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empress-simps · 8 months ago

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Can I request a fic with Remus (I love him), with a shy fem!reader girlfriend? House doesn’t really matter, but Hufflepuff might be fitting lol. She wants to meet his group of friends officially for the first time (she’s dating Remus and she hasn’t yet), but she’s too anxious despite trying to hype herself up for it? Maybe Remus comforts her

Darling, this is such a cute request! 🫶 Also, who doesn’t love Remus? We all do, no questions asked (I would do anything for him and Regulus). I absolutely love to write for this man, and I think Remus with a shy s/o is stinking cute. Thank you for requesting! 🫂 (Not edited so there may be grammatical errors or typos lurking around)

Loving Yellow and Black

Pairings: Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader CW: Language and mentions of smoking.

In many ways, you were different from his friends.

You were polite, kind, and willing to help others- basically what everyone thinks of when they picture an ideal Hufflepuff student. Not saying that James, Sirius, and Peter were rude or anything like that, but there was just something gentle about you that Remus saw. As for them? They’re a rambunctious mess, a bit rough around the edges.

Remus found it quite charming, you try your best to blend in, be a wallflower so your student life at Hogwarts would be smooth sailing. Although, to Remus, no matter what you do, you stand out effortlessly. When he first expressed his interest in you, you were hesitant and cautious. You thought it was just one of the many other pranks that he and the other marauders had planned on other students.

“Go out with me, Y/n?” Remus asked nervously, after a week of him approaching and befriending you.

“Erm…” You looked around, making sure he was talking to you. “Are you talking to me?”

So, he did everything he could to make sure you know that he’s serious about you and that you won’t feel anything but that.

Slowly but surely, the hesitance and doubts started to go away as you got to know him better. You learned that he loves chocolates, his eyes would light up when you bring him chocolate frogs whenever you and your friends would go to Hogsmeade. His eyes having literal stars as he took in the sight of you, and how his laugh would make you smile as he whisks you away from your common rooms to hang out (snog) in the Astronomy tower and bringing you back just before the clock strikes twelve.

You bring out the best versions of yourself when you’re both with each other. Remus helps you to be a bit more adventurous, making you try things you never even thought of doing, such as sneaking out past curfew. Remus was your many firsts.

Remus found himself being more patient and calmer than before, maybe your nature rubbed off on him like how his rubbed off on you.

“Moony, are you smoking… you know?”

Remus nearly choked on his breakfast one morning. He turns to look at Sirius, eyes wide with shock. “Just why would you think that Padfoot?!” Sirius shrugged, putting his arms up as if he was surrendering. “Geez, just asking a question, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Moony.”

“I’m not smoking, or doing whatever you think I’m doing, you sod.”

Remus grumbles while James just laughed, “Alright, there’s our original Moony.”

“You seem calmer recently, Moons. We were just curious.” Peter shrugs, taking a bite out of his pancake, Remus raised his eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, it was like you turned into a saint. You don’t even scold James and I anymore for our boxers strewn across the floor- “

“Hey! Shut it, what if Lily hears?!”

“Mind you, we are in the great hall eating breakfast, Padfoot.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Quiet down, people are looking.”

It was just a matter of time when your friends found out you’re dating Remus and managed to keep it under their noses for a few months.

“Y/n! How could you? We trusted you!” El, one of your friends shrieks dramatically, plopping down her bed, making you furrow your eyebrows. “Erm… is there something going on?”

“of course there is! Why did you keep it a secret?” She whined, pulling you next to her.

“Keep what a secret?”

“You and Lupin!”

“Oh, erm…” You trailed off, trying to fight the blush forming on your face. Your other friends started to tease you, “So it’s true!”

“Yes.” You confirmed with a nod, your hands over your face as a poor attempt to cover your blush.

“Alright, we need to know if the bloke is good enough to date our Y/n.”

It quickly became known to other students within your house that you were dating the witty marauder. Of course, this kind of news spreads like wildfire across Hogwarts; even reaching the three marauders who were in the dark with their Moony’s love life. They need to meet you as soon as possible and didn’t even let Remus have peace and quiet until he asked you if you were okay about it.

“So, they found out about us.” Remus bit his lip, looking nervously. You blinked, “Well, it was bound to happen, my friends were… vocal about it.” She chuckled as Remus cracked a grin.

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m guessing they want to meet me?”

Remus nodded, sighing. “Sorry angel. I tried to tell them- “

“It’s alright, honey. I figured it would be good after my friends also demanded you to meet them.”

To say that you were terrified would be an understatement; you felt like you were going to throw up in your shoes, break out in a cold sweat, or even stumble because damn it- your legs are shaking, as if you’re going to collapse under your own weight.

Well yeah, you were the one who kinda brought it up, but it still didn’t lessen the nerves you have. You wanted them to at least be civil towards you and to recognize your relationship with their friend. You were thinking of what outfit you should wear a week prior to the meeting, and you carefully planned out how you would respond to the possible questions they’d have. Call it over thinking, but you were just preparing for every single possible outcome.

“Alright, I can do this.” You chanted, looking at the mirror then at your watch, only 30 minutes before Remus arrives in the Hufflepuff common room. You checked your hair, smoothing it out as you checked yourself for the umpteenth time.

“Merlin, Y/n. You’re acting like you’re meeting the Prime Minister of Magic.” El commented, shaking her head. “You’ll be fine, if they don’t like you… then they better prepare themselves for a Hufflepuff’s wrath.”

Remus casts a glance worriedly at you, fixing your black and yellow scarf on your neck. “Darling, it isn’t that cold out, you don’t have to practically cover your face with it.” He chuckles, kissing your reddening cheeks as you huffed, “It would be a great help when I meet your friends.” Grinning, he pinched your cheeks, making you glare at him.

“They’ll love you. Don’t worry too much, yeah?” He whispers, before giving your forehead a kiss, at this point, Remus and the cold weather’s mission is to make you look like a tomato.

You gulped nervously, fiddling with the ends of the scarf. “But… I…”

To be honest, you are kind of expecting them to be disappointed when they meet you. A Hufflepuff girl, fairly average, wallflower, and a goody-two-shoes. Quite boring, in your opinion. Remus’s gaze hardened, as if scolding you. “I know what’s going on your pretty mind, darling. Just be yourself.” Squeezing your hand in his, you made your way to the Gryffindor Tower and to the dorm room he and his friends share.

“There you are, Moony!” James smiled as he opened the door to their room, his smile widening as he casts, a glance at you. “You must be Y/n! Come in!” He excitedly ushers both of you inside the room, you gave Remus’s hand a squeeze, he looks at you and squeezes back. You took a glance at their room, there was Sirius laying down lazily on his bed, Peter sitting on a random beanbag on their dorm room, and Lily sitting on her boyfriend’s bed, beaming a smile in which you returned; albeit a little more nervously.

“Any second further than that and I’d thought Moony was lying about finally getting a girl, isn’t that right, wormtail?” Sirius grinned, teasing Remus before standing up and giving you a hug. Which made you widen your eyes and stiff up, but recovering quickly to hug him back, pulling away after a few moments.

“Nice to meet you, love. I’m Sirius.”

You smiled shyly, “Nice to meet you too, I’m Y/n.”

“Remus, tell me again how’d you manage to get someone as gorgeous as she is?”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Sod off, Pads.” Sirius just laughed, smiling as he looks at you and Remus together.

“Hi Y/n, I’m Peter. Nice to meet you.” Peter smiled politely, holding out his hand which you took, shaking it. “Nice to meet you too, Peter.”

Lily smiled, pointing at her boyfriend. “That one’s James! Don’t pay attention to him- “ cue a protest from James, who’s pouting “-and I’m Lily, so glad there’s another girl in the group! They’re driving me crazy!” She practically bounced off her feet and hugged you, making you stumble, and Remus put a hand on your back to support you.

Okay, this wasn’t what you expected. Quite far actually.

Your heart fills with warmth as you allowed a smile to appear on your face, looking around, seeing how they felt so comfortable with you already. Sirius was busy bothering Peter, who shoos him away, complaining that he’s being annoying even when you’re with them. “Have you got any shame left with you, Padfoot?”

“Hm, last time I checked none.”

James was trying to get your opinion on how to pull off one of their pranks, and Lily scolding him not to drag you onto his shenanigans.

Remus pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around your waist, he whispers. “Welcome to the family, darling.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus fluff #remus x y/n #remus lupin #marauders #james potter #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #marauders era #marauders fic #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #harry potter #the marauders

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seattlesellie · 1 year ago

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ok. can we talk about going with ellie to the mall because i think it would be… interesting.

(fluff ‘n a little bit of smut so mdni! 🎀 also wrote this ages ago and it’s so bad so excuse me!!! and reader is v fem)

౨ৎ when it comes to ellie williams— i believe she will throughly let you walk her like a dog. quite literally following you around the shops hand in hand— to the point where you’re merely dragging her around. at first, she’d be super chill and relaxed, but one hour later after seeing you try on the same dress three times already— she’d start groaning on and on. “babe… do we really have to go fucking zara again?”, when you tell her that you just regret not buying a certain top, she’d be so adorably pissed off, her eyebrows all furrowed together, just thoroughly confused. she would probably want to stop and eat some food every 5 seconds. “zara… or mcdonalds” ,weighing the two options on her hands and clearly placing the mcdonalds option way higher.

౨ৎ if there’s an arcade— you know her ass is fully stopping in her tracks, begging you to come and play some games with her. obviously, you oblige, because she’s giving you the biggest and cutest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, and maybe she’d stupidly jump up when you say yes. she ends up beating you in every single game— and it's so painfully obvious that she’s been there about 17 times already.

“ellie, you’re only winning because you’re here every single day. you’re like a totallll loser” you defend, after she’d been gloating about her winning streak for 5 minutes straight. unsurprisingly, she just denies it.

“i swear— ive never been here before, babe”

“els, be honest” you warn.

“okay— been here like once with jesse”

“once?”

“once… plus like five” and at that— she turns around, and places her hand behind her back, so you can intertwine it with yours. she’s sooo beating you in bowling.

౨ৎ while you’re browsing through clothes — shed be hugging you from behind tightly, as she kisses on your neck and silently begs for your attention.

“this skirts super cute, right?” you chirp, pointing at the plaid mini skirt and slowly tracing the soft fabric with the pads of your fingers.

ellie has her chaste lips right on your pulse point, and she’s barely even looking.

you pick it up, and she moves closer behind you with her hands still clinging on to your waist. “cute, right?” — you can feel ellie’s smile slowly form on your neck.

“yeah, babe… you’re very cute. thought you knew that already, though”

౨ৎ when you pull out two pieces from the rack (amethyst purple & floral purple) and ask her which color will fit you better, she just rolls her eyes and huffs. “babe… you cannot be serious they're the exact same”, to you, they are NOT. but ellie fully doesn’t get it at all.

౨ৎ put her in a gamestop— and it’s like she won the lottery. browsing through the different controllers, now its your turn to tease and tell her they’re all the exact same. put her in a NINTENDO shop and its literally over. her eyes are twinkling and sparkling, and shes borderline skipping through the store trying to find cool figurines. when she sees a bowser plushie (her mariokart main, duh) she picks it out so fast, and then tries to find you a plushie too— a princess peach or a kirby or whatever you want. she goes to pay, and when you leave the store with your two adorable new plushies inside the bag— ellie fully side eyes you. she has something to say, and you know it. she sighs deeply— “think theyre fucking in there?”

“if they’re anything like us… theyre fucking in there— oh my god, babe… bowsers humping her ass, look” —

she’s literally moving them inside the bag.

౨ৎ okay, so you’re done paying at zara (with her credit card but let’s not… talk about it), ellie left about 15 minutes ago because she was tired of looking at the clothes and she said that place looks like a mental asylum. you’re walking out of the shop with the bags in your hands, and you see her sitting on one of the random mall couches with a random grey haired middle aged man. weirdly, they seem to be in the midst of an incredibly intense conversation. you twist your face because what the fuck and;

“waiting for the wife, huh?” she asks him, manspreading on the chair with her hands resting on her thighs. they’re both staring at the store’s entrance, both sighing heavily. “that i am…” the old man huffs, and ellie chuckles to herself. “me too man… me too”

౨ৎ five minutes later — you find them talking about fucking bathroom tiles.

“i told her i wasn’t going to do marble— but she fucking insisted on it”

you walk a little closer, and ellie is still heavily rambling about floor stuff (?) you have absolutely no clue about.

“els…? ready to go?” you chirp, smiling warmly at the stranger. “gimme a sec” ellie looks at you from the corner of her eye, and keeps going. they’re exchanging numbers because they need to start thinking about how to build a new patio, and he has some “awesome fucking tips, man”

౨ৎ ellie places her hand on your shoulder as you’re walking away, and squeezes. “he was such a cool dude” she remarks, with a stupidly dumb, satisfied smile.

“ellie… he was like, sixty five”

“so? we bonded, babe�� she shrugs.

“about floor tiles?” you ask her, and she begins rubbing little circles on your shoulder as you both stray further away from the shop.

“amongst other things” ellie chews on the inside of her cheek. should she say it?

“what things?” you smile sheepishly at your girlfriend, who’s seemingly nervous for some reason.

“you know… his wife…” she bites her cheek even harder now. she should definitely not say it. “my wife” okay— there it is.

her wife.

ten whole seconds of absolute radio silence pass. ellie thinks she might have said too much, but ellie doesn’t know you’re fighting for your life trying to hold on to your tears that are threatening to erupt.

her wife.

“you’re proposing here then, i assume?” you’re trying not to sound emotional, trying not to sound like your hearts about to burst out of your chest and start doing cartwheels on the malls pavement.

“nah… definitely somewhere way classier. like… bora bora, or the food court”

“food court?”

ellie has to stop. ellie has to stop and hold your hand.

“yeah… so i can hide the ring inside your burger n’shit. then you like… choke on it, then i save you… then not only am i a fuckin’ hero, i also get to like… marry the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen. and she has to say yes—” there’s no point in swallowing down your toothy smile now. “cause like… i saved her life, y’know?” as much as ellie’s joking, ellie’s cheeks are burning up.

“will you… say yes, though?” she balances her weight from leg to leg, and averts her gaze. mmhm— what an interesting sign!

the way you place your hand on the back of her neck and kiss her hard— that’s definitely a yes.

ellie won’t propose to you in the food court, though. in fact, she has this elaborate plan she has been thinking since about a month into your relationship. that, you’ll never guess.

౨ৎ mall ellie is ALL pda. she doesn’t let go of your hand like ever and constantly needs little kisses on the cheek. she bought you a cute new top? kiss on the cheek. cute dress? kiss on the cheek and on the nose. she doesn’t want you to say your thank you’s, she’d much rather you show them.

౨ৎ when you’re at a lingerie shop… suddenly she comes fully alive. its literally as if someone infused her with seven shots of caffeine and she can’t seem to be able to stop handing you different bra’s, panties, and sexy little nightgowns.

“that’ll look so fucking hot on you” & hands you the sluttiest thong youve ever seen. “that— will drive me fucking crazy” & hands you a sheer bra she can imagine your nipples poking out of.

“wanna eat you out in that” as she hands you a little nightgown and you’re like “ELLIE!” and slap her arm her because a 60 year old woman literally just heard her and looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.

“actually— wanna eat you out in that… and in that too… and in that— oh my god look baby they’re crotchless” wiggling her eyebrows and swaying the fabric in the air.

౨ৎ obviously… she wants you to model them for her. it’s funny, how she didn’t give a fuck when you tried a cardigan on or a hat or saw a cute purse, but now she’s demanding to go inside the dressing room with you and stare you down in the mirror like a perv. she watches you strip out of your clothes and you purposely do it extra slowly, taking your time removing the bra… and now, she’s just leaping out of her sit.

“nope— doing that for you…” she unclasps it, stands behind you and immediately gropes your tits. she gives you sweet little kitten licks and kisses on the neck, whilst maintaining full eye contact with her hands on your boobs from the mirror, and you can’t help but whimper when she takes your hardening nipples between her fingers and rolls them in her thumb. “ellie… were in public” you hiss, bucking your ass onto her crotch.

“we’re not in public, were in a dressing room…” she whispers, like she knows best.

“plus, i gotta test these little panties out… s’for you, y’know?”

ellie makes you sit on her lap to watch it up close, until she’s fully satisfied and is sure that they fit just right, and that she can see herself peeling them off of you. “give me a little wiggle, babe”, she rasps, as her hands roam over your naked waist.

“a wiggle?” you giggle, and burry your face in the crook of her neck.

“like… grind yourself up against me. gotta test the fabric, make sure you’re… comfortable” and— of course you do. you grind yourself up against her thigh until you forget what you even came to the mall for.

ellie’s eyes are fixated on you, taking in your little silent whimpers as you “test the panties” out.

“think… fuck— think we gotta buy them now… soaked ‘em all up, huh?” ellie pants, as she helps you grind your body back and forth. when ellie looks down on her thigh, truly just to watch how your pussy lips swallow the drenched material, ellie comes to an extra conclusion as well. there’s a sticky wet patch, almost heart shaped, over her denim jeans.

“shit… babe, look at that mess…”, she holds you by the back of your neck, and guides your head down. “mhm… gotta buy me some new jeans” your breath cages inside your throat as you begin to stutter, “sorry, el… didn’t mean to”

“oh fuck no… it’s… shit— so fuckin’ hot”

anyways, mall ellie is a menace.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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Was Krypto Jor-El's dog? Or did their family have another pet?

Because think about it. Thanks to Cujo, we KNOW animals with unfinished business or strong attachments stay behind. We ALSO know from nigh COUNTLESS videos on the internet that pets get REALLY attached to pregnant moms and by extention, the new pack members.

Krpton was an Alien planet. Just because SOME of the animals there looked similar to earth animals, doesn't mean ALL of them do. Nor does it mean they ONLY domesticated dog like creatures or cat like creatures. They could have anything from vaguely bear-like to fox-ish to small moose but with more teeth.

It was a completely different ecology.

And Jor-El? Him and his wife had a CHOICE to make. They had A pod. Singular. Tiny. Not a ship, not an escape pod, not even a refurbished shipping container. Just a pod with life support and all the information about Krypton they could fit. A guidance system that, gods willing, would see their son to a safe and sympathetic planet to be raised by kind people.

THEY couldn't even fit.

How in the gods name would a large pet? Even a mid sized pet. Let us assume, for this prompt, that being scientists of high position? Pays or allocates pretty well. They have the room. The resources. When they got married, Jor-El's wife REALLY wanted a cub or pup or what have you, of some large-ish animal breed.

The equivalent of an earth mastiff dog. Just an Absolute UNIT. Used to be gaurds and working beasts, now more athletic pets then anything. Known to be great protecters of Their People.

And well... Jor-El WAS already starting to notice some things that were making him Less Than Popular... probably nothing (he had naively hoped, at the time.) But better to have a Just In Case. Sure, honey. Let's get one!

And they LOVED Snookums.

Snookums ADORED them AND the baby! Kal-El basically NEVER left Snookums sight. He slept beneath Kal's crib. Followed them everywhere they went, when they were holding Kal. Planted himself like Kal's Sworn Protector as the baby drooled all over his fur. It was the cutest thing EVER.

But then?

No. Dear Gods No. Please... Please let him be wrong!

He's not. He never is. He is too careful with his calculations. To the point of near paranoia. Maybe they can stop it. If they DO something. Act IMMEDIATELY...

But...

Well, we all now how that story ends. Two people, standing on a launch pad, tears streaming down their smiling faces, trying to memorize the last moment they'll ever see their son. Praying this will be ENOUGH.

That they aren't trading one terrible death for another.

Watching their son disappear into the sky. Flying home as the ground groan as shakes, trees toppling and people screaming. Panicking. Dying pointless deaths that could have been stopped.

Walking into the home that should have been where they spent their whole live. Where, in a way, they WILL.

Knowing they won't grow old.

Sitting on the floor with their confused, frantic, pet as fire starts to light up the horizon. As the ground shakes violently on last, terrible time. Knowing the lethal heat will hit them before their ears ever register the sound.

It's Over.

But! Where is Snookum's Baby Kal!?

They are scared, confused, and everything is LOUD AND RUMBLY. Very Bad. Don't like that. Their ADULTS come back home. BUT NOT THEIR BABY. Where is Baby Kal?! Snookums is a GOOD Boy and a GREAT Protector. It is in his blood.

Something BAD is happening.

Has? Happened?

Everything is GREEN.

But that does not MATTER. Snookums can not REST. Can not stay here! They must Sniff and search and hunt! Look for Kal! Who is SMALL and needs to be protected! What if he is HURT? How will he SLEEP!? With no Snookums to cuddle for nap time!?

But the universe is large. And there is no smell in space. (Well, there ARE. But they are Stinky Gasses and those do not help Snookums.) So it takes lots and lots of time. Until! He meets a glowing blue dog!

A hopeful corgi? What is a corgi? Irrelevant! The hopeful one knows of Snookums' Kal! Oh, thank you small friend! You indeed DO give hope! We shall go at once and Kal shall be safe and with family once more!

Meanwhile? Danny? Wakes up to a sticky note on his forehead from Clockwork. "Bring Cujo with you to meet the Justic League"? What? WHY? He loves the pup, but Cujo has never behaved himself in a formal setting ONCE in his doggy LIFE. Danny is trying to make a good first impression!

But... Clockwork doesn't Post-It lightly...

Guess he's breaking out the doggy bow ties. Great. Wonder what THIS is about...

Four and a half hours later? Watching Cujo playfully wrestle with the ghost of what HAS to be a Kryptonian... gonna saaaaay.... Bear-fox? Which nearly TACKLED Superman, freaked the ENTIRE Justice League out, and nearly got him STABBED by Etrigon. Yeah. That was a good call.

Congratulations on your new ghost pet, Superman. No, he's not leaving. It just kinda happens sometimes. It's how Danny got Cujo. Wanna do pet playdates?

@hdgnj @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles @nerdpoe

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #Kryptonian pets can be ghosts too #snookums is a LOYAL maybe bear ghost

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try-set-me-on-fire · 6 days ago

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requesting hand kisses for all my life there you go if ur still taking :) that's one of my favourite ongoing fics in the whole fandom! every time u update I smile so big. - @team-118

@chaosandwolves also requested this one! Thank you so much omg 😳😳😳 Uhhhh sorry this is kind of stream of consciousness half tragic 8x08 reaction…. They’ll kiss for real eventually Eddie’s just going through it. On ao3!

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, backlit by the sun coming in through the window over the sink. Wrong sink, wrong window, so many many miles away from anything Buck knows as home, but also- maybe they’d fit into any kitchen like this. Eddie at the sink by the window, Buck at the table. So we just never leave the kitchen, Buck thinks. They never go back into the wrong living room of this tiny apartment 15 minutes from Christopher and 12 hours from Los Angeles. They never leave because Buck doesn’t know how to exist outside of this context, Eddie at the sink and Buck at the table. They just stay right here. They move kitchen to kitchen, it’ll all be okay.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says again. He looks tired. It’s January. He left before Thanksgiving and Buck couldn’t eat anything the whole day, pushed around turkey and mashed potatoes he helped Bobby make on the nice dishes Maddie got down from storage. It’s January but it's Texas, and it can get cold sometimes but it isn’t right now, so he’s in shorts and a worn out t-shirt, holes in the collar. His arms are crossed. Holding himself together. Buck knows the feeling.

“Buck,” Eddie says, stunned, broken open, dripping with guilt. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.” One hand wanders out from the knot he’s tied himself in and then quickly tangles itself back up again. “I don’t… know-” he laughs, this is stunned too. “You were there- you were always just there. I didn’t need to ask- there was nothing to ask. It’s just the way it was.” He looks up, guilty guilty. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. Leaving you.” All the air sighs out of Buck’s lungs, and he doesn’t know what to say. It’s never been hard to talk to Eddie, who’s always waited out his stumbled words and winding sentences easily and without judgment, but the only thing he has to say now is: I did. You were looking at homes and you said they’re in El Paso and I knew exactly what it would feel like for you to rip yourself out of me. I forgive you for not knowing — I didn’t understand either, until that moment — but I did know.

“And now I- Buck, I don’t want to live like that- like this- I don’t want a life without you in it. A-and I don’t know what that looks like.” Eddie’s face is helpless, begging. “I know you- I don’t know that I-” one hand reaches again, pulls back again. “You like men and I- I don’t know that I-” a furrow between his brows and he looks as scared as he only ever was telling Buck about people who died in a helicopter crash years after it went down. “I’d try. To be that for you. To- to do that with you. I’ll- we can-”

“Eddie,” Buck says.

“Can’t I just want to hold you?” Eddie demands it. “Can’t I- can’t you sleep next to me? Can’t I take care of you?” He looks near angry. “What do you- I don’t need anything else. I don’t need anything else. Just- can’t I have you?” Buck thinks it’s probably unnecessary to say you already do. In any way. Held and slept beside and cared for. What else is there? He’d live off far less.

“I’d marry you,” Eddie says. “I’ll marry you. You can- if you need- there can be other people but you can come home to me. I’ll- Chris- it’s getting better. We’ll come home soon, we’ll move home soon, and- and we’ll work together again and you come home to me-” hands uncrossed, hovering, shaking. “You can do anything, you can see other people, just- come home to me.”

“There’s only you,” Buck whispers.

“Buck,” Eddie says, a cry. He comes closer. “Please.” When his hands touch Buck’s face, warm, he almost flinches. It’s just that they’re so real, solid, impossible to dismiss as imagination or hallucination or dream or wishful thinking. Eddie’s hands, on his face, scratching into his hair, scrabbling over his back as the man collapses onto him smelling like deodorant and coffee and sweat, t-shirt cotton soft over the fat and muscle that presses into Buck’s face. Buck’s arms drift up to hold him back. This is a new place Buck could learn the context for. Kitchen sink and table, held in Eddie’s arms. The only two places in the world that make any goddamn sense. Eddie’s curled over him, a shelter, his body a home. But Buck already knew that, too.

“Sorry,” Eddie croaks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I’m like this.” Buck holds tighter so Eddie doesn't shake so much. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you- I’m sorry I hurt you. God- Buck, it hurts, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-” Buck shakes his head, face dragging across Eddie’s chest. He could fall asleep here. Rest until they go meet Christopher this afternoon. Rest until he has to get up at 4 to get to the airport and catch the red-eye and tear himself in two again. Visiting was a bad idea, maybe. He’s not sure he can survive that a second time. But Eddie said soon, he said he’ll come home soon, he and Chris. Buck and Eddie and Chris, who all come home at the end of the day, kitchen table kitchen sink Eddie’s arms sleeping and cared for.

“I love you,” Buck says. Why not. Why not.

“Buck,” a gasp, though surely Eddie can’t be surprised. He pulls back, face red and wet. His hands slide across Buck’s shoulders, down his arms, pull Buck’s hands up and press his knuckles to his mouth. Closes his eyes. Buck feels warm puffs of air against his fingers. Two lungs messy breathing loud in the small room. “Buck,” he says, and Buck knows what he means, knows the reply for what it is. He was wrong, the flight will be easy. The wait will be easy.

Eddie opens his eyes.

#my writing #all my life there you go

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

you call and I come running

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a drunken confession leaves you and Javi on unsure ground. When an on the run narco douses you in an unknown, off-market drug, Javier has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

warnings: sex pollen, dub con due to sex pollen, minimal plot scaffolding to hold up a gratuitous amount of porn, minimally edited, feral!javi is best javi, the barest hint of breeding kink, not really butt stuff more like butt touching, light angst, no use of y/n, spanking

a/n: comes from @perotovar 's ask for my 100 follower milestone event: hi there! congrats on your milestone!! i saw your prompt list and saw "I’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit." and "A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips." and thought it would be a really good combination for either javi p or max p? which ever one you feel fits better! 😊 (as for smut, only include it if you think it works!)

🤍Masterlist 🤍AO3 Link

Bogota was begging for rain. At the end of summer, the city and its people had been suffering months of stifling, thick, humid air without a drop of relief. Sweat clung to exposed skin, dampening shirts and tightening waistbands. Heat weighed like a physical presence in the air while open windows and doors sought to tempt in some non-existent breeze, hoping to coax some pity out of the militant heatwave. But the heat and the moisture-thick air stayed, hovering like a cloud of mosquitoes, just as merciless and just as blood-thirsty.

Night offered no consolation either. Stagnant and cloistered, the sun-bleached air greeted its visitors with a great, warm lick – like the wide tongue of a particularly aggressive bloodhound. The ongoing joke among the locals blamed the blackouts on all the fans, spinning throughout all hours of the day and night, instead of el gobierno barato. Only then came the sigh of ease, in front of whirling blades with ice water behind them. Flapping shirts and mopped brows. Only then, was there relief to the tension.

Unfortunately, a running car would tip off any narcos in the area, so even that small miracle is denied to the two agents sitting in the darkness of la calle. A crack in the glass window releases a tendril of smoke, not enough to expect a breeze, not enough to wipe away the smear of sweat from across forearms and under knees.

A drunken confession lingers even thicker in the air.

You thought you could do this. You really thought nothing would change – it was an accident after all. He didn’t mean it – he couldn’t – he was just teasing you, when he leaned over the sticky fourtop in the back of the bar at three in the morning, his breath tangy with the ghost of four glasses of whiskey, his body heat immense and overwhelming as he pressed into you and said –

Whatever he said, you told him no.

Actually, you laughed and then said no. No, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t, he was just teasing you and he would never, ever, ever, ever know how much you actually wanted it and even if – even if you both wanted it, it could never, ever, ever, ever happen.

It couldn’t. It was so absurd for him to even consider it, you laughed.

And then he never looked at you the same way.

You had done something irreversible. He had said the words, but you had done something irreversible to him.

Something in the air had changed, maybe forever. And that, that you might have lost your partner, your friend, potential potential potential disappearing in a cloud of Marlboro smoke over bottles of cerveza, that was the worst part.

He doesn’t look at you the same way.

Or at all.

He smokes and he watches and he acts like you’re not in the seat next to him. Like his confession hasn’t cleaved him apart.

Nothing’s moved in hours. Neither the target or the shadows in the car. The tension presses up against the windows, hot and stifling. There is no relief.

“I didn’t want it like this, you know,” you say to the sun visor, arms crossed, low in your seat. “I . . . tried to see if Murphy would switch, but I didn’t think the tip would pan out so fast, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want . . .”

The shadow next to you emerges with his face as he brings the glowing orange light of the cigarette to his mouth. Full lips, short thick hair below his nose, a jawline sharper than any hit of cocaine.

“What did you expect?” he asks, his voice thick and heavy like oil. It clings to you.

You scowl into the darkness beyond your window. “For Murphy to me a fucking solid, for once. Covered his ass more than once after they adopted Olivia. I just wanted one goddamn –,”

He forcefully flicks the stub of his cigarette out the window as a precursor to punctuate his next sentence. “No. What did you want, if you didn’t want it like this?”

The acidity in his tone stings you and you unintentionally flinch as if he had pressed the cigarette nub into your skin.

“Javier, c’mon, that’s not fair.”

He arches one eyebrow, his teeth clenched in his jaw, hollowing out a pocket of skin below his temple. The overhanging orange streetlights sap the color from his skin.

“So you get to make all the rules now. Got it.” He crunches up the empty box of cigarettes and chucks it in the back seat. You watch him with narrowed eyes as he settles back against the seat with his arms crossed.

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” You snap. “You know this isn’t easy for me either.”

“But it is easier than the alternative, right?” After two hours of ice cold silence, he finally looks at you and you can feel the spike of frost in your chest. The twitch in his jaw is the rage in his eyes taking physical form. “Easier than . . . trying. Right?”

He looks away, already having confessed too much with whisky on his breath, and he can’t afford another slip-up. He knows this. You know this. You want to reach out and touch him but you worry he might physically slap you away if you do. You’ve hurt him in places Javier Peña doesn’t like to admit he has.

“It’s not that simple,” you say to his thigh. “And you know it.”

His jaw twitches again. “I’m not asking for your goddamn hand in marriage. I’m just — sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit. I want –,”

“No.” You say and you can feel the word imprint under your sternum. “There’s too much at risk. We’ve been in this fight for too long to get benched and if Noonan even gets a whiff of anything out of whack with her agents, she’ll . . . I want to, Javi, can’t you see that? I really want to – in case I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear. I want to, but there’s no trying for people like us. In a place like this.” The firm weight in your voice pushes on something that makes him look at you again. That rage has dissipated, melted, leaving only a corporeal ache. His brown eyes were endless in their confusion, their disappointment, their hurt. Please, he begs without words. You swallow, your thumbnail digging into your palm to keep yourself from launching yourself across the bench seat of his truck and into his lap. “I want to, Javi. I want . . . you.”

He drops your gaze as if it burned him. He shifts back, hand coming up to cover his mouth, the side of his knuckle rubbing his upper lip as if coaxing whatever was sitting just behind his teeth back down his throat.

Javier stares out into the oppressive Bogota night, his clavicle dewy with sweat and he shakes his head.

“Save it.”

You actually flinch. God, you knew it was going to hurt but you never thought it would hurt this much. Hurts so much it claws up your chest with cut-metal knives until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t see as tears flood your eyes.

“Javi, please.” Your voice is calm, despite the small implosion in your chest. “Don’t–,”

“No, I mean – look.” He points out across the dashboard.

The door that has been shut tight for the past three hours has opened. El Corto, a man who lives up to his name, pokes his round face around the edge of the door, glancing up and down the street with the paranoia of someone who trafficks drugs for a living. You turn your head into your shoulder to act like you are adjusting the firearm on your hip to wipe your eyes. Beside you, Javier turns the safety of his handgun and slips it into the back of his jeans.

“You good?” He sounds like Javier, your friend, and that swell of confidence gives you the strength to kick down a door into a whole nest of narcos. You meet his eyes and nod.

The air is no cooler out in the open when you slip out of Javier’s truck into the dark night of Bogota. Javier strides across the black street, eyes just as fast as El Corto, paranoia just as high. There’s never any telling if the narcos are alone and that’s why you hang back just a bit, eyes on Javier and a dozen other places.

“El Corto,” Javier snaps, sharp and demanding. The voice of authority. The narco freezes, narrow shoulders going taught. You keep eyes on his hands, your own hovering over your weapon in case he chooses to go for his. “Ven aquí. Tenemos algunas–,”

Without warning, El Corto takes off running, darting off down an alleyway.

“Fuck,” Javier hisses and pulls his shirt out of his pants, experience the cruelest teacher. But you’ve already passed him – running your favorite way to unwind, train, and way to avoid your problems, tearing down the alleyway after the shadow sprinting into the night.

There is something singular about running that is more addicting than any drug the narcos peddled. A chosen target. A finite end. The only thing you had to count on, the only thing to worry about, is how hard you had to pump your arms, the length of your stride, the control of your breathing. Hunting down narcos was a breeding ground for chaos. But not this. This made sense.

El Corto, despite having about half your stride, makes up for his short stature with speed. You catch only a glimpse of his jacket, then his shoe. A mile through an empty street and he finally comes into view. You’re gaining on him. The unrestrained creature in your chest roars and blocks out the searing pain in your calves, under your ribs. God, you swear you can almost smell him.

Maybe all animals, big or small, can sense the moment before the trap ensnares around them because without warning, El Corto darts left, leaping over a wrought iron fence into the lower levels of an apartment building. He’s gone before you can blink.

Snarling, you squeeze the fence railing as you tuck your legs over it, the momentum of your run clearing you from the tips.

A voice in your head and possibly behind you is yelling at you to wait, don’t go inside without backup, but you can’t stop. You can’t help it. If you can’t have who you want, this is what you want. This is what you need.

And you need a fucking win.

You burst through the screen door to an empty concrete room – torn carpet, wall paint chipped away, maybe an old living room – a flash of jeans around the hallway at the end giving a fraction of an indication of your target. So you take off after him, rounding the corner. You watch as he nearly runs through a faded yellow door, the wood cracking and splintering from the force as it slams open into the wall. The door ricochets off the wall, nearly slamming close again, just as you reach it, but the brunt of your shoulder knocks it back again.

And something cracks you across the chest.

Powder. Blue. Lots of it.

You stumble, your eyes and nostrils burning, as it seizes in your lungs. You cough and hack, trying desperately to unseal it from your lungs, but it barely budges, barely slides loose. Blind and gasping from the heat of your run and through the powder, you veer off course, stumbling into what feels like boxes. Your knees tremble, suddenly unsteady on your feet.

Through your watery eyes, you watch as El Corto drops the plastic bag that used to contain the powder, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Puta,” he spits, the slur hardly original for a female DEA agent. He steps back and sheds the gloves you didn’t realize he had been wearing, still watching you with twisted interest.

You’re no longer coughing, but the air still hasn’t settled in your body. You feel the heat in your lungs rise, expand, then fall, against your skin, as if it is in sync with your heartbeat. With every breath, a sour, sticky warmth presses against every joint in your body, every bone. There’s a knot building at the base of your spine, tightening your hips, and you stumble until you’re seated on one of the boxes, which you now see as packing crates.

You swallow but your mouth is dry. Head heavy. Distant. Your eyes feel swollen in your skull.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you whisper.

He’s not scowling at you, you realize, he’s leering. Eager. Excited. He takes a step towards you.

A floor above, you hear the sound of the door being breached and Javier calling out your name. El Corto scowls, as though his favorite toy had been taken away, before he tears himself away to the narrow window on the other side of the room. More shipping crates have been stacked against the wall and El Corto scurries up it, unlatching the window. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“Diviértete para mí, putita,” he waves with three fingers as Javier crashes into the room, his gun raised. He spots El Corto just as he slips up through the narrow window – the space no bigger than the width of a child – his foot kicking down the tower of boxes. Javier nearly nabs his ankle, leaping up the concrete wall, as the narco disappears into the night.

His open palm striking against the humid wall is a wet slap. “Fuck,” he snarls, this time pounding with the heel of his fist, “we almost fucking had him. What the fuck ha–,”

He turns and meets your gaze for the first time. His mouth drops in horror.

Sweat blooming across your forehead, you lean over on a crate, limbs trembling, breathing uneven. Every scrap of fabric over your skin burns, your thighs burn, your blood burns, you are burning. The sweat peaks in droplets that run down the back of your neck, under your armpits. Whatever he hit you with makes you want to take off every inch of your clothes –maybe then you could fucking breathe – but even then, it wouldn’t be enough.

He’s got you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him, before you realize what’s happened.

“Talk to me.” Javier snaps, that authoritative force sharp and demanding, and it sends an aching bolt between your legs. You whimper in pain, your eyes fluttering. He shakes you. “Stay awake and tell me what happened. I need you to focus. ”

Your lips feel puffy, overripe and ready to split, your jaw tight and throbbing. “H-h-hit m-me with blu-ue – don’t–don’t know what i-it is.”

Javier steps closer and the scent of his cologne hits you like a train. Groaning, a strange, unwelcome instinct yanks your head down into the curve of his neck, the source of the smell. The touch of his skin beneath your lips is a balm – cool egg yolk over a fresh burn – and you bury your face in deep.

“Oh, fucking Christ, Javi.” Your voice trembles, wavering down into a low moan. That same alien instinct latches your hands over his shoulder, nails digging into the cotton. But it’s not alien, you realize through the muggy, humid fog in your mind – you know this feeling. You are intimately aware of the coiling knot between your legs, your soaked underwear, the tightness of your nipples. But this can’t be happening. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t hurt like this.

You gasp, in real pain, a throb that starts clenching your cunt before rippling up your spine and locking your shoulders. You hunch against him, waiting for the contraction to pass.

“What is it?” Javi holds you, panic evident in his voice. You swear you can hear his heartbeat in his neck. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, goddamn it.” He demands with no bite in his command.

He peels you off him, you hiss, ripped out of the soothing embrace of his arms, and he makes you look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth twitching. The entirety of his chest is blue, most of powder from your skin covering his shirt.

He cups your cheeks, trying to see if the powder has left an acid burn, as another wave hits and you lock your body, now a battleground against the strangling desire to turn your face into his wide palm and inhale. There’s liquid making the crotch of your pants sticky and it’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying and silly and the ounce of sanity still left in your head keeps an iron grip on every muscle in your body – sanity telling you to not fucking do this. Don’t do this to him. Not when it would mean so much to him.

To you.

But fuck, you want it. You need it. You might actually die without it.

Tears spring into your eyes, making a gooey muck as they slide down your cheeks and mix with the powder. Whatever this is, you have to fight it.

His eyes dart to your tears, the little bit of powder still on your face, and without thinking, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

Sanity cracks the whip – if it gets on him, then –

With the last ounce of strength, you shove him back, as far away from you as you possibly can. The second his warmth is gone from your skin, you tremble and your knees give out. Fresh tears, spurred on by the pain, by the fear, by the shame, spill from your eyes and you curl up against the wall.

“D-don’t, Javi, don’t. I th-think it’s t-t-transderm-mal–,”

“What do you–,”

You watch helplessly as his pupils contract and then expand wildly, black swallowing that aching brown. He shakes his head like a bewildered animal, sweat already bleeding across his skin, and he stumbles back onto a springy metal cot on the opposite wall. He blinks, hand tightening around his knee. It makes his forearm flex and you have to physically close your eyes, the sight forcing your cunt to clench down on nothing.

“What . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

You bite your lip, your chin tucked to your shoulder as your body cramps, punishing you for denying it the only source of relief. You squint at him and see he’s half-hard in his jeans. You whimper.

“I-I don’t know . . . new– new party drug?” You grunt, your head thrown back against the wall. God, your skin is going to melt right off your bones.

“This is way fucking worse than ecstacy,” Javier murmurs, his jaw tight. “Fuck, got a bit on me, but you . . .”

He blinks at you, eyes glassy, with sudden and total understanding, with perfect clarity why you shoved him away, and what exactly you need.

He murmurs your name and you gasp, another cramp yanking new tears down your cheeks.

“J-Javier,” you swallow thickly, “I know what I s-said before, a-and in the car, but if you ever cared about me, p-please . . . please, just –,”

You can’t encompass all that you need into words, but you hope he understands, is feeling kind despite all that you had done to him. Your bones ache, skin too tight.

He shakes his head, but weakly, his eyes caught on your throat, the wetness clinging to your lips. “You’re just saying that because of the drugs. We have to call Murphy. Get us to a hospital or something.”

“Javi,” you whine and maybe it is the drugs, or maybe he has an inkling of how much it hurts, but he’s across the room in an instant. He grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you to your feet. He drops his head and inhales like he can draw the heat from your blood. The tip of his nose dragged across your jaw is a cube of ice against the furnace of your skin. You shudder, hands clasping around his shoulders, dragging him against you, his hands cupping your hips as if to steady him.

“I-I’ll give you this.” Javier Peña doesn’t stutter. Your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds as you draw your gaze up to him. “I’ll help, cariño, and then we call Murphy. Okay?”

You nod, dizzy and overheated and sick with wanting. You nod and tilt your hips forward into his fingers as they pop open the button of your jeans. The sound of the slide of the zipper drives a shiver through you and you feel his cock, fully hard, against your thigh.

His lips brush your cheek, his voice slurred, dripping slow in molasses, sweet and dark. “I’ll help. I’ll give you what you need.”

The first press of his fingers against your pussy rubs slippery and wet. With a sigh of relief, you drop your head against the wall, hips shoving into his hand, begging for more.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “You’re already soaking.”

“More, Javier, more.”

He grinds his cock against your thigh to soothe his own ache. He nods slowly as if dazed, his eyes locked onto to where his hand disappears inside your jeans. “Y-yeah, okay.”

If any hesitation remains, it’s gone when he sinks two fingers inside of you and taps up. You moan and he shoves his knee between your legs.

“You like that, pretty girl? Does that help?”

“Yes,” you gasp into his neck, his fingers rocking into you. “Yes, Javier, yes!”

His touch douses the ache, the fire, across your skin, in your spine. With every snap of his wrist, he draws away the heat from your exposed, too-sensitive nerves, easing the lighting storm in your low stomach. The noises you’re making, the noises your cunt makes against his fingers – it should embarrass you, should draw red up into your cheeks and ears, but it’s just more release. You yowl like an animal in heat and Javier’s groin jerks against you. You gain enough sentience to realize he’s fucking you with his jeans on up the wall, his hand never slowing or easing. You can feel yourself gush between his knuckles.

“You’re almost there, muñeca, I can feel it. Just give it to me. Come for me,” he pants into your clavicle, the spread of bone across your chest. You tighten at the thought of his breath against your nipples, his teeth on the soft weight of your breast –

And you do. You come with the easy brush of his thumb against your clit. White lightning soothes the rage beneath your skin and you shudder in his arms, forehead collapsing against his shoulder. The snap of his hips against your thigh is a bruising rhythm, harsh, feral, an understanding that only something rough and wild can actually save your life.

“Is that better, querida?” His wide palm pushes the hair back from your damp neck, cradling your heated cheek. His thumb brushes just under your bottom lip. You can feel his own fever, radiating from his skin. “Can we get you somewhere safe?”

But you’re still too high, too taut, to answer him. Another one builds, stacks up on itself every time his rock-hard cock digs into your hip. He scissors his fingers and you bear down onto his thigh.

“Fuck,” he mutters, but without exhaustion or anger. He sounds almost gleeful. When he looks at you, his pupils are blown wide, sweat making his skin glow. The skin around his mouth is damp. “Alright, I’m not gonna stop. You can have one more. One more, querida.”

His shoulders tense, the muscles in his back shifting, as he changes the angle of his fingers, renews the pressure of his thumb on your clit. He brushes against something deep inside of you, wet and spongy and never before reached and you arch your back in response, air sucked from your lungs. His thigh nearly lifts you off the floor.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He taps the spot again and tears flood your eyes and spill down your cheeks.

“Oh my god, Javi,” you murmur and he seems to like that. You clamp down around him and his hips stutter, his moan deep and coming from an ache in his chest. He inserts another finger and your cunt sucks him in, greedy for more.

He eases back into his rhythm, raggedly humping your hip, the rough material of his jeans burning between your thighs.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Fuck, I knew it would fucking feel this good. You’re clenching down on me so hard, baby.”

On the tip of your next orgasm, the haze clears for just a second and you catch him in the eye. This isn’t just the drugs, you know, this isn’t just an excuse for both of you. This is hating to see the other one in pain. This is sharing a worry for a bit of yourself that lives in another body. What passes along the length of your gaze is the exact thing you feared losing.

Selfishly, you’d rather not have him like this, than not having him at all.

But this is what it could be, he tells you through an open, gasping mouth, through eyes that pin you to the wall, this is what we could have every day, every night. If you just let me in.

If you just –

“Come for me.”

You answer with his name, on a cry high and sharp, and you’re coming – harsh, fast, exploding as you drench him, his fingers pressing roughly into that one sweet spot.

Javi slumps forward, the weight of him nearly stifling, as he gasps, his hips stilling, stuttering, stopping. His skin flushes cold for a second, sweat cooling his fever, his face buried in your neck.

You feel it. Against your thigh. You swallow in surprise, the fog parting briefly again.

“Javi, did you . . .”

He wrenches his hand out of you, releasing his grip on your hip as he lowers you down.

“I’m not fucking calling Murphy,” he grits out.

*~*~*

Javier is a man of singular focus. Almost dogged and single-minded in his hunt, it’s rare he is even capable of listening to the voice of reason. It’s a different voice than his own that tells him when he’s doing something monumentally stupid. There’s a part of him that knows exactly why that voice sounds a lot like you, unconsciously knowing that you’re the only thing that could give him pause. And yet, there are times when he can shut the voice out, can shut out everything inside of him screaming at him not to do the thing he’s going to do. But this, this decision, genuinely has him torn. There is no right way to do this.

Well, there is a right way. One where he takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, walks you home, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses you softly at first, then rough, until you beg him to come up the stairs. Despite what some may think, he is capable of being romantic. He can be sweet. He can ask nicely.

But that is something he is not capable of right now.

In his post-nut clarity – because, yes, he did come in his pants like a twelve year old with his first porn mag after having his fingers up your cunt for what was all too short – he realized the room you both were in was some sort of safehouse.

A cot against the wall. A portable stove with something in the pan black and sticky. The crates are empty of any valuables – by the shape and length, most likely guns – but the few that are still full have a few bags of that elicit blue powder. He makes a mental note, somewhere on the very distant laundry list in his brain, to take a bag – with gloves on and wrapped up in several other baggies – to have it tested at the lab. Because whatever this stuff is, it might actually be more dangerous than cocaine.

Especially to idiots like him, he thinks roughly as he yanks the thread-bare mattress off its wiry frame onto the floor. He snatches up the cotton sleeping bag at the foot of the frame and unzips it, the inside facing down. This is such a monumentally stupid idea, he knows it is, but he can already feel that cramp building up his thighs, his cock throbbing awake, arousal clamping down on the base of his spine. And he just got a whiff of it. He can’t imagine what you’re feeling already. Behind him he hears you moan softly, never one to complain or whine when things get tough or hard, so he goes faster. He tucks up the other end of the sleeping bag in what he hopes is some semblance of comfort, but he wonders if that will even matter to either of you when it hits again which, judging by how hard his cock is growing, is eminent. The wet spot on his thigh, beneath his jeans, is sticky, uncomfortable. He needs no further reason to unbutton them.

You moan, this time louder, higher, again and he turns to face you, his shirt already undone to his stomach.

You’re pale again, skin glossy and sickly wet. When your eyes flutter open, they’re glassy, gaze distant and unfocused. You twitch when that first cramp settles in deep. He thinks, his mind not entirely his own, about how deep the clutch of your cunt sucked in just his fingers and he shivers. He simultaneously wanted to get this over with and drag it out for days. Have you beneath him for days.

Your legs tucked up beneath you from where he laid you down, Javi approaches quietly, kneeling as he takes off his shirt and goes to untie your boots. He touches your ankle as gently as he can and you shudder, cracking an eye open.

“Javier, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and it hurts.”

In addition to the many, many agency violations, this is monumentally stupid because he’s obsessed with you. Has been for a while. Not just in a way that makes him want to fuck you for hours flat on your back, but in a way that your smile is the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. An obsession with your wellbeing, your safety, your happiness. A persistent coiling thought about your laugh, and strength, and the way you can make grown men twice your size tremble in fear. You’re a hunter, just like him, and with your beauty – your staggering, haunting beauty – how was he not supposed to immediately attach himself to you? It came on slowly, his pathological need to be near you, and once he realized what it was, there was no going back. No turning it off.

He didn’t mean to tell you when he was drunk, but after bagging another narco, it was like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A brief glimpse into a world where you both were safe, and happy, and – god willing – together and in this world, he told you and he was brave about it and you said it back and he felt warm all over. But that was not this world, not his reality. In this one, he has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

“Sit up, baby, that’s it.” He eases you into his arms and it’s like his touch drags you back into consciousness. Your fingers dig into his bare arms as you take in his exposed chest.

“Javi, fuck, I don’t wanna beg, but before when you – you – I felt better. It cleared. I don’t know why or how, but with your fingers inside m-me, it . . . helped.”

“I know, cariño, and I want to help more.” His thumbs press up under your jaw, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. There’s fear there, pain, and it’s agonizing to him. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.”

“What I want? Javi, I–,” your eyes widen in understanding of what he’s offering, of what he’s scared to do. What he’s scared to take without your permission.

You swallow, a pink flush crawling up your throat. “I . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t want our first time together to be anything like this, but . . .” You shake your head, shuffling closer to him, your breathing thinning as the drugs start to strike matches against your nerves. “I just don’t want you to think it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s gonna mean everything to me, no matter how I get it.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your chin, just in front of his thumb. You nod, eyes squeezing shut, as you fight this arousal that claws into your skin like meat hooks. He pulls you to your feet, holding you steady as your knees try to lock up. He unbuttons your shirt with shaking hands.

You touch his chest like you’ve never seen a man naked before. The hesitant, awed touch of you sends all the blood still remaining in his head straight into his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs to your cheek, your shirt off your body, his hands tugging your jeans down your hips. You nod again, speechless in your relief, and follow your jeans to the ground. Twisting on the nest he made for you, you slide your bra off, your nipples already tight and perk and waiting for his mouth. You huff, a sound so unlike you it makes him genuinely concerned, as the front of your panties darken again.

“It’s okay, Javi, this is what I want. I want this.” You hate being vulnerable, he knows this, your attitude a front that leaves no room for sexist comments in the bullpen. And yet, here you are, deflowered and begging for him. You spread your legs for him, eyelids heavy, and he can smell the arousal on you.

He drops to his knees, unsure where to start first, but the blue powder coursing through his veins demanding he puts his hands on your hips, which he finally acquiesce to.

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he admits quietly. He wants to nip, suck, slurp every inch of you, wants to see that perfect body bend to his will, to his turning. He wants to fuck you open and stuff himself up inside you so deep it leaves a mark. In his haze, the instinct to fuck supplies him with an image of you pregnant, bred and full of him, and his cock twitches so hard he drops onto all fours over you.

You slip your underwear over your toes and your knees take him by the ribs.

“Please, Javi, please.”

He knows it must hurt, must be so blindingly painful for you to beg like this. You never asked anyone for anything and that independence turned him on and frustrated him to no end.

“Please, be rough,” you ask him from under your lashes, your body writhing beneath him. His hips, on a separate system than the rest of him, thrust the rough teeth of his zipper against your cunt and you keen, the sound imprinting into every crevice and curve of his brain. “Make it hurt.”

Oh fuck, this might actually be the thing that kills him.

He hushes you, stills your flushed whimpering with a kiss that ends in teeth against the high curve of your cheek. He noses to your mouth, then down to your ear, where he bites on your earlobe. He’s balancing on one hand as his other tugs his jeans down and off his hips.

He wants to fuck your tits. Come all over them, have his spend flush up your throat, your chin. He wants to come so hard he blinds you with it. And then he wants to flip you over and fuck your ass with his come-lubed dick.

You wriggle and whine, legs wrapping around his hips, tugging him down onto you when, half-a-mind away, he realizes he just said all of that outloud.

“Yes, Javi, you can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want.” His blood is boiling now, the white-hot bomb settling itself in the base of his spine, his balls already tight. Why he’s dragging this out is beyond him and possibly a medical detriment to you.

“Javi, just fucking put your cock ins–,”

He watches as every conscious thought wiped from your mind, brow heavy, mouth seared open as he plugs you full of him in one rough thrust. You shudder and his elbows buckle, his body locked up tight because if he moves, if he dares to rub his cock through your velvet, hot clutch, he’ll come right there. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock makes space for itself inside you.

“Javi–,” he claps a wide palm over your mouth, his teeth straining in his jaw, his temple twitching.

“Baby, I know it hurts – I know it fucking does – but I need you to stay still.” It feels too good. You’re too hot, too slippery, and soft. He can feel the hum of words behind his fingers and he shakes his head. “Do not fucking move – I just need to – I have to –,”

He inches in just a bit more and you both gasp to the ceiling when he bottoms out. Your rough curls against his pelvis sears him, hot and sweet like cinnamon. He drools when he thinks about eating his own come out of you.

You only get one word out, one word that sets his whole world on fire: “Please.”

He rears back, yanks you up his thighs, hands cupping the backs of your knees and he plows into you. Your tiny fingers that have pulled countless triggers and clapped irons on criminals twitch, tightening into the smelly cotton fabric, your mouth contorted open. His pace, his thrusting, is relentless, unforgiving but the look on your face is pleased, an almost maniacal grin across your lips.

“Oh, right there, Javi, just like that. Just like that.”

He’s faster than he is precise. Precise comes later when the bestial fog clears from his brain, when the lust bleeds out of his system, when he doesn’t want to hump you like an animal with his teeth bared and cock so deep inside of you it kisses your womb.

Before his mind entirely succumbs to the mounting arousal, he’s grateful he had the foresight to take the mattress down. If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have fuck you, the bed, and himself right through the paper-thin walls.

And then he lets go. Lets this thing in his chest and hot behind his groin take over, lets himself indulge in whatever carnal, depraved thing sparks in his mind.

He’s fucking you so hard you’ll both have bruises by morning.

He watches, transfixed, at the place where his soaked cock disappears through your puffy, wet lips into the mind-numbing heat of your pussy. He can’t stop watching. He barely feels your nails digging into his thighs.

The walls of your pussy squeeze him and it makes him falter, hitch speed. His gaze is torn away and instantly, it focuses on the bounce and sway of your tits. Sweat droplets roll from your neck into the valley of your breasts and without hesitation he bends to catch them with his mouth, tugging you further down his cock. You cry out, hands digging into his hair, as his tongue drags a wet trail over the top of your breast, the tip flicking your rock hard nipple, then beneath the swell where he meets it with his teeth.

You jerk, pleasure overwhelming. “Uh – oh – oh – fuck – Javi.” The words leave your mouth truncated, cut short by his rhythmic bouncing. He nuzzles your tit, streaking you with his own sweat, not able to stop fucking up into you to really get a good grip on your breast, but wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth.

“I’m gonna do it right next time,” he swears fidelity to your skin. He grinds his teeth against your sternum. “Next time I fuck you I’m going to pull you apart bit by bit. Starting with these fucking tits and ending with my tongue up your cunt. Maybe your ass.”

Against his cheek, he feels your skin break out in ridges, your whole body shivering at his words. He leans up, grinning wildly and grinds particularly deep inside of you. You still haven’t fully opened your eyes.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You want my tongue up your ass. What about my cock, huh? Want my fat fucking cock inside there?”

You whine, clawing at his chest, as you nod frantically. He could ask anything of you right now and you’d give it to him. And god, he wants so much.

“It’d hurt, baby, you know it would.”

You nod, words tumbling out of your mouth in a mindless babble. “I don’t care. I want it there. I want you inside me. I want it to hurt. I want you to fuck me raw, Javi.”

He groans, more like a growl, rapidly picking up his pace. He lifts your knees higher and fucks up, the change in angle making you moan so loudly it fills up his ears with blood.

“Tell me where you want it. Say it, querida.”

“I want it in my fucking ass, Javi.”

His jaw twitching, that primal, unrestrained urge in him wrapping itself around his spine, he shoves you off him. Wetness dribbles down his lap but he doesn’t let himself smell or see it for long, as he flips you onto your hands and knees, sliding in and pummeling your pussy from behind.

You whine, singing for his cock, and collapse onto your elbows, presenting your ass for him. The pair of you really are just fucking animals.

He presses his thumb to your tight hole, the wet slap of his balls against your ass suddenly the least obscene thing in the room. There’s barely enough room for his thumb there and he tips his head back at the thought that no one had ever taken you there before. His. All his and no one fucking else’s.

“Javi,” you sob, that preening need gone from your voice as though you are begging him not to go further, but desire kept you from voicing what you actually wanted.

His bottom lip twitches and he leans down and gently bites your shoulder, grounding you and clearing out all fear. Drugs or not, he’d never do anything you didn’t explicitly ask for, but the second this is all over, he’s going to get on his hands and knees and beg you to let him work your ass open.

“Not tonight, cariño.” He slides his thumb out of you, his wrist twisting as he palms the meat of your ass. “But I’m not leaving this completely untouched.”

He smacks the jiggling flesh until he sees a pink hand print, earning him a yelp from you every time his palm lands. He feels fresh, sticky wetness soak his cock with each slap, enough for it to dribble down his thigh. He’s not going to shower for a week.

The higher he climbs, the faster that animalistic heat leaves his blood. You’re not as pale as before, the skin of your back growing a nice healthy flush. As his grip around your hips tightens, he feels your cunt clench around him. If he won’t take your ass tonight, he still wants you puffy and sore. He leans back just to watch his cock pound your pink, abused hole.

“I’m close, Javi,” you admit breathlessly. He nods, leaning forward again, that image of your pussy split open for him deliciously sealed in his mind, and he drags his nose down your spine. Sweat from his chest drops and splatters against your skin.

“I know you are, I can feel it. Can I see your face? Watch you? Can I put you on top?”

You nod and he slips out of you for what he hopes will be the last time in his fucking life. He’s no longer drug-crazed, but he is drunk. Pussy drunk. Drunk on you. Imbibed by the juices trailing down his thighs. He shifts and you swing a leg over his hips, immediately swallow him deep inside you.

Unlike the courtesy he gave you, you give him no time to adjust, grip his chest, and ride him within an inch of his life.

Your tits swinging in his face, he presses his fingers so tight into your thighs, he’ll be able to count the distinct bruises, and plants his feet. He meets you, thrust for thrust, and he watches your competitive nature battle your overwhelming chase for release.

“Just come, cariño,” he pants. “You’ve done so good tonight. Just fucking come all over my lap. Let go.”

His words melt something inside of you and you whimper, curling down over him, which he takes to wrap his arms around your back, and roll you under him. He kisses your chin, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His big palm cradling your head, he grinds low and deep, seeking out that place he touched with his fingers.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You can come.” He prods that spot once and it’s all over. You clamp down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth because as you arch, mouth open, tears down your face, he comes too. He comes and he comes and he comes until he drips out of you and that breaks another orgasm across you, this one bumpy and leaves you shaking.

He feels dizzy, unsure up from down, the loudest sound he hears is his own blood rushing in his ears. He’s never been more exhausted.

He can hear the vibration of you saying something against his throat, but nothing is quite working like it’s supposed to, so he slumps off you, his hand never leaving your skin, as he tugs you against him.

He’ll be dried and sticky in only a few hours – you both will – but that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is the feeling of your heartbeat over his.

*~*~*

Morning, along with the scent of rain, glides in through the open window and your fingers twitch as sunlight hits you. Your eyes fluttering open, you lift your head from the sleeping bag to see wet puddles on the floor under the window, the concrete streaked and stained with water. It must have rained sometime last night and, shockingly, you didn’t hear a thing.

The heatwave had finally broken.

It’s not until you’re full awake do you realize his hand rests in the cup of your neck, thumb rubbing smooth, soft circles into the hard knot near your shoulder blade. You smile, groaning softly, becoming more relaxed by how good it feels.

You roll over and greet his eyes. They’re brown again, the hungry blackness gone, but leaving an edge of uncertainty in its wake.

He wants to know how you feel about last night.

“You fucked up,” you tell him and that worried crease appears between his eyebrows. You inch closer, your hand curling up against his jaw. “All that time last night, all the time you had me under you, and you didn’t kiss me once.”

You close your eyes, drop your head, and press a fervent, determined kiss against his pink lips. You can feel it as he swallows it in, his body shifting forward, hand coming up to your hip. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away.

Javier shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says almost mournfully, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to know – what you taste like, if . . . I can’t kiss you if this is the last time.”

He’s still respecting your boundary, your wishes, while coated in his release and yours. He knows he can’t be selfish with you again.

You wet your lip, hand still on his cheek.

“Javier, you saved my life last night. That was some kind of fucked up drug, but if you hadn’t been here and did what you did, I think I would have had a heart attack.” He shakes his head, ashamed and desperate to prove you wrong. You understand his hesitation. It felt too good for it to be anything other than a transgression. “And if anything, it showed me something I think I already knew but couldn’t find in myself to admit. I need you, Javi. I need you because I can’t live without you. Because I love you.”

His eyes light up when you return the words he uttered in the bar. None of this is how it should have been – in an abandoned narcos hideout, but god, there’s not a single thing you’d change.

“Yeah, baby? You mean that?” You nod as hot, natural desire flashes in his eyes as he pulls your body under him and captures your mouth in his. His warm palm cups your hip, your ribs, up under your arm, and pushes your elbow to your head. There’s more to say, more to worry about, but that fucking heatwave over Bogota has finally broken and Javier Peña’s cum is dried and flaky between your thighs.

“We should call Murphy,” you giggle, withdrawing your tongue from his mouth. He shakes his head, the blunt edge of his teeth against your cheek. “There’s a deadly new drug on the streets. Lives are at stake.”

“My dick is at stake,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your skin, drawing your knee up to his ribs as he slots himself between your thighs. The smile slides off your face as he thumbs your raw clit in rough, desperate circles.

“I thought you said you were going to take it slow next time,” you huff, hips rolling against his stiff cock.

“I will. Gonna take you to dinner. Cup your ass over a distractingly short dress. Buy you flowers and fucking gold jewelry . . . then I’m going to take you home and open you up with my fingers, then my tongue.”

“So what’s this?” You gasp against his neck as he sinks his cock into you.

He groans, grunts, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night making your cunt his personal possession.

“This is me, fucking you, before breakfast. Then we call Murphy. Any objections?”

You squeeze your knees around him, ankles hooked across his low back, sucking a mark into his neck.

“Not at all.”

When you do go public, not shying away from holding hands in the office, or openly walking in at the same time from the same car, Noonan is irate, but can’t bring herself to cut her two best agents loose. It seems catching Pablo Escobar matters more than some silly, little government-issued guidelines. She’d get her day in court, but not today. Not for a while.

Noonan is annoyed.

Murphy is not.

“Came across some new party drugs and not a single thing happened, right?”

“You could have found it, taken it home for you and Connie to enjoy,” you say as you slide your arm across Javier’s back, his hand on your hip. He rarely ever takes his hands off you now. “But, no, you bailed on me instead.”

“Sounds like you should be thanking me, instead of busting my balls.”

“He’s right, baby,” Javier nuzzles your neck. “Could have been him stuck in that basement with me, horny as a cat in fucking heat.”

You shrug as Murphy makes a face. “I blame the heatwave.”

He leans into your ear. “And I blame your fucking ass in that skirt. I’m gonna take you home, make good on my promise. Any objections?”

“Not at all.”

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x y/n #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix #this is my first time writing sex pollen did i do okay?

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millieisawriter · 10 days ago

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By the fire

javier escuella x reader

summary: one calm evening you find javier — the newest addition to the gang — sitting alone by the campfire. despite the language barrier still being there, the man finds a way to charm you

wc: 1k

all pics taken from pinterest

♡this was requested!♡

a/n: the song is made up cus i couldn't find any existing song that fit, it's actually a poem i once wrote about a girl i had a crush on lmao this is happening sometime shortly after javier has joined the gang because i thought it'd be cute if y'all didn't know each other's language lol if you know spanish my bad just pretend you don't i guess, but i'd love to write latina reader sometime too

The gang has put up their camp somewhere in the state of Colorado. The day had been tiring, as it always is when you're moving, and everyone must have been wishing for the moment they can finally go to sleep. It didn't surprise you when before midnight everyone had already retreated to their tents or wherever they slept.

Everyone, except for one person. Your eyes caught a glimpse of a silhouette sitting by the scouting fire, away from the center of the camp. The night was dark, but judging by the guitar resting in his lap, you assumed it was Javier.

"You good?" You approached, sitting down next to him. Thankfully, you didn't have to sit on the bare ground, because Pearson had made those rugs of goat skin.

Javier looked up at you, his fingers momentarily stopping their movement on the strings. "Sí, sí, just... muy tired, you know?"

"Me too," you replied, leaning back and stretching your legs out, "me too..."

Javier made so much progress these past few months he's been running with the gang. The day Dutch had brought him into the camp, you wondered how did they even manage to communicate, maybe Dutch did speak some Spanish after all.

"And how are you..." you tried to search for a simple word, but none came easily, "adjusting? Adjusting as... how do you holding up, living with us?"

"Is good, más good than life on my own. Alone is no good. Here with you all I have food, place to sleep. And gente who care, I think."

"Of course we care," you smiled at him, "honestly, I can't imagine the gang without you and your music now."

His lips twitched with a playful smile. "I keep playing then?"

"Yes, please, I'd love to hear more."

"What you want to hear, querida?"

You paused, considering his question. Truth be told, you just loved to hear him play. It didn't matter what the song was about. Most of the time, you didn't even know since he sang in Spanish, so you would catch a few words at most.

So you gave him the choice. "You choose."

Javier's grin widened, and his eyes glistened with a brilliant idea. He adjusted the guitar in his lap, strumming a few notes before looking back at you.

"You know, in Mexico when a man has something to say... something from... el corazón," he placed a hand over his chest, "he sings."

"And what do you have to say, Javier?" You asked, feeling warmth cover you both from the fire, and from this tingling, warm feeling inside your chest.

But instead of answering your question, Javier started playing the guitar. Soft notes of the instrument filled your ears again, and you subconciously smiled wider, even allowing yourself to close your eyes for a moment.

And then, when you thought it can't get any better, Javier started singing. "¿Cómo puedo empezar a decir lo que siento, si mi corazón se detiene al escuchar tu nombre?"

[How can I start to say what I feel, if my heart stops when I hear your name?]

The melody was light, but you could feel he's singing about something that held big significance to him.

He continued, "Quiero perderme en las estrellas de tus ojos, y contigo no quiero esperar al amanecer."

[I want to get lost in the stars of your eyes, and with you I don't want to wait for the sunrise.]

You didn't understand every word, most of them you didn't understand, but the emotion behind them was overwhelming. Javier's words, whatever they meant, reached right into your chest, gently eveloping your heart.

"Dejemos que la luna nos muestre el camino, no hay prisa, solo el latido de nuestros corazones. Contigo, no necesito respuestas, porque tú eres la verdad que siempre he buscado."

[Let the moon show us the way, there is no hurry, only the beat of our hearts. With you, I don’t need answers, because you are the truth I have always looked for.]

The last note faded away, the night became quiet once again, and you opened your eyes, looking at Javier.

"What you think?" He asked.

You struggled to find words that could match the beauty of what he had just shared. "Javier, I..." you shook your head, smiling, "I think that, even if I didn't understand it, I felt it. In my el corazón."

Javier chuckled at your attempt at Spanish, "Maybe next time I teach you the meaning."

You smiled. "I'd like that."

For a while, neither of you said anything more. The quiet night wrapped around the two of you as Javier continued playing some notes on the guitar but none of them hitting you as hard as the song he sang just for you.

"By the way," he decided to speak again, "you don't add el after my. Is just mi corazón."

"Ah, I butchered it." You laughed with embarrassment, even though you knew he didn't correct you to be mean.

He found it very endearing. "No, no, is just... if you want to learn, you learn correct, sí?"

"Fine, fine," you took a deep breath, exaggerating your effort, "mi corazón." You nailed the pronounciation almost perfectly.

"Muy bien," he said, giving an approving nod, "now try gracias, Javier, tú eres el mejor."

You let out a fake groan of annoyance, having an idea what this phrase could mean. "Really?"

"What?" He raised his hands up in a mock innocence. "Is good practice!"

You rolled your eyes playfully but obliged. "Gracias, Javier. Tú eres el mejor."

"Perfecto! See? You learn fast." He applauded you for the effort, clearly very amused.

You sat there with Javier a little longer, the warmth of the fire spreading between you, but it was the warmth of his smile, his laugh, and his song that stayed with you long after you retreated to your tent.

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 community #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader smut #javier escuella imagine #javier escuella fanfiction

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literaryvein-reblogs · 8 days ago

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Writing Notes: The Master Fiction Plot

Lester Dent's "Master Fiction Plot", often referred to as the "Lester Dent Formula" is a widely circulated guide to writing a saleable 6,000-word pulp story.

This is a formula, a master plot, for any 6000-word pulp story.

It has worked on adventure, detective, western and war-air. It tells exactly where to put everything.

It shows definitely just what must happen in each successive thousand words.

The business of building stories seems not much different from the business of building anything else.

Here's how it starts:

A DIFFERENT MURDER METHOD FOR VILLAIN TO USE

A DIFFERENT THING FOR VILLAIN TO BE SEEKING

A DIFFERENT LOCALE

A MENACE WHICH IS TO HANG LIKE A CLOUD OVER HERO

One of these DIFFERENT things would be nice, two better, three swell. It may help if they are fully in mind before tackling the rest.

A different murder method could be--different.

Thinking of shooting, knifing, hydrocyanic, garroting, poison needles, scorpions, a few others, and writing them on paper gets them where they may suggest something.

Scorpions and their poison bite?

Maybe mosquitos or flies treated with deadly germs?

If the victims are killed by ordinary methods, but found under strange and identical circumstances each time, it might serve, the reader of course not knowing until the end, that the method of murder is ordinary.

Scribes who have their villain's victims found with butterflies, spiders or bats stamped on them could conceivably be flirting with this gag.

Probably it won't do a lot of good to be too odd, fanciful or grotesque with murder methods.

The different thing for the villain to be after might be something other than jewels, the stolen bank loot, the pearls, or some other old ones.

Here, again one might get too bizarre.

Unique locale? Easy.

Selecting one that fits in with the murder method and the treasure--thing that villain wants--makes it simpler, and it's also nice to use a familiar one, a place where you've lived or worked.

So many pulpateers don't. It sometimes saves embarrassment to know nearly as much about the locale as the editor, or enough to fool him.

Here's a nifty much used in faking local color.

For a story laid in Egypt, say, author finds a book titled "Conversational Egyptian Easily Learned," or something like that.

He wants a character to ask in Egyptian, "What's the matter?"

He looks in the book and finds, "El khabar, eyh?"

To keep the reader from getting dizzy, it's perhaps wise to make it clear in some fashion, just what that means.

Occasionally the text will tell this, or someone can repeat it in English.

But it's a doubtful move to stop and tell the reader in so many words the English translation.

The writer learns they have palm trees in Egypt.

He looks in the book, finds the Egyptian for palm trees, and uses that.

This kids editors and readers into thinking he knows something about Egypt.

Here's the second installment of the master plot.

Divide the 6000 word yarn into four 1500 word parts. In each 1500 word part, put the following:

FIRST 1500 WORDS

First line, or as near thereto as possible, introduce the hero and swat him with a fistful of trouble. Hint at a mystery, a menace or a problem to be solved--something the hero has to cope with.

The hero pitches in to cope with his fistful of trouble. (He tries to fathom the mystery, defeat the menace, or solve the problem.)

Introduce ALL the other characters as soon as possible. Bring them on in action.

Hero's endevours land him in an actual physical conflict near the end of the first 1500 words.

Near the end of first 1500 words, there is a complete surprise twist in the plot development.

SO FAR:

Does it have SUSPENSE?

Is there a MENACE to the hero?

Does everything happen logically?

At this point, it might help to recall that action should do something besides advance the hero over the scenery.

Suppose the hero has learned the dastards of villains have seized somebody named Eloise, who can explain the secret of what is behind all these sinister events.

The hero corners villains, they fight, and villains get away. Not so hot.

Hero should accomplish something with his tearing around, if only to rescue Eloise, and surprise! Eloise is a ring-tailed monkey.

The hero counts the rings on Eloise's tail, if nothing better comes to mind.

They're not real. The rings are painted there. Why?

SECOND 1500 WORDS

Shovel more grief onto the hero.

Hero, being heroic, struggles, and his struggles lead up to:

Another physical conflict.

A surprising plot twist to end the 1500 words.

NOW:

Does second part have SUSPENSE?

Does the MENACE grow like a black cloud?

Is the hero getting it in the neck?

Is the second part logical?

DON'T TELL ABOUT IT***Show how the thing looked.

This is one of the secrets of writing; never tell the reader--show him.

(He trembles, roving eyes, slackened jaw, and such.)

MAKE THE READER SEE HIM.

When writing, it helps to get at least one minor surprise to the printed page.

It is reasonable to to expect these minor surprises to sort of inveigle the reader into keeping on.

They need not be such profound efforts.

One method of accomplishing one now and then is to be gently misleading.

Hero is examining the murder room.

The door behind him begins slowly to open.

He does not see it.

He conducts his examination blissfully.

Door eases open, wider and wider, until--surprise!

The glass pane falls out of the big window across the room.

It must have fallen slowly, and air blowing into the room caused the door to open.

Then what the heck made the pane fall so slowly?

More mystery.

Characterizing a story actor consists of giving him some things which make him stick in the reader's mind. TAG HIM.

BUILD YOUR PLOTS SO THAT ACTION CAN BE CONTINUOUS.

THIRD 1500 WORDS

Shovel the grief onto the hero.

Hero makes some headway, and corners the villain or somebody in:

A physical conflict.

A surprising plot twist, in which the hero preferably gets it in the neck bad, to end the 1500 words.

DOES:

It still have SUSPENSE?

The MENACE getting blacker?

The hero finds himself in a hell of a fix?

It all happens logically?

These outlines or master formulas are only something to make you certain of inserting some physical conflict, and some genuine plot twists, with a little suspense and menace thrown in. Without them, there is no pulp story.

These physical conflicts in each part might be DIFFERENT, too.

If one fight is with fists, that can take care of the pugilism until next the next yarn.

Same for poison gas and swords.

There may, naturally, be exceptions.

A hero with a peculiar punch, or a quick draw, might use it more than once.

The idea is to avoid monotony.

ACTION:

Vivid, swift, no words wasted.

Create suspense, make the reader see and feel the action.

ATMOSPHERE:

Hear, smell, see, feel and taste.

DESCRIPTION:

Trees, wind, scenery and water.

THE SECRET OF ALL WRITING IS TO MAKE EVERY WORD COUNT.

FOURTH 1500 WORDS

Shovel the difficulties more thickly upon the hero.

Get the hero almost buried in his troubles. (Figuratively, the villain has him prisoner and has him framed for a murder rap; the girl is presumably dead, everything is lost, and the DIFFERENT murder method is about to dispose of the suffering protagonist.)

The hero extricates himself using HIS OWN SKILL, training or brawn.

The mysteries remaining--one big one held over to this point will help grip interest--are cleared up in course of final conflict as hero takes the situation in hand.

Final twist, a big surprise, (This can be the villain turning out to be the unexpected person, having the "Treasure" be a dud, etc.)

The snapper, the punch line to end it.

HAS:

The SUSPENSE held out to the last line?

The MENACE held out to the last?

Everything been explained?

It all happen logically?

Is the Punch Line enough to leave the reader with that WARM FEELING?

Did God kill the villain? Or the hero?

Excerpts from Marilyn Cannaday's biography of Lester Dent, "Bigger than Life: the Creator of Doc Savage" (Bowling Green State University Popular Press, c1990), transcribed by Jason A. Wolcott, 1995.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding

#plot #lester dent #writeblr #writing reference #spilled ink #on writing #dark academia #fiction #writing inspiration #writing ideas #creative writing #writing advice #writing prompt #literature #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetry #writing resources

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fadedin2u · 11 months ago

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hi rose toy, could you write about ellie comforting reader with body insecurities? love your writing and have a good day!!

here’s a little drabble!! this was super therapeutic to write, thank u for the lovely request anon!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i just- i don’t like myself, ellie. i don’t like anything about how i look,” you finally admit, sick of your own thoughts plaguing your mind.

ellie’s eyes are full of heartache as she says, “but i do. i like everything about how you look.”

the response makes your heart bleed more, and your lip trembles.

“you have to say that. you’re my girlfriend.”

ellie shakes her head, “hey. that’s not true. i’m not gonna say anything to you that i don’t mean, you know that.”

you look down, not wanting her to see the tears building in your eyes. “i just… i can’t help but notice how many fucking things are wrong with my body. with my face. with me.”

ellie frowns, “what makes any of it wrong? where’s the guide book telling you how you’re supposed to look?”

you get irritated in spite of knowing ellie’s good intentions, “everything tells me i’m supposed to look different than how i do, ellie. you’re the fucking beauty standard, no offense, but you have no idea what it feels like to not be.”

ellie’s eyes flash with hurt from your words, but she covers it well.

you sigh, ashamed, wiping your face, “i’m sorry, els, really. i’m not trying to pick a fight with you or make you feel like shit too, i just hate living with how i look everyday.”

ellie smoothes her hands over your sides, “do you want to know what i think?”

you take a breath and slowly nod.

“not everything about you fits the beauty standard. that’s true. but the beauty standard was created by rich, white men who are trying to make a goddamn profit off of women fucking hating themselves. so women just perpetuate this bullshit standard, because they feel like it’s attached to their worth as a human being, and everyone feels like shit, except for the dudes who’s pockets are getting fuller each time someone goes in to get a fucking lypo treatment or a nose job.”

you stay quiet, listening, even though this isn’t necessarily new information to you.

ellie takes a breath, “so, maybe not all of you fits into that stupid model of a fake woman, but how the fuck does that make you less beautiful? i love how you look naturally, because you’re fucking real, gorgeous, and human. i don’t want a fantasy girl that fits perfectly into a porn-brain infected, white, straight, limp-dick’s wet dream. i want you. i want how you look naturally, when you’re healthy and happy. because that’s when you look the most beautiful to me, no matter what.”

you take a breath. “so you’re honestly saying you wouldn’t prefer if i was more stereotypically attractive?”

ellie rolls her eyes, “that doesn’t fucking mean anything to me. i’m very fucking attracted to you, and that’s all that matters. i wouldn’t change a thing about how you look, ever.”

you nod slowly, and she pulls you into a tight hug.

“it makes me sick that you feel like you’re innately wrong in some way, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. if you’re giving yourself enough food, taking care of your body, and you’re happy, that’s exactly how you should be looking. okay?”

you know that ellie’s words don’t take away your feelings of insecurity, but it helps soothe some of the sting, the hurt.

“i’m sorry for making you preach self-love to me,” you say, smiling a little, trying to lighten the mood.

ellie looks serious as she says, “i will again. anytime you need it. i cant stand the thought of the most perfect thing in my life hating how they naturally look. i’ll say it a billion times if you need it, i promise.”

she kisses your forehead.

“do you think take-out would help you feel better? because i think it would.”

#rose writes #ellie williams #rose responds #anon ask #ellie williams x reader #tlou2 #tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou #ellie x masc reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie fluff #ellie williams fluff

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xoxoladyaz · 1 year ago

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AU-gust, Day 5: Pet Sitting

“Nope, no way. Absolutely not.”

Six sets of puppy-dog eyes stared back at her. Lucas, the ham, even pretended to start whimpering.

“Stevie, please,” Dustin whined, “Eddie needs a safe place to stay.”

She stared at Dustin for a few seconds before glancing down at the shoebox in Dustin’s hands. Inside the shoebox surrounded by a few of Claudia’s oldest and fuzziest kitchen towels stood a bat, a small black bat with big black eyes that looked almost just as pathetic as the rest of the kids.

(Almost.)

“I’ve done this song and dance with you before, Henderson, and I told you when you got rid of the alien lizard - ”

“D’artagnan was a cryptid, Stevie!”

“ – alien lizard that I wasn’t going to help you keep playing monster vet. I still haven’t recovered from seeing Mews’ corpse!”

“Mews was my cat and I’m fine! Besides, Eddie’s just a normal bat!”

“Dustin, he has a full head of hair!”

Stevie and Dustin stared at each other before looking back down at the bat (Eddie). Who was running his little claws through his hair and preening. (Stevie could have sworn that he winked at her, but she wasn’t crazy; it was definitely just a trick of the light.)

Dustin’s face started to flush like he was going to argue with her but El (sweet, precious El) cut him off before he could really get going. “Stevie’s right. He is not normal,” El said, stepping forward to run her fingers against Eddie’s head. Eddie rubbed up against her fingers and chirped.

“See, I knew it - ”

“But he is a friend,” El said and fuck, the full force of El-most-likely-a-changeling-Hopper’s big brown eyes was something Stevie would probably never learn to resist. “And he needs someone to care for him while he gets better.”

“Better? What do you mean, better?”

“Bad man,” El replied matter-of-factly and, well, shit. She didn’t need to say much more than that.

Stevie sighed and turned her attention back towards the “bat” in question. “How long?”

/////

Just a few weeks, maybe a month or two, Dustin had said. “I would have kept him myself but Mom was worried that he’d eat Tews – ”

(“Oh, and you don’t care if I get eaten?” Stevie had replied. Dustin had just rolled his eyes and ignored her.)

So yeah, two months tops, just until Eddie was “healed” or what not. (He didn’t have any visible injuries that Stevie could see but then again, she was just a cosmetologist, what the fuck did she know about bat anatomy?) Until then, Stevie was going to have a tiny flying roommate who apparently “only likes to listen to metal music, so I’ve brought a few tapes and oh! He loves fantasy so you’ll have to read him this as a bedtime story,” at which point Dustin handed her The Lord of the Rings, “and he gets lonely at night so don’t lock him out, he likes to cuddle, and he should be able to fit in your jacket pocket when you go to work during the day - ”

“No, nope, no way, none of that is happening,” Stevie argued and she really had been planning on sticking to that – no metal music, no bedtime stories, no cuddles, and definitely no work trips, no way, no how.

(She’d folded by hour two of Eddie’s stay at Casa de Harrington.)

/////

“You get this is weird, right?”

“Hmm?” Stevie was cutting apart some strawberries to blend with whatever “protein drink” Dustin kept dropping off at her house. “What’s weird?” She turned to look at Robin, who was watching Eddie shimmy up and down the dining room table to “Rock Me Like a Hurricane.”

“Stevie. This is not normal bat behavior.”

“So? It’s normal Eddie behavior,” Stevie shrugged. She tossed the berries into the blender and, once it was a fine red concoction, put it in a little cup with a little straw and walked over the table. Eddie slid his way across the polished wood and wiggled when he saw her, chittering happily before going to town on his fruit smoothie.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t also normal Stevie behavior!” Robin threw her hands up in the air. “You’re letting a wild animal sleep with you in your bed!”

(She’d tried to encourage Eddie to stay in the guest room that first night all those weeks ago but she’d barely laid in bed for all of two minutes before a dark shape flew through the dark and landed on her chest. She’d screamed and leapt out of the bed but Eddie had somehow managed to grip his claws into her shirt and no amount of arguing with him was able to get him to let go.

“Fine,” she’d finally growled, “but if I roll over and squish you, it’s not my fault.”

When she’d finally woken up the next morning, she was still lying on her back and Eddie was still nestled onto her chest. They’d been going to sleep every night that way ever since.)

“Hey,” Stevie replied defensively, “he’s not a wild animal, he’s totally tame.”

“Uh huh,” Robin replied queasily, watching as Eddie happily slurped up his smoothie. “Just because you play dress-up with him doesn’t mean he’s tame, Stevie.”

The tiny vest was from El and Will, something about how Eddie looked “wrong” without it (whatever that meant. Stevie had to admit it did look really cute on him.)

“He looks adorable, Robin!”

“He’s totally taken over your life,” Robin shot back dramatically. “He goes shopping with you, you take him to work – Stevie, he sits with you when you take bubble baths, for Pete’s sake!”

(Hey, Eddie was a gentleman, he always waited until she was covered by bubbles until coming in and sitting on the little nest of towels she’d made for him on the set of drawers by the bathtub and okay, maybe Robin had a point here.)

“And that’s not to mention that I’ve been trying to get you to read a book for literal years now and this bat shows up and suddenly you’re reading Tolkien to him every night?”

“It’s actually a good book, Robin,” Stevie said defensively.

“I know that, Stevie, I just can’t believe that you’re not seeing this! Like, there are so many red flags! He’s literally drinking blood right now!”

Stevie huffed and leaned over the table, like she was physically covering Eddie from Robin’s criticism. “It’s rude to judge somebody else’s eating habits, Robin. Or did you forget our conversation last month when you tried to go vegetarian?”

“That’s different and you know it!” Robin exclaimed.

Eddie, because he was a little drama king, took the last sip of his smoothie while making eye contact with Robin before letting out an exaggeratedly content sigh.

“See?!”

Stevie rolled her eyes and set her hand down. Eddie scurried onto her palm, letting out a series of happy chirps. She lifted him up and set him on her shoulder where he waddled to her cheek and pressed his little face against it, like he was giving her a little kiss. “You’re being overdramatic, Robin.”

“Fine, whatever, just don’t come crying to me when he makes you his eternal vampire bride or whatever,” Robin huffed before getting up and stalking out of the kitchen.

“He’s just a bat!” Stevie called after her. Robin responded by slamming the front door after he on the way out.

Sighing, Stevie turned to look at Eddie, who was currently making a home for himself in her curls. “You are just a bat, right?”

Eddie turned and shot her a wink before wrapping his little body in one of her ringlets.

“Yeah, that’s probably fine.”

/////

One of the best parts of having Eddie around actually was nighttime. She hadn’t gotten so many nights of uninterrupted sleep in years. He was like some sort of nightmare repellent or something; in fact, the only dreams she’d had recently were of a shrouded figure with long dark hair and a sexy laugh and teasing cool hands and other things –

And when she woke up a month and a half into Eddie’s residency in her home, she probably should have been more shocked at the fact that her bat had turned into a very pale, very sexy and very naked man with long dark hair and cool skin and –

“God, Robin’s never going to let me live this down,” Stevie murmured as the man stirred above her. He opened his eyes and yep, yeah, those were her bat’s eyes.

Eddie’s grin grew sharp as he pressed her further into her bed. “I’m sure I can find some way to make up for it,” he said as he drew close enough to kiss her.

“How do you feel about a Halloween wedding?”

#eddie does make her his eternal vampire bride and robin never lets her live it down #until chrissy does the same to robin that is #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fanfic #female steve harrington #bat eddie munson #absolute nonsense #august fanfic challenge

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cloveroctobers · 3 months ago

Text

SILVERADO — Boone [September Prompts]🩶

A/N: this was actually supposed to be my first drop out of the small bits of twisters fics that I’ve written but I’ve been waiting on a certain song that I knew fit perfectly for my loud mouthed ADHD baby + storyline so blame her okay!?

WARNINGS: written in bullet form as a “quick” summarized read type of situation since I’m not entirely in the mood to write a fic, possibly language, giving Boone a backstory along with reader (not overly done for reader dont worry), & the anxieties of finding your place in the world!

PROMPT ADDED FROM HERE & I’m using: 8) a coat draped gently over a sleeping form.

˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు

It’s become a thing, pointing out Silverado’s or catching each other’s eyes across the field whenever the other spots it first.

This was also a shared look that was given after the EF5 hit down in Oklahoma (along with the vicious wind that shoved you to the theater wall that you thought you may have broken a rib. Boone rushed over to you, getting you back up to shaky feet and underneath the seats as he shielded a bruised you and you accepted that maybe this was how it was intended for you to die, right in Boone’s arms. When it was over you snorted to yourself, not believing that you were more dramatic than Boone in that moment!) and you both made it back outside to excess the damage before running to Kate out on the field.

A silent message of being thankful for that truck because the both of you came a long way since North Carolina but that didn’t mean you weren’t the same people inside.

You and Boone went to high school together, weren’t really in the same circles but had a few classes together and actually ended up bonding over a Saturday detention (you initiated a walk out during one of your classes and Boone set off fireworks in a nearby trashcan in the hallway for fun but actually caused the schools nervous wreck of a teacher to go to the hospital over it. She didn’t die though!) —real breakfast club type shit—which you mentioned and Boone was in awe that you knew of that classic.

That’s where you learned he was a huge film nerd and not just some loud class clown.

He would film majority of his friends doing stupid stunts and parkour all over the city but as an artist yourself, you appreciated the perspective.

Boone even started slipping pieces of paper of handwritten recs of films for you, whether it was in class or in your locker and you for him with books.

You learn he’s dyslexic and got crapped on about it by some “friends” and even a few mean teachers growing up. Boone even debated about dropping out of school after some disciplinary action was in place after he got violent because of his learning disability junior year.

thankfully he had a caring guidance counselor and a social worker who looked out for him and taught him how to start using his own voice in better ways, even if he chest got tight, blood was boiling, and if he stuttered.

Even learned new techniques to help him out with reading and writing.

He didn’t like getting confrontational but he had to learn to stick up for himself and sure it didn’t have to turn violent and he vowed to never get to that head space again but it was still a page of what made Boone, Boone.

He lived in many foster homes since the age of seven and some were less than pleasant. His mother couldn’t care for him anymore and he never knew why, which left an ache he couldn’t describe but he still remembered what she smelled like.

His father passed before he was born but he’s got a pocket sized picture of him at a race track…he’s got his easy smile and jawline.

His mother named him, “boone,” because that’s where she gave birth to him in NC. It’s not a nickname, or last name, it’s his government.

You’re originally from PA but moved away from a bad home life to live with your grandparents sophomore year in Banner Elk, NC.

Boone was able to reconnect with his father’s sister (who funny enough lived in Miami and actually knew Javi’s family) claimed that if she would have known she had a nephew, she would have done everything in her power to raise him.

He let her in because he’s always wanted to know what it felt like to have family that was blood.

Once high school was done, the both of you enrolled into community college with Boone majoring in media studies and video production and you in screenwriting and illustration.

Boone expressed that he felt like the school wasn’t teaching him anything he already didn’t learn on his own and quickly grew tired of the routine of school.

He was the first to drop out with the plan of having his own production company, he already had a camera or two and a laptop that he worked hard for at a shitty minimum wage job since he was fifteen and he had the YouTube channel that has over nine hundred subs then that he accumulated, thanks to those old videos of his childish high school friends but he also had side gigs of editing a few other YouTubers videos that gained traction.

It seemed Boone always knew what he wanted to do and didn’t mind if it took time. He knew after awhile that he couldn’t grow if he stayed in NC and knew it was a big ask for you come with him, asking you while the both of you swayed on your grandmother’s porch swing after that thanksgiving feast.

“…And where exactly are you going?”

He sent you that easy smile with the small laughter lines on his cheek, hands clasped together over the brown fedora that looked an awful lot like your papa’s (grandfather’s), “wherever the world needs me, baby. And I need my best bud to be right there with me but no pressure.”

Which sounds like he didn’t have any idea, just like whenever he would sneak onto your GranGran’s and papa’s property trying to get you to hang out with him at midnight on a school night. “To do what, boone?” You whisper-yelled from your window half awake; you hated having your sleep disrupted.

“Does it matter?! Why wouldn’t you want to spend time with me? I’m good lookin’, talented, the bestest buddy you could have ever asked for—

“Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“Dang, don’t got to be so sassy about it.” Boone pouted with his arms crossed.

Yeah he was a sensitive thing but you loved him anyway, it was that kind of charm and heart that made it impossible to not believe in him. Sure you weren’t friends long back then but it felt like you were going to know him for a lifetime and vowed to have that friendship even more after that.

You didn’t break right away, telling him you’ll think about it but you were spending the holidays together and going Black Friday shopping with your papa—which your Gran-Gran all called you fools for doing.

She still went on that tangent about that time she went Black Friday shopping with her sisters back in the late seventies when she was pregnant with your father!!! which resulted in your papa having to post bail for her 😬

After a talk with your grandparents, your gran wasn’t exactly thrilled about this whole idea of you exploring the world while your papa was usually always down for an adventure and he liked that Boone brought that out of you.

In short: You were the house black cat and Boone was the golden retriever.

It’s funny how it took some time for papa to get along with Boone and see that he wasn’t just some loud mouth nut job who was always “all over the place!”, but actually found him to be a good friend of yours.

And Boone wasn’t going anywhere so Papa had to learn to love him.

You made some friends during your first year in NC, sophomore year but you know how high school friendships sometimes turns out!

Boone was the only one who you ended up being tight with after the diplomas.

Ofc they started to come back around once The Tornado Wranglers made it big but you made it clear that you wanted them to get well soon from their clout chasing. You really weren’t on the team anyway, which if you brought this up to any of the members they would tell you it’s all hogwash.

You came up a few of the designs and knew some web designers after the both of you settled in Arkansas (and they also helped you with your own work) but you kept far away from the tornados as much as you could…however you experienced one or two up close (before Oklahoma) after Boone and Tyler dragged you along just to show you what a day in their life on the job was like.

Tyler was also something.

He came up out of the blue and seemed to know who Boone was, Tyler saw his much smaller channel and was a fan of Boone’s work and said he could use someone like him for a team he had in the works.

Boone told him, “I appreciate that man, really I do but I’m a package deal.”

And that’s when the two of them snuck up on you at the parking lot of a 7/11.

You’re scowling at not having any luck on the lotto tickets that’s placed on the console when they catch you off guard.

You’re the skeptic of the two, wondering what the guy with the wide grins that resembles folds of batter motive was.

“Nah, I don’t buy it. You could be a undercover creep of a serial killer for all we know.”

Tyler laughs while Boone is rolling his eyes up to the clouds, “you’ll have to excuse my friend here…first they’re sour, then they’re sweet.”

“I’m not offended by any means, you do have to be careful out here…especially if you’re all each other’s got.” It didn’t take Tyler long to analyze the situation: old joints in a liter bottle, duffle bags tossed in the backseats, ash on the dashboard, minute man and Wendy’s leftover bags that decorated the front floor thanks to you having the passenger side door open to the 2007 Silverado.

In summary, Tyler assumed that the both of you were either on a lengthy road trip thanks to the NC plates or you were living in this car.

He would be right.

You held on for the longest being Boone’s road partner but there were times where this journey became a lot and arguments were had. Even storming off to catch a ride with a trucker back to the nearest rest stop to hitch more rides back to NC.

It took time but Boone searched for you, after you left. Almost had a panic attack once he realized the outcome of this disagreement—you no longer being by his side.

Boone’s voice is shaking once he locates you, “What? you don’t believe in my dreams anymore or somethin’? You don’t think I can do this?”

“I never not once ever believed you couldn’t. I’m your biggest fan, no matter what you do but I’ve got dreams too and this isn’t what I pictured.”

“Well i can’t fully say ditto to that cupcake, you’ve always been part of mine.”

And that got you back into the Silverado, things tossed right back into the backseat and arms wrapped tightly across his shoulders. “I love you booney, I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell you and I can never picture a world without you in it. Life is just so damn hard sometimes and I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, I get it but we’ll be fine.” He mumbles against your shoulder, “I’m sorry for raising my voice…I just need you to never leave me, alright? You have no idea what that does to my heart.”

You kiss his cheek and apologize too.

That all happened a couple of days before Tyler found you two and ofc you didn’t want to be looked at like a charity case (especially since your gran-gran always told you to come on back home) but Tyler proved that wasn’t his mission in creating the wranglers.

You were more leery towards Tyler whereas Boone was more open.

Tyler even opened up his home in the natural state but you chose to continue sleeping in the Silverado for the first night or so until your back and neck told you to let your guard down some.

He gave you two the tour of his spacious storage unit where he sometimes did his sit down streaming on where he kept track of storms all over America and talked about them. If he wasn’t out there getting in on the action, he was sharing his knowledge on how this storm was working and providing links to support family and businesses that needed help.

Tyler Owens journey was lengthy too, you two learn. He vaguely talked about it on his channel but he felt like he could be open with you two in private and saw the determination in both of your eyes.

Boone with all things film and you with illustrating. You picked up that interest more than ever after being trapped in the car and grabbing a sketch pad from the dollar store you two always made a routine of going to on Sundays nights.

It was long a time coming, seeing this kind of success. With boone being the head videographer and editor, finding more family members along the way, settling into Arkansas (which you never would have guessed for the two of you), finding your own path in this world writing for some tv series and selling illustrations as a small business online.

There were talks of a certain network that reached out to Tyler, wondering if he wanted to have his own show—which was different than running a YouTube channel—and everyone turned to you that night in your shared townhouse at dinner, which you were oblivious to as you chewed into your food happily before being elbowed by Lily who almost made you drop your fork.

“Ow?”

The woman with locs looks unapologetic, “So whaddaya think about that?”

“About?” You question, now reaching for your beverage.

Lily groans with a hand slapped to her face, Dani laughs with a shake of her head, and Boone is seated across from you, leaning on his own elbows to peek at the screen Dexter is on to see if he’s listening, since (you weren’t) he’s visiting family back in Detroit.

Javi speaks, “told y’all not to bring this up while they’re not all the way fed yet.”

“Shut up, Javi.” Kate says while he raises his hands in surrender.

You turn your eyes into slits as you wave the fork at each and everyone of them, “Wait…have you guys been talking about me behind my back? And what for?”

Tyler clears his throat, “well if you had your listening ears on—

“Hey,” Boone warns, “not too much, T.”

“My bad,” Tyler sends a knowing grin before continuing, “You would have heard that I have a proposal for you—

“Ew, this finger is kindly reserved and not for you.” You peek down at the tatted diamond on that exact finger.

Tyler frowns, “now wait a minute, what do you mean by ‘ew?’”

Javi and Dani snicker leaning into each other, trying to stifle their laughter at Tyler’s offense.

You keep your eyes on the cowboy while feeling familar eyes burning into the side of your face, “get on with it rodeo grinch, I’ve got an early morning.”

That makes the table go silent, which was odd. Everyone was used to having their own separate conversations but the focus was on you this evening.

“Right,” Tyler clears his throat glancing at Boone who dips his head and gives him the okay sign which makes you furrow your brows and ready to question what that was but he quickly carries on, “I have a feelin’ I’m going to be part of that early morning since the executives that you work for invited me…well Kate, Javi, and myself to meet with your writing team for a show that approached me and wrote to me about.”

You take in this information, “okay…that’s huge if you’re all open to it? You’re be able to reach even bigger audiences than you already have. Are they including everyone?”

Kate speaks now, “we told them we wouldn’t be involved if everyone isn’t. They just want to meet with us three first and then if we agree to whatever contract they have for us, then they’re bring in everyone else to do the same.”

Two seperate signing contract sessions…you hoped they had a lawyer they trusted.

You’re actually shocked that Kate was interested since she was sorta like you, not wanting to be the face of the wranglers and cared more about the work than the show. She’s introverted but seemed to get along with everyone once she got a better understanding of what this team was about.

“Wow! That’s great guys, I’m happy for you.” You smile at everyone, which lingered longer on Boone who winked at you.

“Which also means that it doesn’t work without you,” Tyler adds, “I told them if they’re going to have some sort of layout of how these episodes are going to go they have to give me the best when it comes to these things and that’s you.”

You pointed to yourself which everyone nodded to, “that’s sweet and all Ty but… none of you give scripted tv. It wouldn’t be authentic to any of your characters.”

“Hear, hear!” Lily raises her black plastic up, “thank you for knowing us so well! But we definitely need you just as much as they need us. You’ll have our backs on the inside, is what Tyler is taking too long to get at.”

Tyler sarcastically replies, “thank you, lily. Yeah…we already told them what we wanted and they said they would talk to you about it?”

“I guess that’s what Jason was blowing my phone up about all weekend but he knows not to bother me on the weekends and he did it anyway.” You mentioned, “I’m thankful that you all think so highly about me—

“Are you kidding?! Course we do! Each of us makes up the perfect puzzle to this little gang.” Dani announces while Dexter nods.

“What Dani said!” Dexter calls out.

“Don’t forget that other part though, Tyler. About you wanting them to also be your manager.” Javi tells, making you blink rapidly.

“Seriously, Dude!?” What was it with everyone speaking for Tyler tonight?

Javi shrugs, “Just had to rip the band aid off, man.”

“…you’re asking for a whole lot here…when did this even all come about?” You sit back in your chair, feeling your crossed foot shake a little.

Dani answers, “well there were talks about it before we touched down in Oklahoma but Ty’s been giving them the runaround. It wasn’t until he and Kate made it to New York to pitch the barrels that the producers actually popped up to Tyler’s house to talk more about the show in works.”

If looks can kill, if looks can kill!

“But Tyler’s been thinkin’ about making you his manager for the longest if that helps?” Kate also cuts in, her tone attempted to be comforting although she can tell you’re dissociating.

She’s been there.

“It doesn’t.” You’re monotone but Boone can see the pressure weighing in on you. He thought having you part of the wranglers in this way would be the best but he knew Tyler asking you to also be his manager would be more than a lot, considering you didn’t like him chasing after storms anyway but you would never get in between that.

It’s his passion and who were you to crap on it? You saw Boone in his element, watching the videos whenever he wasn’t around and when he was, witnessing just how much went into all of it and you were more than proud. So you always said a silent prayer, every time he ran off to Tyler’s red suv doing some wild flip that should have broken his neck and was always excited to clock in for the day with his other best bud.

“I told you we should have buttered them up with a root beer float or a possum pie.” Lily muttered to Dani and Javi, while you went quiet.

The rest of the dinner was a little awkward but you all pushed through it since there was the weighing question of what you ultimately chose to do. You were more behind the scenes if the wranglers ever asked for your help on anything, preferring it that way and sure it would still be the same but not really if you became Tyler’s manager.

It wasn’t about the money or not wanting to put in the work, it was about the big responsibility of having his career in his hands. You only liked having your small business and writing rights in your hands but this? Felt like holding the beloved Tyler Owens life in your hands and that was a weight you weren’t sure you wanted to sign up for.

Worrying about Boone was enough for anyone to handle!

Tyler never did anything in hopes of getting anything in return, this you knew while you got to know him and consider him a big brother over the years but you thought it over while you lay outside underneath Arkansas’ warm September air out in the inclosed patio.

Thought so hard about it that when Boone came out to check on you, he draped a jean jacket gently over your sleeping form.

He sighed beside you on the lounge chair, getting ready to smoke when you spoke with your eyes still closed, “that better not be a cig cricket.”

You were cupcake and he was cricket.

“Why no, it’s my number one girl MJ.” Boone informed, “and I wish you’d stop doing the whole pretending to be sleep, sleeping beauty.”

“Who said I was pretending? My eyes are closed.”

“Are you sleep talkin’ or prayin’ then?”

“…maybe.”

“Aye look baby doll, you don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to do. The tv part I thought you might be down for but I told Tyler that managing kind of pressure? might not be the best choice for you and not because I don’t think you won’t do a phenomenal job or nothin’…it’s just you overthink and you’ll constantly overthink that you’re gonna let him down.”

“You know me too well Boone Veluz.” You stretch raising your arms above your head, “but…there might be a good angel on my shoulder this time.”

Boone raises his brows while placing MJ behind his ear along with his hair, “don’t tell me I’m that angel?” He jokes while you scoff at him.

“I’m picturing more of a zendaya to be honest.”

“Hopefully not rue zendaya.” Boone mutters while you lightly kick his chair, which makes him chuckle a little.

You groan as you push yourself up into a sitting position, rubbing at your eyes before saying, “since we got to Arkansas…things have been looking up. It brought us to Tyler, you were able to further achieve your filming dreams, I was able to study and establish a career, we created a home together, found more family and happiness and I say that’s a huge blessing considering all that we’ve been through on this road.”

“Yeah you got that right, you’re a jelly roll hater.” Boone teases as he points an accusatory finger at you.

You glare, “if that’s true then you hate Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac.”

He exclaims, “Lies!”

“Anyway, I’ll have to see what tomorrow brings but I’m gonna sleep some more on it.” You start to get up, fixing Boone’s jacket to now drape over your shoulders, as a piece of chocolate slides out from one of the pockets.

“My advice if you do say yes twice: Just look at it all as a silver lining right?”

You hum as you toss the mini pack of chocolate into his lap before getting to your feet, “well…you’ve always been mine since the day we met.”

Boone felt like melting just then as you grab his hand, which he squeezes against yours as you kiss the back of his hand, “i love you, cupcake.”

“I know and that feelings mutual, Booney cricket.”

“You headin’ to bed?”

“Yes, I’m gonna need it for that abrupt meeting.”

“You’re gonna crush it, no doubt.”

You shake your intertwined hands up in the air before letting go, “God’s willing. Night.”

“Night.” He echoes and watches you go into the wood siding home, still being hopeful that one day he’ll plant one on you.

As always Boone just goes with the wind and where he’s needed, letting out a sigh as he checks the group chat where they’re looking for answers hoping that he finally did something about you.

“I’m not going to persuade them by kissing them, I told y’all that already. That’s not me. They got their own mind and know how to use it, so leave it be.” Boone quietly speaks into his phone before sending the message.

Lily: You must be a shitty kisser then.

Which is HAHA’d by Javi.

Dexter: not nice, Lilith.

Tyler: Patience little lambs 🙏🏼

Dani: uh…our patience ran out with you and Kate ijs🥤

Which receives two thumbs up from Dexter and Lily, an exclamation from Javi, and a thumbs down from Tyler.

Kate: gn 👋🏻!

Boone: goodnight lady! & guys…everything always works out the way it should 🤘🏽

Javi: hope that’s true my guy because my faith lays more with them than some monkeys in a suit.

Lily: whats storm par’s number again?

Dani: ohh!

Dexter: well…

Boone: damn ur on one tonight lil!

Javi: 🖕🏼

And then all chaos breaks loose in the group chat, which leaves Boone to rip into the candy with his teeth before he moves to head into the house and up to his room to get comfy as he watches this family dynamic carry on into the night.

Yet he can’t help but to let his own overthinking erupt in his brain—he’s always been a night owl—noticing that you didn’t leave his jacket on his bed this time and just hoped that you had nothing but good dreams and maybe even one about him!

Boone’s just counting on many more good years with you in it, is all 👉🏽🙂‍↕️👈🏽

౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు

more September prompts can be found here.

#Spotify #queued #boone twisters #boone twisters x reader #brandon perea #twisters #twisters film #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #September prompts #tyler owens

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

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hiiii could i possibly request something with the good ol' "steve is insecure with his place in the group/his intelligence/his worth compared to the rest of the party" cliche with reassurances in the form of copious amounts of cuddles and kisses and pet names from eddie? you're so great for doing these and i'm eagerly waiting for the next chapter of call me sunshine <3

Not Steve "self-doubt" Harrington convincing himself he can't be loved because he doesn't fit in or provide "useful" things to the group!!! I am lowkey hoping someone maybe adds to make this explicit because something about them having to be quiet in a tent just sounds like it has potential idk. Eddie is so in love in this it makes me SICK. - Mickala ❤️ (@scoops-stevie)

----------------------------------------------------

When Steve suggested that they do something fun together for the weekend, he meant maybe going into the city or renting a lake house maybe.

He definitely didn’t mean camping.

Outdoor camping was Dustin’s idea, and all the kids had agreed quickly. Robin bowed out the moment she could come up with a decent excuse and he could tell that Eddie wanted to do the same but wouldn’t abandon him.

Hopefully.

Eddie had quietly offered to steal another RV, but Steve turned it down.

“You just started getting back in the good graces of most of the town, let’s not give them a reason to hate you again.”

So they packed up the van with all the camping supplies they collectively had: three tents (one for the girls, one for the boys, one for Steve and Eddie), a couple coolers full of drinks and food, a few chairs, flashlights, sleeping bags, and clothes.

Steve wasn’t great at reading maps, so he let Dustin ride passenger to help Eddie find where they were going.

He sat with the girls, mostly because he liked the way they just ignored everyone and everything and talked amongst each other about mundane things.

He may not always understand what they’re talking about, but he liked being a part of it.

He almost never understood what they were talking about actually.

But it was better than having everything the boys were talking about go right over his head.

Especially when they started arguing about stuff and talked so fast that Steve had no chance of keeping up.

Steve just kind of watched as everyone around him had conversations.

He tried not to think about how everyone was existing without him in a way.

He was here, but he wasn’t needed.

—-----------------------

When they arrived at the campsite, it was even more secluded than they thought it would be.

It was also only a couple hours until sunset and they all had to make sure the tents were set up properly before it was too dark to see.

Steve got started with his tent while Eddie helped the girls. Max still had limited movement in her wrists so she was given the task of setting the chairs around the fire pit that Lucas and Mike had formed.

Steve was struggling.

He’d only put up one tent before, and it was at summer camp where the counselor and four other boys had been helping. In all honesty, he’d pretty much managed to watch the whole time instead of help.

He would manage to get part of it up, but it would fall apart when he tried to do the other side. He kept losing the pieces to keep it tied down to the ground.

He was losing against an inanimate object.

Everyone else was doing fine; Joking and laughing and finishing up their tasks like they didn’t have to put all their focus into one thing at a time.

El wordlessly started helping him, and he knew she wasn’t judging him, but he couldn’t help the small part of his brain that was telling him that she thought he was stupid.

He was quiet for the rest of the evening.

They cooked hot dogs over the fire that Will started, then made s’mores since El had never had them before.

He watched and listened, smiled when everyone else was.

But he felt overcome with sadness that he just didn’t belong here.

He was the babysitter, he took care of them, and drove them around, and helped them survive alternate dimension monsters.

He didn’t know how to talk to them about the stuff they liked, or play their stupid dragon game. He could barely keep up with half the things they said.

“Hey guys, I’m gonna turn in for the night,” he said suddenly, interrupting something Mike had been saying to everyone.

Everyone looked at him with sad looks, but Eddie looked concerned.

“You okay? Is it a headache?” He asked.

Damn, he hadn’t even thought of a good excuse. At least Eddie was providing him one for free.

“Yeah, just a little one. I think if I sleep now it’ll be fine by morning.”

The taste of the lie in his mouth made his lip curl slightly. The words “friends don’t lie” replayed in his brain as he stood up and made his way to his tent at the far end of their setup.

No one tried to stop him, but he could feel their eyes on him as he unzipped his tent and then zipped it back up behind him.

They’d set up lamps inside each tent so that they could reserve flashlights for bathroom trips or emergencies. His was the kind you can dim, so he did. He took off his shoes and jeans, changing into the t-shirt he brought from home that was probably Eddie’s now that he was looking closer at it.

He’d brought his pillow from home because he couldn’t possibly sleep flat on the ground, and Eddie had brought one of his own because he still had some back pains when he slept wrong.

He curled up in his sleeping bag, holding Eddie’s pillow against his chest.

He felt a tear start to run down his face without his permission, not even sure why he was crying right now.

He heard the zipper and tried to shut his eyes quickly, hide his face in the pillow in hopes that Eddie would think he was really asleep.

“Hey darlin’. Mind if I join?” Eddie whispered.

Steve couldn’t ignore him, so he nodded and started to move the pillow from his chest and face.

“Oh, sweetheart. Why are you crying?”

Steve shook his head. He couldn’t even begin to explain.

“Can I hold you?”

Steve let out a sob, and Eddie didn’t wait for him to answer.

He was laying down next to Steve, pulling him against his chest and running his hands up and down his back.

“Is it a migraine? Do you need me to get some ice from the cooler? Or medicine from the van?”

“No, not a migraine.”

“Okay. Is it just a bad night?”

Steve couldn’t help the fondness he felt at that.

Eddie was so understanding, and incredible, and perfect. Steve didn’t deserve him just like he didn’t deserve the rest of these people.

“Stevie, it’s okay to have a bad night. Sometimes they just happen, right? That’s what you always tell me.”

Eddie’s hand had found its way to Steve’s hair, slowly running through the strands, occasionally looping the ends around a finger.

It sent chills down Steve’s spine when his fingers brushed against his neck so gently.

“I just don’t belong here.”

“I’ll admit the outdoors is not really my favorite place either, but-”

“No, not. Not the outdoors. Here. With everyone.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Eddie’s hand had frozen in his hair and on his back.

“I’m not smart. I’m not good at putting things together or fixing things. I can’t even be in most of their conversations. They keep me around because they don’t know how to get rid of me. I mean, they don’t even need a babysitter anymore!”

Steve’s tears were dripping onto Eddie’s shirt, making a mess.

Another reason he shouldn’t be around.

Eddie tilted his face up, nothing but love in his eyes.

“I want you to listen to me. You are needed in this group. You are wanted in this group. You are loved in this group. Do you really think a bunch of teenagers would be wasting a weekend camping with you when they could be going to the movies or the arcade or getting into trouble?”

Steve didn’t answer, but he sniffled as he watched Eddie get more passionate.

“And it is absolute bullshit that you’re not smart. How many times have you been the one to figure out something, whether it was during Upside Down shit or not? How many times have you been the one with common sense? You’re more than a babysitter, my love. You’ve always been more than that to all of them.”

They laid there in silence for a few minutes, Steve soaking in Eddie’s words as Eddie continued to comfort him in the way he needed.

“I just feel like I need to be more useful. I don’t want them to get bored or annoyed because I can’t be part of their world,” he finally said, his voice shaking.

“Angel, they love you for who you are. Just like I love you for who you are. You fit where you fit because that’s what the group needs. They don’t need another Dustin to always make connections because of one obscure fact relating to something he read once when he was nine. They don’t need another El to fight their battles.They need the Steve who is going to go along with whatever they want to do so he can protect them if and when things go wrong. They need the Steve who is always there to support them even with the most mundane things.”

“I couldn’t even set up the tent by myself.”

“None of us could. I had help. That’s why I told El to help you. None of us can do stuff alone, love. You’re putting expectations on yourself that no one else is putting on you.”

Steve shuddered.

He’d been pretty famous for doing that for years.

Once his parents stopped caring at all, he started caring too much.

And now he expected more of himself than anyone else ever would.

He’d set himself up to fail. At least in his own eyes.

“Did that finally get into that concussed brain of yours?” Eddie said, smirk evident in his tone.

Steve playfully slapped his chest and hid his face against his tear-soaked shirt.

“I guess maybe it did. A little,” he said.

“Good. You know I love you more than the stars, right?”

“And the moon?”

“And the galaxies in space.”

Steve settled further against Eddie’s side.

“I love you, too,” he sighed out, feeling content for probably the first time this entire trip.

In the morning, he’d start over, let his brain rest. He’d make everyone breakfast and then help them all make sure they were prepared for their short hike. He’d pack them sandwiches and extra water bottles in case they ended up walking further than they planned. And when they all got back to the campsite the next night, he’d make s’mores with them.

He’d ignore the voice telling him that he wasn’t enough for any of them, and he’d be enough for himself.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #the party #request #ficlet #hurt/comfort #i ship steve's self doubt and eddie's overwhelming need to tell him he's perfect

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