill air off your shoulders, stepping closer to the bartop; claiming your seat in the far corner pressed up against the wall. A mug is placed on the counter before you even finish hanging your jacket on the back of the chair.

You slide into the high-top seat as the brunette pours coffee into the mug with a carafe. “Still hot, wow, I must be special.” 

“Yeah okay, hotshot. You just happened to make it in time for a new pot.” She rolls her eyes, and you hide your smirk behind the mug; taking a sip – ignoring the fact that you usually come in at this time.

“You on the clock?” She asks, leaning on her elbows atop the counter. She glances back briefly, making sure her snitch of a coworker wasn’t around to scold her for not doing her job.

It was still too early for the influx of drunk regulars and one-timers to come by, so really the only kinds of people in here were the ones who were getting off work too late to make dinner at home.

“Just got off, 16 hours. But got a new lead on a case that went cold a couple of months ago so I guess I’m doing a double. Just reviewing some notes now.” You sigh heavily, gesturing to the files and folders sprawled out on the table. 

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You work too much. You need to take a break and focus on something else outside of work. When was the last time you did something just for you?”

You roll your eyes at her mocking tone, shooting back, “Oh yeah? You learn that from therapy?”

It was her turn to glower when you remind her of the doctor visits. 

“Yeah, that’s usually the advice therapists love to give me before I actually open up – you know like they tell me to and suddenly they’re running for the hills, one by one.” 

You snort, all too familiar with the tales of her doctor visits. It took a while for Sam to open up to you; trust came sparsely these days for the Carpenter. It wasn’t until one of your frequent visits turned into you having to step in and kick a rowdy group of drunkards who were harassing Sam of something along the lines of ‘Woodsboro’ and ‘Ghostface’. It was only when you threatened the group with jail time did they relent.

Sam knew she could trust you after you sent her an acknowledging nod when the group left and went back to minding your own business. The next time you visited, she opened up; about her past, her father, her hallucinations, the attacks and the trauma that came afterward. And, how she managed to land herself in the big city, which sprouted an overzealous rant about her strained relationship with her sister.

You knew how to read people well, it was a significant part of your job to be able to. So, you knew from the moment you laid eyes on her that there was a fire behind those dark eyes that she desperately tried to douse – you had interrogated and dealt with enough people to know what the glint meant.

You were honest to Sam that you had an inkling of suspicion about the darkness in her mind – you still accepted her despite knowing her dirty secret; that a part of her doesn’t feel bad for killing Richie and Amber, if anything it felt kinda good. Sam was confused as to why you, a cop, weren't locking her behind bars at the confession. 

But, having dealt with the scum of the Earth, you can tell she was nothing like them.

It isn’t always easy to differentiate people between just good and bad, you told her when she asked.

A friendship blossomed between you two after that, bonding over similar traumas. Sam invited you to her apartment to meet her friends and sister – who all interrogated you, Mindy, most especially to make sure you weren’t secretly Ghostface. The girl had some skills in that department, you'll admit.

Coming to learn of your career and how surprisingly well Sam trusted you, the group lowered their walls bit by bit. They would never say it out loud but they felt way safer having you around.

“That’s why I don’t go to therapy.” You shrug, taking a sip of the steaming coffee; letting the heat warm your bones.

She snorts, pretending to be wiping the countertop when her coworker peeks her head out to look at you two. “You probably need it more than anyone else in this place.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” You mumble, as you flip through the evidence photos of a homicide you investigated five months ago. The pictures were gruesome, but it was just another day on the job for you. Maybe that’s why you and Sam got along more than expected.

Sam’s phone vibrates from her back pocket and she fishes it out, reading the text.

‘We got into some trouble, some help?’ it was Anika, no doubt being appointed to text Sam because the others didn't want to do it themselves.

“Dammit.” Sam sighs, already taking off her apron to leave.

“What’s up?” You raise a brow at her panicked expression.

“My sister and her friends got into some trouble. I need to get them. Crap! They’re all the way in the East Village.” She says reading the other incoming texts on her phone. “This is what I get for letting her go out.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you.” You say, already standing when Sam mentioned Tara. The thought of the brunette in trouble makes your heart stop for a moment.

“No, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re working.” She shakes her head in protest.

“Carpenter, it’s a 30-minute drive just to get to the East Village, get your ass permission to leave then meet me at my car. Acting like Danny wouldn’t have my ass if I just left you like this.” You mutter, acting indifferent – but it was true, her boyfriend would have your head on a stick if you ever left Sam high and dry, not that you would ever.

She nods, knowing she won’t win this one with you. You throw a $20 tip, slip on your jacket, and make your way back out into the cool fall air.

You lit a cigarette to pass time as you wait for Sam – leaning against your car, trying to ease the nervousness raging in you as you think of what kind of trouble Tara found herself in.

You and Tara are... complicated. You two haven't exactly slapped a label on it, all you know is you care about her more than you probably should.

Because of your close connection with Sam, and how much everyone secretly trusted you. You and Tara found yourselves growing closer to each other with each visit to their apartment.

Tara was weary about you at first introduction, ignoring that you were ridiculously attractive. She can still remember Mindy asking you to your face 'Where did Sam find you?' in a flirtatious tone. You just chuckled and explained how you met her sister, and Tara knew it was kind of wrong, but she couldn't help but be intrigued…

Then Sam started leaving you two alone in the apartment to run some errands. With not much to do, Tara decided to pop a horror movie in to watch with you – finding out you’ve never seen ‘Se7en’ after inquiring if your job was just like the movies.

A connection between you and Tara blossomed from those moments in that tiny NYC living room.

Suddenly she wasn't just your friend's little sister and man, is she magnetic.

She educates you on the joys of horror movies and you watch every single one, listening to her analysis of each scene; simply enjoying the serenity she brings out in you.

Tara is secretly glad you are older than her because sometimes it meant you’re so different, but that just means she can expose you to her interests, and vice versa. You never turned her down – no matter what it was.

On the slim chance you got off work early enough, you visited the diner to keep Sam company and do some work.

Sometimes though, when Sam would end mid-morning, you two would continue your talks at her apartment – sometimes with Danny, over whatever leftover diner food she would steal from her work for you three to munch on over beers and conversation. 

Those would be the nights where you would pass out on their couch from drinking and Tara would finally come out of her room when Sam and Danny leave. She would tuck a blanket over your sleeping figure, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, taking the time to scan your features for any injuries. And in the mornings, when you were gathering your bearings from a night of drinks and bad choices, Tara would force you to sit down at their dining table and have breakfast with her. Scolding you for your irresponsible choices, but being grateful you were in front of her, nonetheless.

She worries for you with your job and all.

And as you find yourself giving into her request for morning coffee, stolen kisses, and conversation – you push away thoughts of being late to work as you find yourself grateful for similar musings the longer you stare at the pretty girl across from you.

“Wow, if people couldn’t tell you're a narc. They sure could now.” Sam takes the time to poke fun at you – pulling you out of your daydream. You look down at your figure; sporting a button-down shirt, trousers with your leather jacket on top and trusty leather boots on your feet.

You roll your eyes in realization and flick away the cigarette bud, yanking the car door open.

“It’s the work dress cod– just get in the damn car, Carpenter.”

– – 

The usual thirty-minute drive instead took fifteen minutes as you pounded on the accelerator, flipped the sirens on, and dashed past other cars on the road as they cleared the way for you.

You arrive at the corner of a lower Manhattan intersection, the East Village was known for its bustling nightlife; you can see a mix of all ages of people wandering the street as they continue their bar crawl.

It was further down the road, where you can see six sullen-looking figures sitting on the curb of the sidewalk – a police officer standing above them. 

Sam dashes out of the car before you can even finish parking. You see her run down the street and talk to the officer, getting in his face and the six others look at her panicked. You sigh, and make your way out of the car, strapping your badge to your belt – you’d need to use it soon, you’re sure.

Tara’s eyes immediately connect to you as soon as you climb out of the car. Before she can think about it, she’s standing up to meet you. “Ah ah, I said sit down! You better listen or I’ll throw you all in jail for the night.”

“You can’t do that!” Sam shouts, stepping closer to the police officer. You decided enough was enough when you saw the police officer resting his hand on his holster.

“All right, that’s enough.” You grasp Sam’s elbow, yanking her away from the police officer. The older Carpenter is slightly startled by the rough tug, but you push her behind you getting in between her and the policeman.

“I think we’re all good here officer, thank you.” You say with finality. You weren’t asking, you were telling and Tara’s inebriated mind is all hot and bothered. 

“Like hell we are, these six were caught sneaking into a club underage, and this one.” He points to Sam, “is getting on my nerves. Now, it seems like I can add you to the list, ‘cause who the hell you think you are, buddy?”

You briefly glance a stern side-eye to Tara at ‘club and underage’, she immediately looks away.

“Detective Y/L/N from the 99th precinct.” You slide your jacket aside to flash him the badge on your waist.

”And, you must be… Officer Leroy. From 6th, huh.” Reading his name tag and badge.

“Think that’s supposed to mean something?” You see his eyes on your badge before glowering to meet your eyes. “I’ll arrest you too.”

The group breaks out into loud protests.

You chuckle knowingly, “How long you been in the force buddy?” You ask, not unaware of all of the eyes on you as you and the officer have a stare-off.

“Four months.” He answers confidently, pushing his shoulders up and back to appear taller.

“Hmm… see I had a feeling. ‘Cause, my buddy Rivers just got promoted to Captain six months ago over on the 6th precinct, which means he’s most likely your superior. I wonder what you’ll tell him as to what charge you picked us up for. ‘Cause well, he will see me.” You shrug, offering up that thought for him to think about. 

“Oh better yet, I’d just love to see what you write down on that case report, Officer. Leroy.” Your tone was harsh now as you stepped in his face, intimidating him.

He was forced to take a step back as you got in his space, his features paling, it took a few seconds before he conceded. “Fine! Just get the hell out of here, and don’t let me see you again!”

Everyone let out a relieved sigh as you smirked at his submission; everyone immediately takes the chance to leave and Sam tries to tug on your arm but you were still staring the cop down. He put this hand on his fucking gun when Sam got in his face and anger was quickly rising in your veins – you were unmovable, even by rough force.

“Y/N it’s over, let’s go.” Sam tries again but she can feel your arm harden as your knuckles tighten into a fist. “Y/N, seriously.”

Tara sobered up by the time police charges was being thrown around and her worry about your protectiveness was increasing. Sam couldn’t even pull you away. Chad steps in when Sam asks for help to convince you to move. He puts a hand on your shoulder, whispering calming words, no doubt. 

But nothing was working as you stood there, still unmovable. She wouldn’t be surprised if Chad threw you over his shoulder and dragged you away, even though you weren’t that much smaller than him. In your boots, you were nearly at his height and Tara had to strain her neck to try and meet your eyes. 

It was only when Tara pulled away from Quinn and Mindy’s hold and stepped in front of you, putting a hand just above your chest that you blinked, glancing down at her. “Y/N, let’s go… please.”

When you tried to glance back up at the other officer, whose partner had seen the commotion and tried his own efforts in calming him; his patience thinning by the second – was when Tara’s grasp on your shirt firmed, making you look back at her own stern eyes.

"Let's. Go." Her tone left no room for argument. Warning you from doing something stupid and you clench your jaw, looking away from the uniformed officers.

“Fine…"

Everyone slowly releases a breath when your rigid posture relaxes. “I’m driving you home, let’s go.” You exclaim to the rest but look directly at Tara, “Especially you, Carpenter.”

You place a hand on the sliver of her back and Tara shivers not used to being this close to you in a while. Your hand keeps its place even as you both turn and Sam is immediately on her ass about sneaking into a club. You guide the bickering sisters to walk to the car, zoning out the familiar sounds of their argument.

“–ou’re lucky Y/N was at the diner, who knows what that creep would’ve done if we didn’t drive out here in time.” Your hand tightens, subtly bringing her closer to your side at Sam’s words, Tara glances over when you do.

“It was fine until you got there and started overreacting, Sam.” Tara rolls her eyes, way past just ‘over’ Sam’s overprotectiveness. The younger girl loved her sister, she did, but she didn’t want to live her life constantly looking over her shoulder.

Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle.

Sam scoffed offended, “Are you kidding me right now?” And you sigh because you can feel a bigger fight brewing and you can hear the slurring in Tara’s words, not a good mix. 

“Let’s get you all home first before we do this, okay?” You cut in when you see the car come closer into view. Fishing for your keys, you throw them at Sam making her catch them. 

“Walk ahead and start the car for me, please?” You ask with a raised brow; tilting your head to gesture to Tara saying a wordless ‘i got her’. Sam relents, tightly gripping the keys and walked ahead.

Tara leans her head against your shoulder, grateful for the brief moment of seclusion as everyone else walks up ahead.

“Are you mad at me?” You glance down at her frown, before looking away. 

“No. I’m not.”

“That wasn’t very convincing. If you’re mad you can tell me… cause then I can fix it.” You feel her run her hand up and down your back, under your jacket. It made a shiver run up your spine as she continued rubbing lines on the fabric of your shirt.

“I swear, I’m not mad. A little disappointed but no, not mad.”

Tara huffs, sliding her arm off your back when you reach the car; the talk cut short. You open the car door sitting Tara inside, it was a tight squeeze but she was small. You’d sit her on your lap if her sister wasn't here. Anika did sit on Mindy’s lap though with poor Chad in the middle seat and then Tara. 

She squeezes your hand just before you shut the door.

Apparently, Ethan and Quinn elected not to go home and continue on with their night.

Sam is already sitting in the passenger seat by the time you closed Tara’s door. With a sigh, you pull your door open, sit behind the wheel and drive off to the Carpenter’s apartment.

– –

Sam hurriedly rushes everyone into the living room as soon she opens the door; making sure to quadruple lock it, twist the handle to make sure it's locked and look out the peephole. It was Sam’s routine whenever she got into their place.

“Come on, let’s go, sit down.” Sam waves at you all, walking to the kitchen to grab water for everyone.

You help Tara onto the far edge of the couch, sitting her beside Mindy, who sat beside Anika. Chad decided to choose a record to listen to get rid of the tense air.

You felt Tara pulling you down with her, “Let me sit on your lap.” She mutters only to you.

“We can’t,” You whisper in her ear, slightly shaking your head. You hear her huff when you refuse her and see the pout on her lips when you pulled back, slightly smiling at her adorableness.

You force yourself to walk away from the younger Carpenter; heart tugging firmly, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in your arms, especially after not knowing what kind of trouble she was in.

Instead, you make your way into the kitchen to help Sam with the water bottles and bread.

“Is this necessary, Sam?” You ask the brunette, who was frantically searching through the fridge on her knees.

“You kidding? Chad is literally just staring holes at the record player.” She rebuttals and you glance back at the younger boy in amusement.

With a chuckle, you say, “He’s just high as shit. He’ll come down soon, plus he’s here now, they all are. Just relax and take a deep breath, man.” You remind her in a serious tone, holding out a hand to hold all the water bottles she was passing off to you.

“I know, I know. I was just worried.” She follows your advice taking calming, deep breaths as you follow along with her. 

“Your therapist would be so proud, Samantha.” You tease smugly as she scoffs, hitting your leg from her position on the floor – you kick her back.

“Can you make sure Tara drinks and eats something, and that she’s okay before going to bed?” Sam asks you in a hushed tone, although she didn’t need to. The other four were all too engrossed either in the music or the TV in the back. 

“Why me?”

“She’s not ready to talk to me and I’m not either... and I just wanna sleep right now.” She admits with a plead behind her eyes and you nod with no hesitation. 

“I'll make sure all of them make it to bed, don’t worry.” She nods appreciatively, then stands so you can both get back to the other four in the living room – tossing them some bread.

“Finish that whole bottle before going to sleep, I don’t care if you piss your pants while you do ‘em.” You say in a stern tone while throwing the bottles, then sitting on the armchair to Tara’s left.

Sam shares a look with you as she slips out of the room, wordlessly, leaving you with the other four. They watched TV for the next 20 minutes, glancing around as each of them got progressively tired the more time ticked on. 

“Alright. I think it’s time to call it a night.” You call it.

The twins and Anika slowly got up, muttering goodbyes and promises of texting Tara once they’d made it home. You offered to drive them to their dorm but felt the silent conversation between the friends – as Tara got them to turn you down to get you to stay here with her. 

You lean against the front door, watching as the trio made their way down the stairs until they were out of sight. As soon as you shut the door closed, you felt arms wrap around your midsection – making you turn around.

“I missed you,” Tara mutters against your chest making you chuckle when it slightly tickled. 

You cup her jaw, making her look into your eyes. “I missed you too, baby.”

Tara melts at the term of endearment, grabbing your neck to pull you down for a long searing kiss. Lips slotted over one another as they found the familiar grooves of each other’s mouths. Only breaking apart when Tara confessed with a bated breath, “You looked so hot confronting that other cop.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm…” She mutters connecting her mouth to your neck, peppering wet kisses there. She can hear you sigh in satisfaction and it makes her hold on you tighten even more. But with great reluctance, you pulled away from Tara; who whimpered in protest.

“We can’t, babe.” You remind her, pointing with your head to Sam’s room.

She frowns, “then come to my room.” Problem solved. She smirked devilishly, tugging you toward her room; you refused.

“We still can’t. You’re drunk and I’m not taking advantage.” You whisper, only stepping close to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She groans letting her head drop to your shoulder as your hand played with her hair.

“I hate that you’re a goodie two shoes.” She mutters making you laugh.

You tilt her head up with the hand already in her hair – gaze intense as you whisper, “I can assure you, I am far from a goodie two shoes.”

And Tara thought she melted at the way your voice dropped an octave when you said that but she knew she melted when you leaned down, tugging her by the hair, to connect your lips.

It was barely a peck, all tender and fleeting.

When you pulled away, she smirked knowingly watching as your eyes traced a path from her lips to her eyes – your gaze all dark, lustful. When your eyes connect you dive into her with a hair-raising kiss; all hungry and pining.

The feeling of your tongue clashing against hers and sounds of soft moans sends time stopping like only you and her exist in this apartment together. But Tara knows it doesn’t really stop and she has to eventually pull away before she takes you in the hallway – right then and there.

“God, you drive me crazy,” Tara whispers against your lips.

“So do you… cause sneaking into a club, really?” You ask unimpressed and Tara immediately pulls back, groaning.

Snickering as you follow closely behind when she walks into her room, trying to get away from you.

“You’re a mood-killer.” She mutters sitting on her bed, arms crossed over her chest; sulking.

“And you’re gonna give me and Sam a heart attack soon.” You joke but it was true. Tara loved to prove her sister wrong; not like being told what to do. It grew a defiant attitude in her that loved to stir shit up just for the hell of it, and that landed her in some hot waters with her friends sometimes. She definitely made your blood pressure sky-rocket, sometimes too.

“Why?” Tara probes. You were always so elusive and mysterious – it came with your job and allure. She can barely get you to open up about your feelings most of the time, saying you prefer to show her than tell her. You definitely did, so this admission from you was new. It has Tara yearning to hear more words of affirmation from you.

“Do I have to spell it out for you? I care about you, dummy. I nearly caused multiple accidents just to get to you. I was going like 80 mph the whole time,” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck a little ashamed.

“You were really that worried?” She asks, looking up at you with a hopeful stare like she was surprised.

“Of course, I was Tara. I even used the siren lights.” You shake your head at the fact that she’s even asking. 

She was smiling goofily as you walked closer to stand between her legs, taking both her hands in yours. “I worry for all of you. But you, well, I always worry for you 'cause I’m thinking about you all the time.” You confessed in a whisper in her dark room. 

Tara bites her lip, staring up at you with an indecipherable look. “You’re the worst.” Was the words that left her mouth.

“What, why?” You ask laughing.

She lets go of your hands to fiddle with your shirt buttons, muttering, “‘Cause you’re standing here looking all good and saying all the right things, and you still won’t fuck me.”

“Oookay…” You chuckle, grabbing at her fingers trying to unbutton your shirt, “That’s enough from you tonight. Let’s get you to bed before you say anything else you might regret tomorrow.”

She huffed but allowed you to grab her some new clothes to help her change; still not fucking her, Tara complains. Your eyes never even strayed from hers, not even when she took her bra off to change shirts and batted her eyes seductively. When she was all ready, you helped her to bed; tucking her in.

“Stay with me?” She asks grabbing onto your shirt, then gripping tighter. “Please.”

“What about Sam?” You ask softly, pushing away some hair from her face.

“She’s probably already sleeping, if not, she’s gonna be in her room all night.” Tara reasons, fully tugging you on top of her. 

You give in like you always do.

Work for you and classes for Tara have been a lot right now, not being able to find time alone. You were practically living at the police station with the crime surge in the city, working late nights and long hours. With Sam’s overprotectiveness, Tara can say goodbye to dates so she only really sees you when you come over with her sister. You take your jacket off, place it on the chair in the corner of her room and tug your boots off. Remembering you had a change of clothes here from when Tara ransacked your closet; you picked out a shirt and shorts before getting into bed beside the younger Carpenter.

She was on you in an instant, swinging a leg over your waist, shoving her face in your neck. You feel her exhale a calming breath, once she’d settled into a comfortable position on you. You reciprocate by wrapping a strong grip around her waist, cherishing the way her skin warmed yours and how the weight of her body felt perfect.

“Just stay with me until I fall asleep?” She asks you with such a vulnerable gaze that you would never dream of ever telling her no.

You nod, pressing a kiss to her lips, then forehead. “Of course, pretty girl. Goodnight.”

She smiles against your lips, whispering her own, “goodnight.”

As you hold Tara Carpenter in your arms, you find yourself fending off sleep, only ever being this relaxed around the girl. You squeeze her slightly, feeling grateful to be with her at this moment with all the craziness in your two’s lives. No worries of outside-world problems could break the cozy bubble you and Tara created. Without ever standing a chance, you lose the fight to sleep and easily fall off the precipice with her in your embrace.

– –

“Tara, do you have my nail polish – Oh this is cute.”

You spring up, the voice startling you from the most relaxed sleep you’ve ever had; the type that makes your entire body heavy and head foggy when you wake up. You were the lightest of sleepers, a pin drop could probably startle you awake, but never when you fell asleep beside Tara.

“What the fuck?” Tara grumbles against your side, peaking her head up to see Quinn watching you two in bed.

It took you a few seconds to realize where you were and instantly pale when you realize you never left the Carpenter Sister’s apartment, you never even made it out of Tara’s bed. You can feel the stream of sunlight coming in from Tara’s window and just know you had majorly fucked up.

“I just needed my nail polish but this is quite a sight, definitely a pleasant surprise.” She waves a hand toward you two, and you roll your eyes.

“Shit babe, Sam.” Tara places a hand on your arm. You check the watch strapped on your wrist for the time, 10:32 AM – making you leap out of her, oh so warm bed.

“Screw Sam, my Captain is gonna be on my ass until next year if I don’t get to work now. I was late about two hours ago.” Grumbling, you yanked Tara’s closet open and grabbed the spare trousers and button-down, you stowed in there.

"Can't say I blame your Captain." Quinn retorts, heavily eyeing you as you change your shorts into trousers.

Tara groans at the mess this morning has already been, flopping onto her back.

“Screw Sam, huh?” She appears, leaning on the threshold just behind Quinn, crossing her arms over her chest.

Your hands stall on the tie you were tying as you hear your friend’s voice, making you turn around.

“I guess that’s a no on the nail polish?” Tara glares at her roommate. 

Quinn shrugs, still ogling as you changed before turning to leave the room. “Not a wasted trip though, nice catch Tara.” She winks at the brunette – holding a thumbs up.

The redhead just laughs, moving out of the way when Tara attempts to throw a pillow at her.

“Sam… I’d love to explain but I am so late for work right now.” You plead at the older sister.

Tara sat on her bed wordlessly, unsure of what Sam’s reaction is going to be – but ready to defend her relationship with you, regardless.

Sam chuckles shrugging lightly, “I already knew. Or well, I had a feeling, but this just confirms it.”

You and Tara look at each other at her confession, unsure if Sam’s words hold positive or negative connotations. Sam sees the eye-contact and laughs.

“I’m not mad, I promise. I was a little hurt that you didn’t tell me…” She pauses, “okay. I was really hurt when you guys didn’t tell me. But I realize I haven’t given Tara reason to trust me with anything about her life lately.”

That makes Tara’s head perk up at her sister’s admission. All she’s ever wanted was for Sam to trust her a little because trust went both ways in every type of relationship.

“And well, I guess I can’t think of anyone better to be with my sister than my cop friend. Especially after you came through for her last night. You were driving so fast, I thought I was gonna die.” Sam laughs a little but you’re still unconvinced.

When Sam realizes no one was still talking she chuckles again. “Guys, I’m serious!”

You cough clearing your throat, “Sorry Sam, it’s just that... I–uh,” 

Tara decided to cut off your stammering, “We’re just surprised, Sam. We thought you'd be more upset. And that we were more subtle.” She admits, shooting you a look.

“You weren't. But, I thought a lot about what to say until I realized it was just you guys and I care about you two so much. You don’t think I noticed Tara being a lot happier than usual and you actually looking somewhat at peace?” She asks rhetorically, reading you and Tara to filth – your cheeks reddening, not being used to being at the other end of the ‘questioning’.

“I see how you look at each other. I know you’ll protect her.” That last sentence she says looking at you and it means the world to get her approval – something that you didn’t even know you wanted, you nod at her appreciatively.

Sam pushes herself off the doorframe, tapping on it. “Now come on, there’s breakfast in the kitchen, don't let it get cold. And Y/N, I don’t think you’re gonna make it to work today.” She winks, leaving you and Tara alone in the room.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, unable to find words to describe what just transpired in the span of a few minutes. Then you hear a scoff bring you out of your reverie.

“What the hell was that,” Tara commented, getting up from the bed and closing the door before approaching you. 

“I’m… not really sure. I can’t tell if I’m still asleep.” You mumble, grabbing at her cheeks to make sure you weren't in a dream. Tara whines against the pinching, swatting your hands away.

You laughed at her frown before leaning down to kiss her slightly chapped lips, all soft and slow. Tara pulls you closer by the neck, sighing against pressed mouths. A sweet moan escapes her mouth when you suck down hard on her lip, releasing it with a loud pop. 

“You think I should call in sick today?” You whisper, running a gentle thumb to soothe her swollen lip.

Tara nods, eyes half-open still a little dazed from your kiss. When she gathers her bearings, she runs a hand down your half-done tie, tugging you closer. “Definitely.”

"You can tell me more about how worried you were and how fast you were driving too," She whispers against your mouth, using your tie as a leash.

"Are you turned on right now?"

"Kinda... can I drive with the sirens on?" She slides the question in like it was nothing.

"No."

"Buzzkill." She teases but pulls you on top when her back hits the mattress. “I’ll make you change your mind.”

You definitely forgot to make that phone call.

The rest of that morning was spent in between Tara’s sheets, you two hidden away from the world; ignoring the flurry of texts and calls from your work phone. Only leaving her room to grab some food and water, but getting caught in the crossfire of teasings from Tara's friends when they see the hickeys on your neck.

Tara merely strides past you, dressed in nothing but your button-down, stopping for a peck on the lips and grabbing the water from your hands before hiding back in her room to ignore her friends. You don’t miss the cheeky wink she tosses you and the grimace Sam lets out as she watches. Instead, you keep your head down and follow the smaller girl like a lost puppy, ignoring the other's whistles as you do.

And, when you make your way to your desk the next day, a mountain pile of shitty cases for the next month is stacked high as punishment.

You still find it hard to feel any remorse for the no-show.

It was definitely worth it.

– –

:)

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #sam carpenter #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #jenna ortega

[katiexpunk]

Caller Number Nine | Pairing Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a radio host of a popular late-night segment on relationships, advice and more. After a particularly bad night of calls, your final call of the night takes you by surprise.

Warnings: Javier is a flirt. Alcohol/marijuana. Humor/Banter. Flirting. References to infidelity and a man's negative view on his wife's postpartum body (the reader puts them both in their place). Both reader and Javier are lonely. New York. Slightly dom Javier. Biting. Javier gives reader a hickey. Murphy the Cat (this cat is DEA). Bodegas and a wholesome shop owner named Carlos. Some Spanish. TUWOMT call back to Paddington 2 but in a Javier AU. Javier calls the reader a slut once (she likes it). Praise kink. Thigh riding. Use of pet names. Just a hot fuck. Creampie. Unprotected sex. Fingering. Pizza on ranch. Dave Portnoy gets mentioned (iykyk). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. For immersability, the reader has no major physical descriptions.

W/C: ~6K

A/N: Let's just say this story was inspired by the slutty mustache that has made a triumphant return. I’m also just really into pizza with ranch right now, too, idk. If you need me I’ll be internally freaking out about the fact that there are almost 1,400 of you interested in my silly little stories. Thank you. 🥹🖤

Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3

People suck at listening. You used to, too. But over time, call after call, you have become intimately acquainted with the quiet moments—the pauses between heartbeats, the breaths taken before confessions spill forth, the silence that stretches like a canvas waiting for emotions to color it. 

These moments, often overlooked in the noise of daily life, are where you find the truth that guides you through the tangled web of love and relationships you navigate every night on your show.

For you, the quiet is not emptiness but a space brimming with potential. It's in these pauses that you listen most intently, not just to the spoken words but to the ones that tremble on the edge of silence, too shy or too scared to make themselves heard. You have learned that what is not said can be just as important as what is, and you can hear those unspoken fears, dreams, and desires. 

Each night, as the clock winds down and the world outside your studio window holds its breath, you lean into the quiet, inviting it into your show. You encourage your callers to do the same—to listen to the quiet within themselves, to the truths they've buried under layers of fear, doubt, or societal expectation. "In the silence," you often say, "you'll find the answers you've been too busy to hear."

Most of the time the callers are open to your feedback, their hearts open and kind.

Most of the time. 

Tonight isn’t one of those times.

++++

“Have you ever had Brussels sprouts made for you at midnight by a gorgeous woman in no pants following multiple orgasms? I have, and they’re fucking delicious,” one caller said. It was obvious after minutes of talking to him that he was failing to heed your advice that if he didn’t stop sleeping with women who weren’t his wife, she would likely find out one day and leave him. God, you hope she does. 

“I love her, you know? I just don’t find myself that physically attracted to her after she had the baby, it’s not my fault…” another said. Ugh, fuck off, dude. You were quick to shut that one down, to tell him that he was being a boy, to go to the store and buy his wife some goddamn flowers and apologize for being such an asshole. 

Like a broken record stuck on repeat, this is how the night continues. One bad call after another, each seeming to echo or outdo the last in its what the fuck factor. 

In the dimly lit recording studio, a soft hum of equipment fills the air, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of LED lights on the soundboard. You think briefly about letting out a scream before your last call, surely the foam walls would absorb the sound. 

The glow of the computer screen casts a soft light on your face, accentuating the furrow of your brow and the downturn of your lips. You're a picture of frustration, a stark contrast to the empathetic persona that your listeners know and rely on. Each bad call tonight has chipped away at you. You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples for a brief moment before looking up at the clock, its hands inching their way to your liberation. 

Just one more call. 

The phone lines blink red. Your hand, a little steadier than you feel, reaches out and cues up the next caller, your voice finding strength as it always does when you speak into the void. 

“Hi there, caller number nine. You’re on the air with Midnight Confessions. What’s on your heart tonight?” 

“Ah shit – oh, uh probably shouldn’t say that on air huh – mm, wasn’t expecting to get through,” the man admits, his tone telling you he’s nervous, and probably a little drunk. 

“Guess it’s your lucky night then. And it’s a late-night show, you can curse all you want to. What’s your name?” you ask, trying to ease him into the conversation.

There’s a pause, the kind that tells you the caller is weighing his options on whether he should give you his real name or not. Finally, he exhales softly, his mouth close to the receiver, enough for the exhale to cut through the static. 

“I’m Javier. And you are?” 

“You can call me the voice of the night,” you reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, the first genuine one in hours.

“Didn’t realize I called the crime fighters hotline.”

The joke catches you by surprise and you let out a little laugh.

“Can’t say I’ve gotten that one before,” you respond before eventually giving him your real name. “So tell me, Javier, what would you like to talk about tonight?” 

There’s another pause, longer this time, before Javier’s voice returns softer, and you can tell the tone is about to shift. 

“This is stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight ma’am,” he says, and you can tell he’s seconds away from hanging up. 

“Javier, wait –” you say, but he doesn’t respond. The line hasn’t disconnected, so you know he’s still there. 

“Listen, I don’t know you – and you don’t have to tell me anything – but I can tell from the tone of your voice that it sounds like you’re carrying quite a bit on your shoulders. It’s brave of you to want to open up about it. Sometimes, talking to a stranger is easier than talking to someone you know,” you say, letting the dead air hang heavy for a second, “let me try to help.” You try not to make a habit out of convincing callers to spill their guts, but something about this call, this man, compels you to. 

Javier sighs a sound that carries a world of worry. “I don’t even know where to start. My whole life, I’ve defined myself by my job, and without that, I –” his voice starts to crack, and he stops. You hear the clank of an ice cube against glass, and he continues again, “I realize how alone I am, how I don’t have anyone or anything. I feel like the only company I have these days are the ghosts of a past life.” 

You don’t have the full context of his confession, but it hits you deeper than expected, echoing a sentiment that's all too familiar. You think about how most of the time, when you’re not working, you’re either turning to dust on the couch or in the company of fictional men you read about in books. 

"Javier," you start, your voice softer, threading through the silence with care, "I understand more than you might think. You're not alone. It might feel that way right now, but I promise you’re not,” you say sweetly.

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue, “Losing a part of our identity, especially one that's been a cornerstone of who we are, is like losing our direction. But it's also an opportunity, a chance to rediscover yourself, to find new aspects of your life that give you meaning and joy."

You pause, giving Javier space, letting your words hopefully seep in to provide some comfort. 

“What does that mean – that you understand more than I might think?” he asks, not acknowledging the rest of your statement, a curiosity in his voice. 

“It means –” you start. Oh god, here we go. You’re not often like this with your callers, but this feels different. The studio, with its blinking lights and the gentle hum of the machinery, suddenly feels more intimate, as if it's just you and Javier at this moment, connecting through the airwaves.  

“When I was little, my mother always knew my things, quirks, you know? Things like the fact that I’m scared of heights, that I get cranky if I don’t eat breakfast, and that I only like ranch dressing on pizza and never salad. It’s all trivial, small little details, but from this, I think I learned that being known is to be loved. 

You take a deep breath, and let the silence swallow you whole for a moment before continuing. 

“When I say I understand more than you might think, I mean that I’m still one of those people who’s waiting for someone to tell me how much I mean to them, still hoping for someone who will know those things about me, too,” you pause.

“Someone who will hold my hand tightly when I’m on a rooftop so I don’t somehow tumble over the edge, someone who will make sure I eat breakfast, even if it’s just a shitty granola bar, someone who will buy the fancy ranch, even if it only gets used on greasy pizza.” 

You hear Javier chuckle through the line. 

“Something funny?” you ask, a little confused, slightly embarrassed that this call has somehow reversed the roles and you’re the one spilling your confessions over like a broken yolk into his hand. 

“No, no – it’s just ranch on pizza, that’s uh, that’s…disgusting,” he admits, a playful tone to his words, the sadness before seems to be gone, but you know his humor is likely just a mask. 

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know ranch on pizza is a classic, and quite delicious. Thousands – no millions – of people like ranch on their pizza, it’s not that weird,” you quip. 

“Right,” he rasps, “I’ll take your word for it, sweetheart.” You bite your lower lip and try to ignore the heat that’s risen to your cheeks, the little thrill you feel in your stomach from your banter. You’re quickly brought back to reality when you look at the clock and realize your call time is nearing an end. 

“Well, Javier, you're my last call of the night and I’m afraid it’s time to wrap the show up. Is there anything else I can help you with before I let you go?” 

“No,” he says, his voice a low rasp, thick like honey, “thanks for saying all of that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, the smile still on your lips like sugar from cotton candy. You slump back into your chair and the line disconnects. 

++++

As the clock ticks past one, the studio lights fall to darkness, leaving only a solitary desk lamp to cast long shadows across the room. You loop the familiar weight of your backpack over your shoulder and put on your headphones. 

You lock the studio door, and step into the brisk night air — it’s March, technically Spring, but the remnants of Winter are still holding tight. The city's pulse is tangible, even at this late hour, as you navigate your way to the subway. With only the Eagles in your ear to keep you company, you watch as the Graffiti-streaked walls blur past. 

Once off the subway, you think about heading straight home to promptly melt into your mattress, but the rumble in your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten since lunch. 

Might as well go see Murphy. He’s always happy to see you. 

You round around the corner and the bodega lights come into view. The ground beneath you is damp and you’re careful not to step into any puddles as you make your way to the shop. You push open the shop door and the familiar chime of a bell alerts Murphy to your presence. 

“Hi Murphy,” you coo, crouching closer to the ground so he can rub up against you. “How’s my favorite boy?” You say, scratching his favorite spot under his chin, feeling the comfort of his soft fur and rhythmic purr. If Murphy had it his way, you’d live at the Bodega, ceasing only to exist to give him love. 

Your stomach growls again and you rise, “Gonna get some dinner now, okay Murph?” You walk through the tight aisles, grab a can of tuna as you pass by the canned goods, making your way to the frozen section in the back.

Chicken nuggets it is, you silently tell yourself before grabbing the frozen bag and making your way to the register. 

"Hola, Carlos. ¿Cómo va tu noche?" (Hi, Carlos. How’s your night going?) 

"Oh, hola.” As much as you’d love to practice your Spanish with Carlos, he needs to practice his English more and you’re more than happy to oblige. 

"Good to see you. Listened to your show tonight, what a piece of work some of those people were,” he responds, using his index finger to punch numbers on the cash register.

"Tell me about it. How much do I owe you?"

"$7.50. Murphy says thank you for the donation,” he smiles, holding up the canned Tuna, and like clockwork, Murphy jumps up on the counter and starts assaulting the can with his cheek. 

“Like he gave me any choice,” you respond, handing over $10. Carlos gives you your change and you give Murphy a few final loving pats on the head.

“¡Hasta mañana!"

"Buenas noches."

Back in the quiet of your apartment, the microwave fights you, its door refusing to stay closed until you jam it shut with a wooden spoon. With dinner finally spinning inside, you sink onto the couch, the night’s weight lifting off your shoulders. You feel yourself nodding off before the sound of the microwave beeping and the rumble of your stomach wake you up. 

Dinner done, you smoke a joint, the smoke curling lazily in the lamplight. Your mind goes fuzzy and you stare up at the ceiling, trying to make shapes out of the popcorn on the ceiling. Your mind drifts to the thought of your last caller and you let your mind wander as you imagine what he might be up to tonight. Is he asleep? Or is he staring up at his ceiling, lost in thoughts as you are?

The only thing you know for certain is that you’re both alone tonight. At least there’s some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one.

The city outside continues its restless murmuring, but your mind goes silent as you fall asleep. 

++++

You're grateful to have the next night off. Not like you have plans, but at least you don’t have to show face or wash your hair. Even if you did have to go out in public tonight, it wouldn’t matter — that’s the beauty of New York. You could look like a gutter rat and nobody would give a shit. But still, the freedom of an evening without obligations feels like a luxury, a small pocket of time where the demands of the world fade into the background. 

Staring at your nearly empty fridge, its emptiness staring back at you, you sigh. Fuck. And then it hits you, unexpected but undeniable, a craving for pizza. Not just any pizza, but a pie from your favorite local spot, where the crust is always perfectly crisp and the cheese melts in a way that feels like a hug for your taste buds.

Stepping out into the evening rain, you make your way to the pizzeria that’s only a block away. The moment you open the door, a warm wave of garlic, tomato, and baked dough envelops you. The line isn’t long, but it gives you enough time to deliberate over your order, though deep down, you know you’ll end up choosing your usual — a Margherita. 

You peek up from your phone and notice the man in front of you at the order counter. Broad shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt, his tight jeans outlining a figure that speaks of strength. Dark hair and tan skin contrast strikingly under the fluorescent lighting. He orders confidently, his voice smooth, almost familiar. As he’s about to cash out, he adds “Can I get a side of ranch too, please?” 

“No problem,” the cashier says, a little too happy to oblige his request. She’s flirting, you don’t know her, but you can tell. When the cashier asks for a name for the order, it confirms what you think you already know. 

 "Javier." The name hangs in the air, a familiar sound that sends a jolt through you. 

It couldn’t possibly be. 

The words escape your lips before you have a chance to second-guess it. 

“I thought ranch on pizza was disgusting.” 

He turns to face you and oh. You might have guessed that he was attractive from his voice, but seeing him is something else entirely. He’s strikingly handsome, with a dark mustache trimmed perfectly above his lip, his jaw stark and chiseled. The corners of his lips turn up in a smirk. 

“Shit. Caught red-handed by the crime stopper herself,” he says with a wink. 

Okay, so he’s handsome and charming. You’re so fucked. 

As Javier steps aside, your gaze lingers for a moment longer before you place your own order. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you do. 

“No plans tonight?” He asks, and you shake your head. 

“Not really, just this. Might swing by to see my boyfriend on my way home,” you say, noticing the way his expression shifts into disappointment, it’s subtle, but it’s there. 

“Oh,” Javier says. He thinks for a second that maybe you were lying last night about understanding what it’s like to be alone. 

“Yeah, we’ve got a hot date with a can of tuna,” you respond, smiling as you watch his very visibly confused face, the furrow of his brow. You can tell he’s not quite sure how to respond, the words a tangled knot in his brain, or perhaps conjuring up some weird kinky thoughts about what a date with a can of tuna could entail. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I’m just messing with you,” you laugh. “He’s a bodega cat up the street, I usually swing by every night after work and I’ve developed a soft spot for the little guy. His name’s Murphy.” 

“Wait, Murphy? From Carlos’ shop?” Javier asks, and you’re a little surprised. 

“You know Carlos?” 

“Yeah, yeah — he’s friends with my father. Great guy,” he adds, nodding to the pizzeria worker who hands him his order. You notice the blush on her cheeks when he says thank you.

You watch intently as the other worker packs up yours, placing two to-go containers of ranch on your box. 

You grab your pizza and use your free hand to grab one of the containers of ranch and extend it to Javier. “For you,” you smile as you hold it out to him. 

“Eat with me?” He asks, grabbing the ranch from your hand, your skin briefly touching. 

How could you say no? 

You smile and nod, and follow him through the restaurant. He holds the door open for you and places his hand on your lower back as he guides you out. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. He’s just being a gentleman, but something about the touch causes something in your core to run hot, a hint of arousal in its warmth. 

In typical New York fashion, you find a relatively clean stoop to sit on. With the pizza boxes open on the step in front of you, the steam wafting in the cool night air, you smile at Javier. 

“Are you ready to have your world rocked?” You ask, holding the pizza up long enough for the strings of cheese to disconnect from the box. He does the same. 

“After you, Cariño.” 

Cariño. So he’s a flirt, too. 

You dip your slice into the ranch, a perfect amount clinging to the tip, before you bring it to your lips. The anticipation builds with the scent of garlic and herbs wafting up. 

You barely pause to savor the moment before you declare, “Some people say the first bite of pizza is the best, but I disagree.” You dunk it back into the ranch and take another, this time bigger than the first, “The second bite is really where it’s at.” Since when did you become Dave Portnoy?

Javier watches with amusement as you delight over your dinner. “Go on now, after you,” you nod, continuing to work on your pizza like a starving dog. You watch as he delicately dunks his pizza into the ranch, and like a baby bird, takes a small bite. You study his expression, a mix of curiosity and amusement, as he carefully chews. His face gives nothing away, a poker face if you ever saw one, until he finally delivers his verdict, “Can’t say it’s my favorite.”

“What?” you gasp, half in disbelief, half in jest. You playfully nudge him, your hand reaching out to liberate the neglected ranch from his box. “Let me save this from your indifference,” you tease, claiming the ranch for your own. The banter feels easy, much like it did when he called in the other night. 

“So tell me, Javier,” he stops you “You can call me Javi,” he says. 

“Javi,” you smile, picking at a tomato on your second slice. “What made you want to call in the other night?” 

He looks at you as you bring the tomato to your mouth, and lets his gaze linger on your lips. You notice. 

“That’s a good question. Um,” he says, taking another bite before continuing, his elbows on his thighs, staring out into the street. “Truthfully, I was a little drunk, and a lot alone. I think I just wanted someone to talk to.” 

“I get that,” you acknowledge. 

“What? You probably talk to dozens of people every day,” he responds, turning to face you this time. 

"False. I listen to dozens of people every day, but I don’t really get to talk. At least, not about things that matter, not truly." He gives you a long look, then nods, understanding etched into his features. He doesn’t pry further. 

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both work on finishing your pizzas.

"What about you?" you finally break the silence.

"What about me?" he echoes, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"I spilled my plans for the night, my glamorous date with Murphy. What's on your agenda?" you ask, leaning forward slightly. His tight bicep muscles press up against your arm.

"This," he gestures broadly to the city around you, wrapped in the open night. Then, with a sheepish grin, he adds, "Well, actually, I was planning to go home and watch Paddington 2."

You laugh hard enough to let out a little snort. He looks at you with affectionate eyes, like you’re the cutest thing he’s seen in a while. 

“Paddington 2? Like, the bear movie?” you manage between chuckles.

“Yep. I cried through the entire thing the first time I saw it. It made me want to be a better man.” 

“I see, well I’ll have to take your word for it, I’ve never seen it.” 

"Do you want to come over and watch it?" he proposes, the question hanging in the air. It’s a bold move, especially since you've only just met, but there’s an earnestness in his invitation that makes you pause, considering.

"Only if we can swing by and say hi to Murphy on the way," you quip, bumping your shoulder against his lightly.

“Deal,” he says with a wink. 

++++

As the saying goes, you make plans and god laughs. 

It's almost as if you could have, perhaps even should have, anticipated this turn of events. 

Paddington 2 might as well have been code for want to come over and fuck? 

The energy crackling between you two is undeniable, magnetic. His blend of wit, handsomeness, and confident charm weaves an irresistible allure, drawing you in closer with every word, every glance. 

It's one of those rare, electric connections that you read about or see in movies, but seldom experience in real life. Yet here it is, unfolding in real-time, a reminder that sometimes the most memorable moments are those you never see coming. You rarely see yourself as the main character, but tonight you feel like one. 

In the narrow stairwell, his hips press firmly against yours, your back against the cold wall, arms pinned above your head. His lips find yours with an intensity that leaves no room for hesitation, a crash of desire against desire. You surrender to the moment, tilting your pelvis into his, a plea for more. 

The world around you is a blur; it's just the two of you, enveloped in a haze of passion. His hands, desperate and eager, fumble for his keys—a brief interruption in your heated exchange as he struggles to unlock the door without breaking the heat of your gaze, the connection of your lips only momentarily severed. The anticipation builds with each fumbled attempt, heightening the intensity as you eventually enter his apartment and he has you pressed up against the door.

His lips trail from yours down the razor edge of your jaw, the hallow of your throat, over your collarbones, and down the valley of your still-clothed chest. “Javi,” you moan, and he responds with a groan into your chest. He looks up at you through his gorgeous lashes, “Can I take this off, Cariño?” 

“Yes, yeah — shit, yes, please.” 

He makes quick work of your shirt and assists it over your head, before returning his lips to your soft skin and working to undo your bra at the same time. “God damn” he mumbles under his breath, and you can’t help but feel the warmth rush to your chest and cheeks, “so pretty.” 

You can’t even remember the last time you were touched like this, nonetheless kissed. Your skin erupts in goosebumps as he makes his tongue trail over one of your nipples, the other being teased slightly between his fingers. The sensation causes you to tilt your head back in ecstasy and you let out a soft moan. “Oh, yeah? You like it when I do that, baby?” You nod your head in response. “Use your words.” 

“Yes, oh god — feels so good.” 

“That’s better.” 

You bring both of your hands to the waistband of his denim and pull him in closer to you, close enough to feel his hard cock, desperate to be touched. He brings his hands to grip your hair, baring your throat to him. He forces your legs apart with his knee, shoving it against your core. You begin to slowly grind on the denim. 

“Want more?” 

“Fuck, yes — ” you whimper with another grind against him. He kisses you again, one hand tightly gripping your hip and the other wrapped in your hair. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his middle until you drop them to find his belt buckle. His lips find yours once more, and he sucks the bottom one into his mouth before biting it and letting go.

He steps back, and you work to remove the rest of your clothing and shoes. You shimmy your pants over your thighs, taking your underwear with you. He thought you were beautiful from the moment he turned around and saw you, but seeing you standing in front of him, chest heaving, bare and perfect just for him, is another story. He slides his pants and underwear off in one go, kicking them off the side along with his boots.

He only gives you a moment to admire his form, cock hard and thick, the tip of it red and weeping, before he surges forward and kisses you with new passion. He licks the seam of your lips before forcing it open with his tongue, swallowing every one of your moans like they’re a gift just for him.

When you both can’t breathe, he pulls back and peppers kiss down your neck once more before he sucks a hickey into your neck, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He smirks against your skin and moves to the expanse of your shoulder, finding a new spot to bite and suck. 

He forces his thigh between yours again, pushing the expanse of it right up against your bare pussy. You moan and cling to him, once again riding his thigh. “You gonna come on my thigh, baby?” He questions against your skin, feeling your shoulders shudder from his breath ghosting along your neck. He tightens his grip on your waist and rocks you forward, “Use me. Want to feel you soak me,” he hums, kissing your neck. You’re lost in the haze of your arousal, chasing the friction you so desperately need. 

“Answer me, Cariño.” 

“Y-yes.” You breathe,  tightening your grip on him. You grind against him more, faster, harder. “Want it so bad.”  And fuck, you do, you need it so bad but you’re not sure you can get there from just this. 

“What do you want, beautiful?” He questions with another bite to your skin. “Do you want to come on my thigh like the good little slut I know you are?” You whine at the filth of his words, the warmth of his praise causing your belly to tighten. He tightens his grip on your hips and guides you faster on his leg, his fingers digging into your skin, hard enough you hope you bruise. 

“Show me how pretty you are when you come, Cariño — make a mess of me,” Your body seizes up and you throw your head back and let out a guttural moan. The spot where your pussy rests against his thigh gets wetter. When you tilt your head back up, his eyes are what throws you over the edge. He holds your gaze as he watches you come for him, on him, because of him. “Fuck, that was gorgeous,” he moans, holding you steady as you come down from your orgasm. 

“Bed. Now,” he demands, guiding you through the hall and to his bedroom. 

You fall back onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a small oof, your breasts bouncing with the movement. He holds his heavy cock in hand by the base as he gently strokes himself, and watches as you part your legs wide open for him and finger yourself.

He continues to work himself while staring at your tight, slick hole, dripping just for him. His eyes go impossibly dark as he watches your fingers saw in and out, you’re really quite the sight.

“Shit, Cariño. Look at your little pussy,” his voice in between a whine and a whimper, as he steps forward between your legs and begins to position himself at your entrance. One hand on your knee, the other holding himself, he presses the head of his cock into you, making you moan, his tip alone is a stretch you’re unfamiliar with — it’s intense but good.  

He’s not trying to taunt you, not really. “Just wanna make sure you’re nice and ready to take this fat cock,” he says, pressing just the mushroom head in and out of you. The slow drag of it is excruciating, enough for you to let out a plea of please fuck me. “Look so good like this, baby. Can feel you sucking me in, she wants it bad, doesn’t she?” 

You nod, “More, Javi. Need to feel you inside of me, please,” you plead, holding your thighs behind your knees, spreading yourself wider for him, giving him full access to your cunt. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, thrusting the full length of him into you, and ohhhhmyfuck. 

Your pussy walls flutter and tighten around him, and he lets out a wrecked groan. He draws his hips back and slams that back into you with enough thrust that your tits bounce. His thrusts are hard, but slow, giving you time to adjust to his size. He’s quick to pick up the pace, causing you to sob in pleasure, broken moans leaving your lips as he knocks the wind out of you with each snap of his hips. 

He draws himself nearly out, his cock glistening with your slick, and he grabs both of your hips to hold you steady as he fucks into you. “Look at the mess we’re making together, Cariño. So fucking beautiful, you’re taking this cock so well.” You’re starting to realize that he’s a smooth talker both in and out of bed. 

You wail as he picks up his speed, panting and grunting, groaning as he watches the thin skin of your pussy stretch around his girth. He releases one of his hands from your hips and brings the pad of his thumb to the swollen clit between your folds, and begins to rub tight circles. 

“So tight, baby, little cunt’s trying to make me come, isn’t she?” He groans, his pace slowly slightly, his stomach muscles tightening and his jaw clenched shut. 

“Want you to, want you to fill this hole up with all of your come. Want to feel you drip out of me, need to feel you.” Your words spur him on more, and he continues working your clit, his cock thrusting in and out of you, “oh god, please, please, please.” You’re not usually one to beg, but something about him has it pouring out of you. 

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up, baby? I will if you come with me,” he says, an intensity, an urgency behind his voice. You’re so close, you think you’ll be able to come with him, but before you have the chance to get there, you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut to try and collect himself, but he’s too close, nearly over the edge of his orgasm. His cock starts to swell and his movements get a little sloppy. 

“Come in me, Javi. Want to feel you,” you moan, your voice a seductive whisper, and that does it.

His hips stutter, “Fuck, Cariño,” he groans, his voice a wreck, as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and starts to throb ropes of his warm spend in you. There’s so much that it spills out of you and down your asscheek. 

“Oh such a messy, pretty pussy,” he groans, admiring the way your cunt looks stuffed full of him, the glisten of your release and his on his cock, “Milking me so good.” 

“Gonna make you come for me again beautiful,” he says, cock still spearing you, throbbing and pulsing as he collects some of his spend on his fingers and brings it to the needy button between your legs. It doesn’t take much to get you there, and within seconds you’re on the brink of your orgasm. 

The warmth that pools in your belly grows and radiates through your limbs until your whole body feels tingly and your vision goes white. 

“Oh my god, Javi, I’m coming,” you wail, a blubbering mess of pleasure, until you’re drowning in the sea of your orgasm. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweet girl,” he groans, both out of pleasure and a little bit of over-stimulation on his already spent cock, “So. Fucking. Pretty. Such a good girl,” he says as he works you through the last of your orgasm. After you come down from your high, he gently pulls out of you, and a little trail of his come follows and spills out onto the sheets below. 

“Jesus, Javi. That was something else,” you say, blissed out and thoroughly fucked. You nestle up into his chest like it’s easy, it comes naturally, a movement you don’t even question. He wraps his arm around you and plants a soft kiss on the top of your head in response.

“Can I say something?” He asks, and you look up at him a little worried. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I’d buy the fancy ranch for you.”  

END

If you like this, please consider a reblog. <3

Trying a thing where I don't use a tag list to see how it goes. To be notified when I post fics, follow @katiexpunkupdates

END A/N: the line she gives Javier in response to knowing what he means in the first part of the fic is adapted from a poem. I wrote it down, but forgot to name the author. So credit to the author, whoever it is.

#javier peña #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #pedrohub #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #pedrostories #narcos smut #the slutty little mustache has returned

[gglitch1dd]

Reading about the Midoriya kids always makes my heart so warm 💙 (even if they are making a mess) they *almost* make me want to have kids in the future

And does the sports festival still happen in your universe? If so, do you think Toshinori would win? I take into account that he has much greater control of the OFA than Izuku did at that time

I LOVE writing for them. They're such cute little sprouts. I've always wanted kids in my future so I like channeling my thoughts and dreams into them.

The sports festival does indeed happen!!!

Interesting fact about YN's quirk if she ever did have her quirk (sometimes in my head she does), her quirk is binding or upgrading quirk. So she can make sure that whoever she chooses to use her quirk on, their body suits their quirk and his compatible and optimised to its fullest potential.

Now it was a smart decision that the commission had her working for them hoping that a hero would fall in love with her and they were very lucky it was Izuku. Because of her quirk, unknowingly to the both of them initially, One for All became bounded to Izuku's genes and isn't necessarily passed down by DNA by choice.

So when Toshinori is born is assumed to be quirkless, he isn't. He just didn't try and ever use it until his dad "gave it" to him. That's why Toshinori is so good at using One for All. He was born with it and its infused with his DNA with no repercussions from the previous users.

Izuku is a much better teacher than All Might was to him, so Toshinori's been training and getting stronger and using his quirk since like the age of ten. He's very strong and versatile with it.

Kane just managed the burst of air that Toshinori aimed at him. The blond teenager landed on the ground, his palms sparking as he ran over to Toshinori. Toshinori stood his ground. This was the last game for the Sports Day, and the determining one to figure out who would take home the gold.

Kane snapped his fingers and suddenly an explosion was detinated on Toshinori's shoulder making the green haired boy stumble. Toshinori stumbled to the ground, grasping his shoulder with a hiss but looked up at Kane with a glare. He had forgotten that Kane had touched his shoulder earlier.

One of the scary things about Bakugou Kane was the fact that his quirk, although being identical to his father's had a twist. Any place he had touched with his sweat, he could detonate minutes later like a planted invisible bomb. Times explosions. A scary quirk that was powerful in nature and design.

Kane put a grin on his face, aiming to blast his friend right out of the perimeter to take the win.

Immediately Toshinori dashed to the side with a flash of light and decided to try the one part of his quirk he was still trying to perfect. Without warning, dark green tendrils burst from Toshinori's knuckles and wrapped around his best friend. Kane's eyes widened in surprise, not having been told of this new development of Toshinori's quirk before. Toshinori smirked before throwing Kane out of the ring.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH YAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Present Mic screamed into his microphone as Toshinori was the last one standing. "There he is!! Our winner of this years First Year's Sport Festival. MIDORIYA TOSHINORI!!!"

Your husband shot out of his seat. "YESSS!!!" He cheered, his hands up in the air as tears brimmed in his eyes in pride!! "THAT'S MY BOY!" He shouted making you laugh but you cheered along side him. You saw your baby on the jumbotron, smiling as he waved.

Then you saw his eyes recognise you. "MOM!" He shouted waving his hands. "Dad! I won! Did you see it!!" You could see the child like sparkle in his eyes!

Izuku gripped the railing with a broad smile on his freckled face. "Good job kiddo!!" He shouted down to him. "That's my son!" Izuku boasted as he turned around to brag.

-Glitch1d

#dilf izuku x reader #dilf midoriya #glitch1d questions #Midoriya Family Shenanigans

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Stephen was the above average joe. Muscular. Huge package. Standing at 6’4”. When he walked into a room people stopped and stared looking a the muscled specimen that heaved the room. And with large size 16 feet you could hear him coming too.

Stephen had a perfect life but where someone is so perfect there has to be a downfall. Stephen’s was that he always took advantage of those close to him. He was able to be so muscular and hot spending all his time in the gym and never once helping his boyfriend, Matt, pay for rent. He was a leach. Every night he would come home dripping sweat. Kick off his massive shoes leaving them where they fell. He would drop his dirty sweat clothes in the hall way and never clean after himself. Then while still dropping sweat, flop down on the couch. Staining even more than what he already has. But it was time. And his boyfriend had had enough.

While Stephen fell asleep like he always did on the couch, his boyfriend still in front of him with a menacing glance. Holding the book he had from his family he began to chant the spell to make Stephen change.

Stephen was dreaming about plowing the hot gym bunny. Bending him over the sink and thrusting himself in. And all the while began to scream while he was having sex …

“….and this vessel must change to meet this new form!” His boy friend finished reading. And then he seen the fine print,,, there had to be an agreement from the one the spell was going to effect. He began to panic. How would he get Stephen to agree to…”YES YES ! FUCK ME !!!” Matt’s mouth dropped. How could this have happened in a more perfect moment. Stepping back slowly he hid the book. Now. Watching as his boyfriend began to change.

Soon Stephen’s well defined abs began to push outwards. His legs began to get fuller and he also began to shrink in height. His pecs quickly lost all definition as they were hidden under a thick layer of fat and his stomach continued to balloon out warden. Hair began to sprout from ever office of his body giving him in a thick coat of fur. His feet got shorter becoming a size of extremely wide and thick size 11s. He had little sausage toes now while his fingers fattened up. His butt began to inflate and sag as it widened and his back began to grow wide to match. A thick unkempt beard began to grow out of his face while he started balding. What was once a hunk before now looked like an out of shape 45 year old man. Matt smiled at his creation. Knowing that there was more to come.

Matt woke up to screams from the living room. Walking in he seen Stephen looking at his phone and trembling. “What the fuck has happened to me !!” Matt asked him. What he was talking about. All a part of his plan to make Stephen lose his mind. He was going to treat Stephen like the fat older man he was now. Even though he was the only other person in the world now that would remember what he is really supposed to be like. “Phen. You need to stop acting weird. It’s time for you to go to work. I wasn’t able to wash your janitor uniform though. “ Stephen just looked at him. Whatever happened seemed to have changed reality he thought. He had to get out of there. And sadly. It seems as though the dirty uniform was the only thing that would fit him. Before he left the apartment Matt handed him some pills “don’t forget your pills Phen. You know you need your heart meds and that cholesterol needs to come down. Try not to eat those 4 double cheeseburger for lunch again” he said as he kissed Stephen’s fatter face.

Work was hard for Stephen. He found that at his new size and short let height he was screed on all aspects of life now. He was the lowly janitor of the gym he worked at ! And people would just throw dirty clothes on him and expect him to always be at their whim for cleaning. During his lunch break he wanted to find a way to fix this. He had to get his old body back ! But then he caught glimpse of it. The burger signs. And drawn by an impossible force he walked over. Walking through the doors he was greeted by the cashier. Working his wallet out of his pocket with his meaty hands he paid for his food. 5 double cheeseburgers. And he ate ever bite. Licking the grease from the wrappers and his fingers. He was forced by some unseen force to be the fat animal he looked like. Walking back home he could help but feel winded. His lunch should have. Been enough to make him feel full for days but his stomach was growling like an angry bear. He felt so tired. As he walked through the apartment door he shuffled his wide feet down the hallway and looking in the mirror began to cry.

Somehow during the day he had gotten older. And much bigger. What little muscle definition he had was completely gone. Now his stomach was rock hard and protruding in an impossible beach ball stomach. Completely bald with white facial hair. Matt came around the corner and Stephen cried. He pleaded for Matt to remember him. “Phen. Are you ok? I know you’re jealous of my youth. But we’ve talked about this. You’re a 61 year old man. You have to come to terms with that!” And he walked off. That number reverberated in Stephen’s head.

Walking around the beach no was no longer fun for Stephen. He was getting looks now but not for his hot young body. It was for the massive beach ball he carried. He had been stuck like this for a whole month at this point. Continuing to try to find a way to change back there just has to be one. Matt came walking up to him with food. “You know one day. I’m going to stop giving into her hunger. We gotta find someway to get you. Lose weight Phen”. Phen aggressively at the multiple cheese burgers, fries and shake that Matt had brought him. Matt watched his creation. Everything from that night with spell had come true. An intense appetite that never went away, old age, massive bloated stomach with no muscle definition, and all the pains that would come with his body being like this. He knew that Phen was trying to find a way back. To get his old body back so he could be happy. But little did he know, that the Matt altered the working of the spell. “And when you agree to this the changes will be permanent”.

[musclefantasytf]

Ultrazise crhonicles: Little big help

Erick was a young, skinny boy, constantly teased by his peers for his small size. He desperately wanted to have a muscular body like the other boys, but no matter how hard he worked out, it seemed he couldn't make any progress.

After a grueling training, Erick staggered into the locker room, feeling exhausted and defeated, but he knew he had to shower before returning home.As he changed, he noticed a tall, muscular, hairy man walking into the locker room. Erick was puzzled by the size of the man and could not help staring at him.

The man surprised him looking at him and asked, "Why that long face, boy?"

Erick simply shrugged his shoulders and told him about his difficulties developing muscle. The man laughed between his teeth, and revealed his name as Henry and told Erick that he had faced the same problem in the past.

Curiously, Erick asked Henry how he managed to become so big, Henry laughed between his teeth and revealed that he used to have the same problem. But then he reached into his purse and pulled out a bottle labeled "Ultrazise."

""Take a sip of this and you will be well on your way to becoming like me," said Henry smiling, handing the bottle to Erick.

Erick's eyes opened with hope and despair. He enthusiastically took the bottle and took a sip. As soon as the liquid touched his tongue, he began to feel a burning sensation running through his body. His temperature went up and sweat dripped down his face. Suddenly, He watched in amazement as his height increased to match Henry's. His chest expanded into two large muscle masses, his shoulders became as large as cannonballs, and his neck became thicker, making his voice lower.The transformation didn't stop there. Erick's triceps and biceps tripled in size and his legs became strong muscular trunks.He felt the pressure build up in his lower regions, and looked down to see hid manhood grow into a thick, long shaft, tight against his underpants. His balls got bigger and heavier, causing discomfort.His buttocks swelled into a round, firm bubble, causing his underwear to stretch to the limit, causing his underwear to burst freeing him from his tight prison, his face became more masculine and a thick beard sprouted on it. He could feel the hair growing all over his chest, until it became a lush, wild area, creating a pathway to his pubic area. He even noticed a slight layer of hair on his newly formed bubble butt.

Breathing with emotion and disbelief, Erick stood in front of the mirror, admiring his new body. Henry patted him on the shoulder, congratulating him on finally becoming a real man. Erick was amazed at his new self, but his thoughts were interrupted when Henry suddenly grabbed and squeezed his ass. Gasping in surprise, Erick felt a wave of pleasure sweep through his body.

Without warning, Henry plunged his face into Erick's ass, making swirls with his tongue that gave him chills down his back. Erick groaned with pleasure, feeling sensations he had never experienced before. After pleasing Erick, Henry turned it around and closed their lips, sharing a passionate kiss.

Erick couldn't believe what was going on. Not only had he transformed into a muscular and attractive man, but he was also experiencing desires he didn't know he had. In a daze of excitement, he allowed Henry to lead him into one of the showers.

Henry pressed Erick against the wall and removed his underpants, revealing his enormous and throbbing cock. Without hesitation, Enrique inserting his huge, throbbing cock into Erick's tight, hairy hole. It was a mind-blowing experience for Erick,

making him scream with pleasure. As they moved together, Erick couldn't believe how good it felt to be full of such a big, hard cock. Henry was an expert, he got all the right points right and took Erick to the climax in no time.

Then they lay on the ground, sweaty and breathless. Henry kissed Erick's forehead and told him he was a real man now.

#gettinghairy #muscle transformation #male tf #muscle growth tf #musclegrowth #getting bigger

[velvetmud]

a/n- combining a couple requests for some ass play and ball stuff and more subby joel. pwp basically

hot for teacher

warning(s): explicit 18+, ass eating, blowjobs, size kink, dirty stuff, professor/student au, dirty talk, sub joel vibe

-

Joel’s classroom was unusually empty before she approached. Vacant of prodding eyes or witnesses. The ordinary buzz from leftover college students mingling or shuffling upcoming assignments on their desks wasn’t to be seen or heard.

He could’ve heard a pin drop on the floor up until she came back to see him after class. Her infamous silhouette nears his office, tip toeing closer. Her presence becoming known has Joel ungluing his bloodshot eyes from the endless papers he’s been tasked to grade.

She didn’t have to say anything to get what she wants, never has to say so much as a word—communicating to him on a single-stare basis. He could read it, hyper aware of how ticklish her thighs seemed to get, rubbing them together with a stature of innocence at his doorway. Dressed to the nines like a proper schoolgirl, like something out of one of his at-home pipe dreams.

Four minutes, ‘cause yes he counted, four entire minutes before she was crawling her way on him. Deliberate little pecks and dewy kisses sprinkled along his weak spots. Behind his ears, down his neck. She could fish out any kind of moan or sound out of him. All’s it took was one look and a designated spot for alone time.

“Baby, fuck… what’re we doing?” he grunts down the thrum of her ear, tired rasp evident in his throat being one of the biggest telltale signs of his age. That mixed with his salt and pepper grays sprouting from his scalp, along with the shit grump attitude. Except when she takes a seat in his lap, or pulls out his cock and jams it down her throat.

Visible mischief simmers through the blacks of her eyes, nibbling down on her puffy lower lip while her hips find figure eight rhythms moving on him. Serving her purpose to uncomfortably shrink the room left in the crotch of his pants. Getting tighter and tighter the more his cock fills up.

Joel might’ve been a grower too, but his girth alone was more than enough to split any pussy open even while he was soft. She missed the weight of it, missed physically feeling down the smooth skin as it hardens and grows.

“Gonna get us caught messin’ around in here like this,” he whimpers. Paired with the look on his face, he sounded something akin to a helpless, frightened deer she might see on the side of the road. It’s quite the contrast to his domineering presence as a professor, as Mister M, the only side of him her classmates knew. He didn’t do this with any other student, nor for any purpose other than the screaming wanting. The pressing need to feed her his cum, to kiss and fuck and drink her pussy until she’s resorted to an irrevocable pliant vegetable beneath him, gasping and clawing at him. Begging whether it was for him to slow it down or speed it up.

Despite the opposing words slipping out of his mouth, aimless complaints leading nowhere as he amps up his attack on the salty skin of her neck. Goes as far as starting to fiddle absentmindedly with the buttons attached to her shirt.

“What’d they say if they saw you on me like this, baby? Spread out all over your professor’s lap, making a man as old as me this fucking hard,” he trails down his palm to grab the brick of a bulge to demonstrate.

She gasps when she peers down a little. Coy. As if she hasn’t seen his size before. Hasn’t grabbed it, choked on it, made herself cum on it before.

Every time she rings an orgasm out of him it feels like another first time. Every area she tries memorizing still vastly unexplored and new to young eyes. He has a decent number of years on her, that much was self explanatory—and all over his body those precious years bloomed right on display—unique patterns of scars and moles dusting his skin beautifully.

Harsh gasps of surprise follow up his own unanswered question, the frog in his throat seizing any other words to form in his mouth. He doesn’t dare do anything as he holds his stare down at her. Watches helplessly as she ducks down, hurrying those tricky fingers of hers to find the button of his slacks. Finally freeing his pulsing member all to use and smother for her enjoyment. Her play time, practically—what with the way she licks her lips just peaking down at it. Naked in all its glory.

Drool surely starts to pool in and fill the bowl of her mouth as she gawks at the sheer size. Slapped and straining tall against Joel’s abdomen, leaky and primal as it jumps and bobs. Her pussy drools as the pit of arousal pinches her stomach, easily gushing more waves just at the visual alone.

Joel witnessed it all, her eager tongue and wide eyes. Inflating his ego while simultaneously painting a flush to his cheeks.

“Got you actin’ like I just dangled a piece of candy right in front of you.”

The comment spreads a grin on her face as she dips her head down lower, lower. Surrounding herself in the pure, unadultered musk of his sack.

“A big piece of candy. A really really big piece of candy,” she corrects, all devious smiles while she massages the inner thighs of his thick lap with the pads of her fingers. When he’s focused he can feel the moisturizer she must’ve been using, slick friction of skin sliding on skin. Omitting any further warning she takes a ball in her mouth and jacks his length, sly tongue marking a trail of wet squiggles as she teases and teases and fuck.

A series of loud hissing spills and tumbles out from him, nearly sounding like he’d just been burned. Because of course, she’d find another one of his prime fucking weak spots.

Joel thinks he doesn’t stand a chance looking down but he has no choice left, high levels of both giddiness and trepidation as he peers down at her fucking face. Sultry sin behind her eyes, wet mouth and gorgeous lips giving his cock a jaw dropping tongue bath.

After the first time she shucked his pants down to his ankles and took everything she wanted from him, he couldn’t so much as glance at her in class. Couldn’t randomly call on her to answer one of his prompts right in front of her peers of students anymore, just to watch her shy squirming unfold. Couldn’t offer her any extra help to study his material after hours. All’s he could do was hold on for the ride when he recognized that same look in her eye whenever class wrapped.

She licks the first taste of his salty twang off her lips, surely proving his proclamation true that she’s ready to dig in like he’s just a human piece of candy.

Her tongue wiggles down lower, reaching the sensitive outer ring of his ass on her next long slurp, teasing just enough pressure and stimulation to make it ache deep in his belly as he holds on to the last slice of resistance.

“Easy,” he bites, feeling her mouth suck down harder than a powered vacuum as she begins her latest devious plan to feast on him. “wanna last for you. Take your time. M’not gonna last if you’re gonna do it like that. Ohhh baby, oh that tongue feels so good.”

She hears him, he knew there’s no possibility that she couldn’t have heard him, but she carries on without ever acknowledging nor showing she’s digested a single fucking word. Instead, she throats down a long gulp of every thick inch she can take before pulling off to dip her flushed tongue right into that big sensitive slit.

“Well Mister M, that’s just too bad,” she whispers, the first thing she’s verbally said out loud since they relapsed and messed around in his classroom again. “because I could just leave you like this instead, let you teach your next class with my spit still dripping down these balls,” she retorts, “and a neglected ass. Might especially not allow you touch yourself to get the relief you need either,” a condescending grin with her hooded eyes pointedly staring him down as she grabs one of his and gives him a threatening squeeze. “uh-uh, didn’t think so. Think this monster cock of yours always needs me too much.”

A usually reluctant Joel is rendered slack-jawed, completely irresistibly taken aback. Uncharacteristic whimpers tumble out of him without his own permission, stripped down of the dominant walls built around him as he feels his balls tighten and ready his load already at the prospect of knocking those walls down. Giving in to his own student’s control.

“Don’t you think so, Mister M?”

His silence and resilience doesn’t last.

“Yes ma’am,” he gives in.

Thinking nothing had to feel better in this moment than to give him everything he thought he couldn’t handle, everything he knows she’s capable of doing.

It’s nearly comedic how fast Joel loses his cool, hips gyrating forward, like a man possessed. She doesn’t have to open her eyes and look up to know he feels good. Her scorching pretty lips wrap around one of his balls, knuckles slicking up the spit on his cock. It tries to bob around in her grasp, but to no avail she keeps a tight grip. Pearls of milky precum tease and wet the tip, sending Joel for a spiral as his eyes roll back.

“Yes ma’am what? Repeat it back. Repeat it and I’ll give you everything you need.”

Joel has to force himself and hold in his cry. A sob threatens the back of his throat, the thin ribbon nearing its snap as more precum bubbles from his slit. He anxiously wags his head back and forth in slow misery, cock straining in her forceful and heavenly grasp.

“Yes ma’am, th—this monster cock needs you, needs that tongue. Wanna feel you suck on my balls again baby, always know how to make it feel so good. Gonna make me bust again, god wanna give you all my cum. Gonna feed it all right into you, sweet thing.”

“Wanna give me another big, fat load again, Mister M?” she asks, her voice muffled while her tongue goes back to work. Joel is fighting to keep his eyelids open, mouth dropping as he hums, mewling with desperation.

“Yes! Can’t fucking help it, I can’t help myself around you—shit, lick those balls up, yeah. Jus’ like that.”

His encouragement is rushed, strained. His thighs have lifted and spread open enough all for her mouth to love on, to explore. She feels his rapid irregular heart beating in his cock, the striking veins bulging as they fill with blood. Her slobber moving around with his skin and her tongue swarms the silence of the classroom, obscene as his gasps join in to drown it out.

“Fuck, first time I ever looked at you I knew I had to have you. Knew you’d give it to me, give it to me so good,” he rasps, white knuckling one side of his chair as she keeps happily slurping. Trades off on each side of his sack, generously suckling. It had to have been re-wiring Joel’s brain. He had no hope to go on after this.

Just when he thinks he’s had enough, she resumes her harsh jacks as she kisses and drools on the pucker of his ass. His cock thrashes and jumps, balls scrunching up and engorged, full preparation to release his load, drain his heavy sack.

She’s milking him, milking him of everything he has left—leaving his limbs to nothing but noodles as he whines. Squeals. It could almost be funny if it wasn’t so fucking hot, and if her panties weren’t flooded with warmth.

“Wanna please you, wanna—oh, let me cum, oh please I’ll be good—only ever wanna be so good for you—“

She slurps his balls up into her wet heat again, daring tongue salivating onto him. His length pulses and bobs, screaming for release. “Easy, baby. C’mon Mister M, let it out for me. It’s okay. Know this big cock is itching to give it to me.”

Joel nods hurriedly, incapable of anything else while his chest expands over and over with every lungful of breaths he takes, hips gyrating nonstop to chase her mouth. Her warmth, her engulfing wet heat that swallows him up and spits him right out.

For him, she gives his hole one last long kiss before sliding her lips, devouring every last inch. Her fingers squeeze and massage his balls, feeling them physically twitch and move in her grasp. She listens for his whimpers to fizzle out into long, insistent moans. Filling her mouth one spurt at a time with his creamy seed.

“Fuck, oh damn no one could ever take it better,” he heaves, eyes rolling back while the blizzard of aftershocks overtake him. Buzzing every inch of his pelvis inside and out.

She kitten licks everything down for him, every dollop of cum and slick. Cleaning him up and tucking him back in neatly into his slacks.

“Yeah, and no one’s cock is this big, Miller,” she laughs, teasing him with a light squeeze of her palm on the front zipper of his slacks. “Deserves to get sucked like, all hours of the day. Seriously. Would do it again if I didn’t have class later.”

She sticks out her tongue at him, flashing another smile bright enough to have Joel wondering if his fate may end with him flinging himself off a cliff.

Before turning her back to leave, she takes note of the stack of essays, taking in what she interrupted before she came here.

“So, that orgasm warrant an A or no?”

Joel’s strong enough to ignore the twitch his cock stirs this time, suppressed shame in the way he adjusts his length a certain way to hide beneath his waistband. Throws out a long eye roll with sass. “Shut up… don’t forget to call me tonight.”

-

miiight do some more professor/student stuff either same universe or make a whole new one. tons more ideas that’ll hopefully come to fruition soon too

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #tlou fanfic #joel miller #joel miller/reader #the last of us smut

[hellenhighwater]

Ooh, The Last Sequoia you're working on is really evocative for me. Part of my work two summers ago was helping with fuels reduction in a seqouia grove. 5 years after a hot fire killed more than half that grove. And months after the grove 10 miles away was saved from a big fire due to fuels reduction efforts the year before. I'm applying for a Masters program where I might be working on forest fire ecology... This is just to say that your painting isn't even done and it's making me Feel Things.

Thank you! I was thinking about this particular poem when I was working on it, it's stuck with me for years.

They will soon be down

To one, but he still will be For a little while    still will be stopping

The flakes in the air with a look, Surrounding himself with the silence Of whitening snarls. Let him eat The last red meal of the condemned

To extinction, tearing the guts

From an elk. Yet that is not enough For me. I would have him eat

The heart, and from it, have an idea Stream into his gnarling head That he no longer has a thing To lose, and so can walk

Out into the open, in the full

Pale of the sub-Arctic sun Where a single spruce tree is dying

Higher and higher. Let him climb it With all his meanness and strength. Lord, we have come to the end Of this kind of vision of heaven,

As the sky breaks open

Its fans around him and shimmers And into its northern gates he rises

Snarling    complete    in the joy of a weasel With an elk’s horned heart in his stomach Looking straight into the eternal Blue, where he hauls his kind. I would have it all

My way: at the top of that tree I place

The New World’s last eagle Hunched in mangy feathers    giving

Up on the theory of flight. Dear God of the wildness of poetry, let them mate To the death in the rotten branches, Let the tree sway and burst into flame

And mingle them, crackling with feathers,

In crownfire. Let something come Of it    something gigantic    legendary

Rise beyond reason over hills Of ice    screaming    that it cannot die, That it has come back, this time On wings, and will spare no earthly thing:

That it will hover, made purely of northern

Lights, at dusk    and fall On men building roads: will perch

On the moose’s horn like a falcon Riding into battle    into holy war against Screaming railroad crews: will pull Whole traplines like fibres from the snow

In the long-jawed night of fur trappers.

But, small, filthy, unwinged, You will soon be crouching

Alone, with maybe some dim racial notion Of being the last, but none of how much Your unnoticed going will mean: How much the timid poem needs

The mindless explosion of your rage,

The glutton’s internal fire    the elk’s Heart in the belly, sprouting wings,

The pact of the “blind swallowing Thing,” with himself, to eat The world, and not to be driven off it Until it is gone, even if it takes

Forever. I take you as you are

And make of you what I will, Skunk-bear, carcajou, bloodthirsty

Non-survivor.

Lord, let me die    but not die

Out.

James Dickey, “For the Last Wolverine” from The Whole Motion: Collected Poems 1945-1992.

[fafnir19]

Horse Love

"Ugh, I can't believe my parents are making me work on this remote horse stable," I grumbled to myself as I dragged my suitcase down the dirt road. "They claim I'm going to just 'gammel around' all summer if they don't find me something to do. And of all things, they want me to endure endless mockery from my sister and her obsession with horses. So here I am, stuck on a horse farm until my college life begins."

As soon as I arrived at the stable, I spotted a man approaching me with his nose held high, strutting with an air of undeserved confidence. This must be Damon. I couldn't stand him already. "Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence," Damon sneered, extending his hand for a handshake. "Isn't it ironic that your name, Faris, means 'rider,' and yet you can't stand horses?" I reluctantly shook Damon's hand, trying my best to suppress my annoyance. "Yeah, hilarious coincidence there. So, what delightful tasks do you have planned for me on my first day of horse-ridden misery?" Damon smirked and said, "Oh, don't you worry. I'll convert you into the biggest horse lover by the time you head off to college. But first, let's see if you can get into the equine mindset." According to him, I just needed to see things from a horse's perspective. He led me into a horse stall and handed me a halter. I stared at the halter in disbelief. "Wait, let me get this straight. You want me to put this on? Are you kidding me?" As I stood in the horse stall, reluctantly donning the horse halter, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. This was all Damon's idea to make me love horses? I thought it was utterly ridiculous, but I didn't want to cause a scene on my very first day. So, with a sigh, I begrudgingly fastened the halter around my head. To my shock, as soon as the halter was secured, a sensation rippled through my body. I watched in horror as my limbs elongated, my skin sprouted a thick coat of fur, and a pair of powerful hooves replaced my hands and feet. I had transformed into a muscular, fiery stallion. Panic surged through me as I whinnied in protest. Damon, however, seemed to think it was all quite amusing. Damon chuckled wickedly. "Congratulations, Prince. From now on, that's what you'll be called," he declared, relishing in my discomfort. "Well, well, Prince," he jeered, reveling in the irony, "it seems you're finally beginning to understand the beauty of horses, whether you like it or not." I tried to object, to scream at him that I didn't want any part in this absurd transformation, but all that escaped my mouth were desperate, desperate neighs. I kicked at the ground in frustration, but the only response I received from Damon was a smug smile.

Over the next few days, Damon relentlessly attempted to tame me and mold me into a docile horse. But I fought him every step of the way. I refused to be broken, refused to accept this new equine form as my own. One thing that particularly bothered me was the name Damon had given me - Prince. Every time he called me by that name, it felt like a chunk of my humanity was being chipped away. Prince was such a clichéd and predictable name for a horse. I longed to reclaim my own identity, to be addressed as Faris once again. I bucked, reared, and snorted in defiance, making it clear that I would not be easily conquered. Damon became increasingly frustrated with my resistance. He tried every technique in the book, from whispers of soothing words to brusque tugs on the reins, but I remained steadfast. I refused to be controlled, to be stripped of my humanity. I refused to be treated like a horse and resisted his efforts. One fateful day, Damon led a mare in heat to my stall. As the mare in heat entered the stall, a surge of instinctual desires coursed through my equine body. My senses heightened, and my muscles tensed with anticipation. The scent of her female pheromones filled the air, intoxicating my senses as I felt an undeniable attraction towards her. My heart pounded in my equine chest as I neared the mare, feeling an electric energy between us. The sight of her sleek coat, glossy and inviting, played with my primal urges. My nostrils flared as I took in her scent, my own blood rushing hotly through my veins. Every fiber of my being screamed to mate, to fulfill the primal desire woven into the deepest depths of my horse DNA. I could feel the tension building within me, a burning need that consumed my thoughts and compelled my every action. Damon, amused by the turmoil within me, watched with a mix of anticipation and satisfaction. He knew that this encounter would either break my spirit or ignite a newfound passion for horses within me. As I neared the mare, my vibrant stallion coat brushed against her, sending shivers down my equine spine. I could almost feel the crackling of electricity between us, a magnetic pull that defied explanation. Every instinct pushed me closer, urging me to fulfill this undeniable urge. Yet, Damon's intervention prevented our union. Instead of allowing me to mate with the mare, he redirected me towards a breeding phantom horse, a apparation crafted to collect my equine cum. Confusion mixed with frustration rippled through me, but an inexplicable obedience urged me to mount the phantom. As I mounted the phantom, my body melded seamlessly with this apparation. After the physical release I sought materialized, a peculiar sense of release washed over me, leaving me simultaneously exhausted and content. In that moment, I had, in an way, fulfilled my primal urge. Damon's laughter filled the air as he revelled in his triumphant transformation of my perspective. His eyes shimmered with an unsettling mixture of mischief and accomplishment as he showed me a vial with my horse cum and declared that my transformation was complete, that I had indeed fallen in love with horses, albeit in the most primal manner. After "breeding" the phantom, I felt exhausted and relaxed, allowing Damon to train me on the lunge without resistance. Every time I acted up, Damon repeated the process with the mare. After a few more encounters, I became permanently tame and obedient, following Damon's every command. Damon began riding me and training me as a show jumper.

We started with simple jumps, gradually increasing the height and difficulty. I stumbled and faltered, hardheaded as I was, but with each fall, I grew more resilient—more willing to embrace my potential. Damon pushed me to my limits, urging me to jump higher, always believing in my abilities. He showed me the art of timing, the importance of rhythm, and the satisfaction of a perfectly executed leap. And slowly, oh so slowly, I began to improve. Days turned into weeks. Progress came in small victories, but they added up to a profound transformation. Under his guidance, I transformed into an exceptional horse, renowned in the equestrian world. When the summer came to an end, Damon changed me back into my human form. However, thanks to my horse training, I was now muscular and fit. I remained obedient to Damon, just like when I was a horse. I stood there, butt naked, desperately covering myself up while Damon grabbed a set of preppy equestrian clothes. "Uh, I really don't want to wear this," I protested weakly. Damon stared at me with a commanding gaze. "Put it on," he growled softly. And so I did. I transformed from a casual slacker into a preppy equestrian.

Surprisingly I couldn't help but love the feeling of donning the tailored riding attire that Damon had given me. The crisp jacket, pristine boots, and elegant riding breeches made me feel like I belonged in the saddle. Though initially hesitant, the moment I stepped into the role of a proper equestrian, something just clicked. The riding hat perched upon my head felt like a crown, and the polished boots hugged my feet with a sense of purpose. I embraced the well-groomed appearance and embraced the lifestyle of a preppy rider wholeheartedly. Each day, as I rode with Damon, my love for being a preppy equestrian grew stronger. The rhythm of hoofbeats resonated within me, syncing perfectly with my own heartbeat. The harmonious partnership I formed with my majestic equine companions filled me with admiration and awe for these incredible animals. Riding became more than just a hobby; it became a passion that consumed me. The thrill of jumping over intricate obstacles, the elegance of dressage moves, and the exhilaration of galloping across open fields all captivated me in a way I had never imagined. And so, as the months passed, Damon's guidance transformed me not only externally but internally as well. I relished in the refined equestrian lifestyle, immersing myself in the traditions, etiquette, and camaraderie of the equestrian community. From the precise grooming routines to the timeless elegance of dressage exhibitions, I found a new sense of purpose and fulfillment in being a preppy equestrian. Damon took it upon himself to train me as a riding instructor and a heartthrob. Though I tried to resist him now and then, Damon always emerged victorious. In the end, I couldn't help but love what Damon had made of me. Faris, now the epitome of every rider's dream, worked as a riding instructor alongside his studies. With his charm and good looks, he attracted girls eager to learn from him. "So, Faris," Damon asked, with a sly grin. "How does it feel to have once made fun of girls who love horses and now turn girls into horse enthusiasts yourself?" "Well, Damon," I replied with a smirk, "I suppose it's karma coming full circle. Who knew my summer at the stud farm would transform me in more ways than one?" With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, Damon patted my back. "Well, Faris, you've turned into quite the stud, both as a rider and with the ladies. Who would've thought?" I laughed, embracing the absurdity of it all. "Yeah, Damon, life is full of surprises. And hey, if it means sharing the joy of horses with others, who am I to complain?"

Together, we walked toward the stables, ready to embark on this unexpected adventure as trainer and protege, all thanks to an unforgettable summer on a remote horse stable.

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #horse tf #horse transformation #equestrian

[luvrsux]

“Obsession”

word count: 3.8k

summary: you started off as a bartender at some rundown club until a mafia group infiltrated your job unexpectedly but the leader himself grows quite keen to you

cw//tw: nsfw!! shooting, mentions of murder/killing, creampie, oral, praising, obsession

disclaimer: im in no way romantizating mafia/mafia gang organizations. this is for entertainment purposes only

On a rather lustful, midnight weekend, you were working as a waitress at a night men’s club, minding your own business serving customers while they gawked at the skimpy dancers on steel poles. The club was a rather expensive one, where people of riches and fortune could express it by merely breathing. Despite the town, your job paid you a terrible rate. You’ve grown to hate your job. Sure, security helped and protected the slim dancers on the poles with precision but it, unfortunately, didn’t apply for you. Your body would get catcalled and often groped unwontedly. You lost track of the number of bruises and nosebleeds you gave the disgusting men that lounged in your workplace.

You then heard a blood-curdling scream in front of the dimly lit building. The sheer amount of terror on the feminine shriek made your heart drop miles into the Earth’s core, watching a half-naked woman running out of the building flailing her arms before a bullet spiked straight there her skull.

Whatever beverage stood on your black tray immediately crashed into the carpeted floor upon watching the horrid scene. People pushed past you to escape the chance of ending up in the poor woman’s shoes. Your total shell-shocked state was the very reason you crashed onto the ground by the taller, broad bodies colliding with you. You winced in pain when your body landed in a not-so-comfortable position causing your ankle to sprain.

Before you knew it, the building attracted more corpses when the culprit watched the population pour out of the building. The person sure was trigger-happy. Tears swelled your eyes but you still managed to trace the figure of the man now holding a pistol.

“That’s enough, Yasopp” A voice, that was oddly soothing. Your heart pumped out of your chest once you eyed the man now approaching you. He had two other men sprout behind him like a plantation.

“What do we have here?”

He crouched to your level, analyzing your figure. You held your now unavailable foot, completely defenseless. Even if you tried to run, the man now named Yasopp would shoot you down with his eyes closed. You gulped.

“You’re cute” You saw a grin appear on his lips, as well as bright crimson hair. He had an index finger and thumb pull your chin up to his face. Pure terror overcame you.

“I know you hate this shitty job, love. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you an entirely new world”

Now here you are

It was a dark, midnight rainy night on Friday. The building you were being driven to was laying in only the most expensive city in the country. There were blinding lights all around, nearly suffocating your vision. The window tints only helped so much.

What made this specific Friday night so different was you were approaching the head of the Red-Haired Mafia group. This was a weekly thing, every night you’d be escorted in a rather ominous sleek, black limo quietly to his grand mansion for a quick “meeting”.

You wore a tight slim dress that provocatively opened at your chest. It barely reached the middle of your thighs, the hem that is. Your neck glistened with the jewels the boss kindly gifted you. The giant fur coat covering your shoulders was also a generous token from the redhead, making it especially sacred considering he delivered it to you not only in person but on your birthday. Your sugar-coated gifts were usually left at your door to avoid being detained by the federal authorities, so the coat was something you’d cherished.

You’ve grown attached to the boss and everyone knew you were his weekly fling. As you admired the bright lights springing past your tinted window, a slim glass of champagne in hand, you traced back to the very first time you met. Your first impression was pure terror, but as time passed when you realized this was now your life, you’ve gotten accustomed to it.

Shanks, the boss you were fucking every weekend and in an oddly intimate relationship with, did turn your life upside down. It gave you whiplash with how fast he bought you a new house, jewels, and prizes for simply existing in a way he appreciated. You wouldn’t praise the life you were currently living, but you definitely didn’t complain. If it weren’t for Shanks, you’d still be living in that run-down, rugged apartment and that hell of a job for as long as you can remember.

You knew Shanks would kill anyone who dared to wrong you, it’s happened before. Your “favorite” was when you were at a club with the man himself. He had an arm rest around the top of the cushioned seat, underneath being you sitting there pretty as ever. Your seating was in a secluded, VIP area where absolutely no one was allowed into. Of course, you and Shanks recklessly made love in the room several times before and everyone would know.

A random extra wanted to converse with Shanks himself, putting the passionate rough lovemaking on hold for now. To this day, you wondered how a guy can be so dumb as to blatantly hit on you in front of the man himself. Not wanting to get his hands bloody and off of you, he had one of his crew members suffocate the air out of his body in a blink of an eye.

“Get rid of the body, the lady doesn’t like it” Shanks immediately ordered once the body let out a croak. His mates nodded immediately, thus having the body leave your field of vision faster than a snap of the fingers. Shanks had his remaining hand cup the side of your face to turn to him.

“You only belong to me, and I’ll gladly get rid of anyone who decides to intervene, princess,” He said with a cold smile. His demeanor did something wrong to you, but it felt so terribly right. You appreciated the way Shanks’ heart had a rope tied around your own. You knew Shanks wasn’t lying, and he kept his word ever since, even before then.

Now, usually, Shanks would greet you in the limo inside to “prepare” you for what’s to come, not only simply sharing a few drinks. Upon getting into the seats and seeing his absence, you realized how much you longed for his presence.

Shanks - 12:34 PM

Sorry for not being there, princess. I have a few things to do first xx

Was the text Shanks left you a few moments before entering the fancy vehicle. You were growing antsy about meeting him as pure usual. He’s given you the best nights of your life for as long as you can remember being in his palms. Each week you’d only have your hopes set on Friday.

You finally arrived at your destined destination. You heard your chauffeur speak on his phone, alerting your “partner” about your sudden presence. You waited patiently for someone to open your door for you to waltz out elegantly. You’ve grown used to the prissy, princess treatment. You have been letting Shanks fuck your brain out for roughly a year and some change now.

“She’s here, boss” Is all you heard before the door swung open for you to flood out. Your heels make a firecracker sound upon impact once you stood up from your seat.

“You’re a doll, Roux” You cooed, receiving a pleased smile from the bigger guy that once escorted you to the grand building before you.

You approached the front steps, passing by the grand fountain in front that spurted water in several directions—a rather perfect centerpiece for the mansion. You eyed the security guard up front.

“Where is he?” You asked.

“On his way, ma’am”

“Always keeping me waiting…”

You grumbled, stepping foot on the steps. Your stiletto heels hadn’t stopped making that fire-cracking pop sound with every preppy step. You finally gazed upon a toned, broad body appearing in front. His draped trench coat draped over his body while he wore a loose white button-up and black slacks to match. He had a pleased grin at your mere presence. The redhead snaked his hand to grab yours, placing his lips on the surface of your hand. You felt his stubble tickle your skin, making you giggle.

“I missed you, princess” He cooed, pulling you close to his body.

Shanks wrapped a prideful arm around your shoulders, the fuzziness of your expensive coat tickling his veiny, toned arm. You smiled happily.

“You say that every time, dear”

“How could I not?” You felt Shanks breathe and caress your neck through the fluff. A chill slithered down your spine.

“You always make me feel good~”

You felt his eager lips collide with your own. He proudly smudged your glossed lips when the two lips synced together passionately. Shanks didn’t care if he was in the middle of the massive foyer, he thrived nothing more than publicly proving to everyone you belonged to him—and him only.

Your arms latched around his neck, only making his hands grope the fats of your ass through your slick, black dress. Your lips parted ever so slightly, giving the eager crimson-haired man to slither his tongue to dance with your own. At this point, you two were heavily breathing in each other's mouths. You clearly longed for his touch, and it didn’t help that Shanks reciprocated that same feeling. You felt his lips detach from yours, leaving a slight feeling of disappointment lingering in your body.

“Let me take you to my office, doll” He smiled. You felt arms bring your body upward to latch around his torso. The sudden movement made a giggle escape your lips.

Shanks slammed your rear on his pricy, wooden desk that was scattered with files and papers of his targets—but who was paying attention to any of that? You two were going at it in each other's mouths, not parting to breathe for a single minute. Shanks's scarred hand tore off the fur that coated your body with ease, tossing it wherever in his office room.

You released a small moan once you felt his hands travel mindlessly around your body. His hands tugged down the hem of the dress that covered your chest. Your breasts poured out like a tsunami to Shanks's entertainment. A hungry hand latched onto it with force, letting yet another moan travel out your mouth.

“Fuck, princess…” Shanks breathed in your mouth from pure pleasure. His arm, without a single hesitation, cleaned everything laying on his desk to create space for your body all for his pleasure.

His thirsty lips traveled to your open neck, painting the entire canvas with bruised marks made by his mouth and teeth. Each mark made a whimper escape your now smudged lips. Your hand stroked through his crimson locks with each passing second he was on your neck.

“Lay down, baby” His voice was muffled by the marks he was mercilessly making on your body, recharging the ones that were beginning to fade from previous “meetings”.

Your back made contact with the now bare desk, fully aware of the consequences that’ll occur if you didn’t oblige. Shanks moved his hands to your lace to peel them off with complete ease. To no one’s surprise, your slit was already wet and ready for Shanks's body. He chuckled, always enjoying the view of your throbbing cunt before he completely tore through it.

Shanks didn’t even bother taking your dress off from the sheer anticipation coursing through his sadistic veins. He just crinkled it upward to make a better opening. Your head was thrown back when Shanks grabbed your thighs to lay on his broad shoulders.

All you felt was a moist tongue graze along your lips and sensitive bud with one swipe and the slight sensation of stubble. Your long moan made Shanks chuckle, sending vibrations in your body.

Shanks went back into devouring your cunt while knowing exactly where your sensitive spots lay. His tongue made sure to explore each and every crevice like it was the last meal of his lifetime. The room was filled with your messy moans and the sounds of slush slurping by Shanks’ hungry mouth.

Shanks flicked his tongue over your bud, sending a mountain peak of pleasure through your core. You shrieked, suddenly feeling that tight knot begin to snap.

“Sh- aah aah~! Im about to cum, Shanks~!” You cried. Shanks only chuckled at your, what he can only describe as pathetic, reaction, sending those vibrations through your body once more.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck~!” You cursed, spurting out your secretions all on Shanks’ stubbled mouth. Shanks pulled away with a grin and a complete log in his pants while you watched him wipe the moisture off his face with an arm, all through completely distorted and blurred eyes. Your session was far from over though.

“Your turn?” You breathed heavily from your massive orgasm. Shanks still had that, as you like to describe it, sexy grin while he unbuckled his pants that were on the verge of bursting from his member.

“You know me so well~” He cooed, watching your sluggish body peel off the desk. You bit your lower lip and brought your body down to your shaken knees, your body still not fully recovered from your previous orgasm.

You saw Shanks’ member spring into your face. The intimidating size always caught you off guard each time he recoiled it onto you. You eyed the small number of sticky secretions spewing out of the hole from his arousal. You wrapped your hand around the base of it, making Shanks sharply hiss by your mere touch. You could tell he was longing for you ever since he saw you leave his place in your last appointment.

You placed a gentle kiss on the tip of it, making Shanks lightly jolt. He knew you were teasing him and he didn’t like it. Shanks’ excitement was getting way too much for him, and you were only making it worse.

“Open your pretty mouth, (F/N)” He ordered. You didn’t think he’d catch onto your sly antics so quickly. You obeyed submissively, extending your mouth agape in front of his throbbing, hot member.

You felt a hand rest on the back of your head, and it was the exact thing to push your mouth forcefully onto him whole. You let out a small yelp, followed by several sloppy gags by his girth and length. Shanks let out a long groan.

“Thaaaats it, doll~”

You began to bob your head back and forth along his size, gagging each and every time. Your hands gripped his pants, trying not to lose your breath in the middle of the session you impatiently longed for.

As soon as you looked up at Shanks with those “dumb” eyes, like he would call it, he felt like he lost all control. He used the hand that simply rested in your locks of hair to mercilessly skull fuck the air out of you.

Tears streaked down your face, completely smudging and ruining your makeup, but he didn’t care. In fact, he loved the way you’d look after he’d shove his cock far, far down your throat with his own hands. His groans and grunts became more consistent now that he was showing you zero remorse for your mouth and lungs. You tried every fiber in your body to fight through it.

“Yeah, take all of- mmmph~..! All of it in your mouth, princess” He breathed out. You didn’t stop looking up at him with teary, blackened eyes when he shoved every inch into your wet mouth faster than you can comprehend.

Shanks felt his long-awaited climax reach up to his core. He released a loving grunt when he slid your slobbering mouth off his member, a string of saliva connecting your plump lips with his dewed cock. He chuckled, completely in love with your distressed state and how quickly he ruined your caked face. You had saliva trickling down your chin and your chest expanded rapidly while you were catching your own breath.

"Your mouth is pretty with my cum and all, but I wanna dump it somewhere else, doll~"

In a blink of an eye, Shanks threw you back on that dark oak, glossed desk. Your bare breasts and stomach made direct contact coldly, making you shiver and flinch. His calloused hands grabbed the fats of your hips as handles. Your dress was still scrunched up to reveal your lower half—perfectly demonstrating the vast amounts of eagerness Shanks had for you when he laid his eyes on you at the doorway.

You felt the rose tip of his member caress your drenched opening, causing a whimper to leave your slobbering lips. Shanks hissed when the sensation of his hot member made contact with your cunt. Nothing, absolutely nothing, restrained him from him nosediving himself inside of your velvety walls forcefully. Shanks pushed a shriek out of your lips.

“Scream as loud as you want, princess~” Shanks cooed shakily, massaging your bruised thighs caused by the crimson-haired man completely breaking your mind with his cock. Shanks’ thrived on showing you off. Whether it be leaving marks, having you wear the jewels and gifts he gave you, or fucking your brain out in rather populated areas so people can hear your submissive moans and his hungry groans.

Shanks bucked his hips back and forth at a slow pace. He exhaled, feeling entirely pleased now that he finally got to feel your insides from a long, gruel week of waiting. You were all Shanks could think about, besides his rather gruesome occupancy, every week. He’d find himself teasing his wood through his pants at the mere thought of you and always contemplated invading your home just to release his urges. From the sheer obsession, Shanks had for you, an undercover bodyguard would look after you whenever he wasn’t there with you.

Shanks’ speed increased faster than you anticipated. After every stroke, you were rewarded with a sexy grunt or groan by the boss himself. You, on the other hand, were a moaning mess. You felt your own cervix being obliterated by Shanks’ merciless thrusts by the second.

“Oh, doll, you wrap around me so well” He groaned. His heavily scarred hand grabbed a handful of your now entangled hair. He yanked your head up to stare at the entire, fancy, well-kept room and the shut door.

That same door released a knock that was slightly suffocated by the sinful noises coming from both of you. There was no possible way the person behind the door couldn’t hear what was occurring in that office room, not with how loud you were moaning and how loud Shanks was pounding your body.

“Boss? We need the case file of our mission” A voice said from behind the door. You heard Shanks grumble.

He didn’t stop going crazy on your body while he searched the floor that carried scattered files of his targets he wanted dead. They all had one thing in common, but that didn’t matter right now since you both were only focused on climaxing.

“Im-.. fuck~.. Im busy!” Shanks yelled. Not a word was said after that, aside from your messy moans.

Your voice began to crescendo when that knot that was tightly built in your womb was beginning to snap. Your body was quivering before Shanks and he watched with a devious smile.

“Gonna cum, baby~?” He asked, knowing good and well what the answer was.

“Yes, sir… Mmmmph, Im gonna cum~!” You yelped.

Shanks admired your love juices spurting on his pelvis, knowing that he, yet again, made you climax hard and made your brain run blank. It was practically a talent to him.

“Good girl~” He praised, massaging your lower half while he let you ride out your hard orgasm. Shanks didn’t stop, though. You were bound to lose your ability to walk when he was finished with you but that wasn’t newborn at all.

Luckily, Shanks’ own climax was tailing behind yours. How you knew that the crimson man was about to dump his load was when his grunts would become breathless and he’d lightly chuckle from the amount of euphoria you gave him. He’d release one last loud groan, while it being slightly wobbly, and filled your hole past the brim with his seed.

“Fuck, baby~!” He shouted after his last pounding thrust, letting you feel the warm liquid flood your insides. You finally got an opportunity to catch your breath into your shriveled lungs and now worn-out throat.

You felt Shanks pull his huge girth out of your entrance, causing the waterfall of cum to pour out like a waterfall. You let out a long, soft moan when you felt all of the stuffing trickle down from your cunt to your leg.

“Let me get you cleaned up, princess” He smiled. While you were too busy trying to gather your consciousness together, Shanks buckled his pants and wiped off any remaining secretions lingering.

You rolled on your back to lift yourself up once your brain rebooted after being broken silly. Your hand lifted the fold that was scrunched down to cover your breasts and you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna do my business. You think you’ll be alright being here while Im off?” Shanks himself tried to catch his breath while he picked up the scattered papers on the floor. He threw them beside you on the desk, them now at your reach.

“Of course. Don’t get yourself killed” You giggled. Your statement made Shanks chuckle.

You watched him barricade you with his arms by resting them on either side of the desk you were lovingly displayed on. Your hand was placed under his chin and then trailed to remove a red strand that lingered over his eyes.

“You worry too much, doll” He cooed.

You hummed and had your hand grab the files of soon-to-be deceased victims. Your eyes analyzed the pictures and your expression dropped. Shanks watched, entirely pleased like he wanted you to see what was in that cream-colored folder.

That one thing that they all had in common was that they all wronged you one way or another. Thanks to Shanks’ trusted undercover agent, he was able to pinpoint each and every person, entirely for your pleasure.

“Shanks…” You muttered. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to be flattered or astonished by the files presented before you. You saw the boss pull away and search in his desk drawer.

“I have a gift for you, my sweet (F/N)” He cooed, pulling out something you couldn’t quite make out yet. You expected a new necklace or diamond earrings, but not a glistening gold ring of the iconic gem that was now shining before you.

“I want to marry you. So that now you’ll officially be mine”

His words turned your mind upside down. What was a weekend fling soon turned into an intimate bond that was now formally being promoted to newlyweds. You hadn’t felt this content and safe with someone for as long as you could remember, and it was rather obvious that Shanks had an undying infatuation with you since the incident at the men’s club. Your words immediately birthed the word Shanks anticipated.

“Of course, boss~”

all licensing and ownership belong to eiichiro oda

#op x reader #fanfic #x reader #one piece #shanks #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #red haired pirates #mafia au #mafia #op x you